The Consumer: Loaded Odds

Almost every service station along the highways these days looks like a miniature Las Vegas. Banners, billboards and other ballyhoo urge motorists to win big prizes by matching Dino Dollars, playing Tigerino, collecting Presidential Coins or joining in scores of other games. There is not a casino in the world with the gall to offer odds as long as those that are standard in service stations and supermarket "games of chance." The Federal Trade Commission, which two weeks ago concluded a two-year study of promotional lures, found that in one food-chain game that touted a 1 in 3 chance of winning, the actual odds came out to 1 in 15,373. Generally, according to the FTC, a game addict stands 3.4 chances in 1,000 of winning a prize that is worth only an average of $3.87. For those $1,000-and-up jackpots, the odds stretch out to 1 in 1.2 million.

The odds may now be running out on the games themselves. The FTC has concluded that the games are prone to "manipulation and rigging," as any driver with a glove compartment full of useless tickets has long suspected. Typically, the major prizes are "seeded" at times and places where they will draw the most publicity. In Florida, the promotion manager of one oil company personally chose the two stations to receive winning tickets for the top prizes—two cars —and told dealers to issue them to a customer from a college or local company so that the good word would get around. The more popular the game, the deeper the gouging. Tickets went so fast in one game that the company had to put in a rush order for "200,000 additional losers."

Hard to Drop. The game producers are the big winners. Since Joseph Segel, founder of the four-year-old Franklin Mint, sold his Mr. President game to Shell for $3.1 million last fall, the stock of his Pennsylvania firm has more than doubled in price and split 2-for-1. The dealers are among the games' most vigorous opponents. They find that the promotions are troublesome to handle, and almost impossible to drop if the oil companies flood the area with advertisements—as they often do. Increased gasoline sales do not always make up for the cost of all the gewgaws and gimmickry that dealers must buy from the oil companies. The prices are set high, so that the dealers will not be tempted to rip open all the envelopes and simply collect the winnings. The federal commission is divided on whether to forbid the games or to regulate them more stringently; it is expected to reach a decision next month.

The FTC investigation is symptomatic of Washington's widening concern for consumer protection. Beginning in 1966, a tide of caveat vendor legislation has covered auto safety, truth in packaging, truth in lending, the inspection of meat, poultry and the labeling of flammable clothing. Last week the Securities and Exchange Commission proposed some truth-in-naming rules for companies seeking to register new stock for sale to the public. Under the SEC's guidelines, stock issues with names that might mislead investors would be forbidden. Such linguistic legerdemain is becoming more and more frequent, the commission complained, particularly the use of such glamour words as "nuclear," "missile" and "electronics."