They can handle the accusations about clogging millions of arteries each year. They can take the rap for slaughtering more than half a billion animals annually. But when a chain letter-like e-mail alleged that KFC was growing genetically engineered, chicken-like organisms instead of real poultry, Colonel Sanders and company decided to fight for their reputation.
While most people thought Kentucky Fried Chicken changed its name to KFC to avoid saying "fried" when advertising to increasingly health-conscious consumers, a new Internet rumor claims the motives were far more sinister: The FDA, upon learning that franchises were actually serving artificial, beakless, featherless, Frankenbirds, ordered the company to stop calling any of its food "chicken." (Example: the menu features the Colonel's Crispy Strips...But strips of what?)
Such an obvious hoax might never have escaped the relative obscurity of Internet lore if the restaurant chain simply had laughed at the prank like everyone else. But KFC responded with press-releases and open letters, insisting the rumor hurt more than feelings, but sales as well. Company officials claimed the story was a deliberate attempt to erode consumers' trust, and the maligned chicken chain retaliated with a promise to "identify and prosecute the originators of the hoax to the maximum extent permitted by law."
KFC's threat might have seemed like an overreaction 10 years ago. But thanks to increasingly common, high-profile libel cases, businesses now regard bad jokes and urban legends in terms of lost revenue. And with good reason, since there is a great deal of evidence linking negative gossip to declining sales. Texas ranchers sued for $12 million after cattle prices plummeted when Oprah Winfrey aired a show about beef's supposed health risks. And Mrs. Fields suffered a brief but costly boycott when gullible protestors heard that the cookie maker catered a victory party for O.J. Simpson's legal team.
According to each of these companies, the public lost faith in a product because of a bogus story. But could it be that the reverse is true? Relatively few urban legends are devoted to respected organizations, like charities, because those rumors sound less trustworthy than their targets. On the other hand, since mega-corporations can seem menacingly powerful, and therefore harder to trust, it's easier to entertain thoughts about conspiracies in smoke-filled rooms. When rumors flared that cigarette advertisers were targeting minors, R.J. Reynolds never even bothered to file libel suits because no one would have believed them. (Another reason may be that company memos really did refer to children as "the youth market.") In a sense, public mistrust causes urban legends to flourish, not vice-versa. If people actually had faith in the fast food industry, rumors about mutant chickens never would take hold. Instead, the customers have reason to be suspicious of KFC since the company really did change its name to obscure the fried food on its menu.
According to the KFC Web site, "A new logo is introduced to emphasize chicken variety -- replacing Kentucky Fried Chicken with KFC."
No matter how many lawsuits and cash settlements they win, Colonel Sanders' lawyers will never be able to recover the public's confidence. Ultimately, it doesn't matter if they're telling the truth, because doubt and suspicion will follow any group that isn't trusted and respected. Just ask Sally Hemmings' descendants: They've been telling the truth for two centuries, and only now have their words been considered more than rumor. And unlike a business, they have no one to sue.