sa国际传媒官网网页入口

Time was, if you had an ache or were ailing, some traveling 鈥渕edicine鈥� huckster promised his special elixir would fix you right up.

Well into the 20th century, smooth-talking pitchmen would travel the country, selling tonics made of dubious ingredients, guaranteed to cure anything from acne to the effects of advanced age. Small towns and rural crossroads were their preferred venues. Sometimes they traveled with musicians, putting on a show to attract a crowd before bilking gullible customers out of their hard-earned dollars for concoctions that were little more than alcohol 鈥� often as strong as a belt of booze 鈥� infused with anything and everything from serious narcotics to ineffective herbs.

Congress responded to the problem by passing the Food and Drug Act of 1906. For the first time, federal regulators had the authority to ensure that the medicines Americans took were safe. When the Food and Drug Administration was established in 1930, the handwriting was on the wall for snake oil salesmen. The old traveling medicine shows and the products they promoted began going the way of kerosene lamps and Model T Fords. As their numbers dwindled, one stood out from the rest.

Hadacol.

Dudley J. LeBlanc of tiny Erath, Louisiana, created it. In a state overflowing with colorful politicians, he was among the most flamboyant. He served in the legislature 鈥� first in the House and later in the Senate 鈥� on and off over nearly half a century.

He ran for governor in 1932, losing to the legendary Huey P. Long. His unsuccessful candidacy did leave its mark. LeBlanc proposed paying a monthly stipend to seniors. Long appropriated the popular idea, and it wasn鈥檛 long until Social Security was established.

When it came to promoting Hadacol, LeBlanc had no equal. Introduced in 1943, it was a marketing triumph. LeBlanc may not have known much about medicine, but he sure knew how to move the merchandise. Time magazine called him 鈥渁 stem-winding salesman who knows every razzle-dazzle switch in the pitchman鈥檚 trade.鈥�

LeBlanc and medicine shared a checkered past. His Happy Day Co. sold Dixie Dew Cough Syrup and Happy Day Headache Powders 鈥� until the FDA shut him down over safety concerns.

Undeterred, LeBlanc turned to bottled medicines. Billed as a vitamin supplement, Hadacol was actually nothing but 12% alcohol, cleverly disguised on the label as a 鈥減reservative.鈥� Time called it 鈥渁 murky brown liquid that tastes something like bilge water, and smells worse.鈥�

LeBlanc鈥檚 high-octane tonic took the country by storm. Not surprisingly, it was especially popular in the South and the Heartland, where many dry counties banned alcohol sales. And he promoted his concoction with one of the greatest medicine shows of them all.

The Hadacol Caravan came to out-of-the-way communities. The admission price was simple: one Hadacol box top. It played in ballparks, on racetracks, high school football fields 鈥� anyplace that had bleachers. At times, the show drew as many as 12,000 people. LeBlanc packed them in with Hollywood A-listers on the bill, Ava Gardner and Mickey Rooney among them. Singer Hank Williams wrote his hit song 鈥淛ambalaya鈥� after hearing Cajun troupe members talking backstage.

And the locals lapped it up. Over a 15-month stretch ending in March 1951, LeBlanc sold $3.6 million worth of his potion 鈥� more than $46 million today. Appearing on the popular 鈥淵ou Bet Your Life鈥� TV show, host Groucho Marx asked what Hadacol was good for. 鈥淚t was good for $5 million for me last year,鈥� LeBlanc quipped.

But nobody was laughing when his empire imploded.

LeBlanc sold his interest in the cash cow to eager investors for $8.2 million 鈥� more than $103 million in 2026. As soon as the papers were signed, the new owners discovered they were in big trouble. The legislator鈥檚 business affairs were just as reliable as his 鈥渕edicine.鈥� Advertising costs were out of control; $2 million in bills were unpaid; the IRS wanted $656,000 it was owed; and there was another $2 million in 鈥渁ccounts receivable.鈥�

Hadacol鈥檚 collapse was a national scandal. The Federal Trade Commission branded publicity surrounding the product 鈥渇alse, misleading, and deceptive.鈥�

Little wonder, then, that when LeBlanc ran for governor a second time in 1952, his candidacy went down in flames.

He gamely carried on, coming out with a final nonalcoholic patent medicine called 鈥淜ary On.鈥� But the damage was done. Nobody bought it.

Various owners later tried to revive the Hadacol brand name in the 1970s and 1980s; they all flopped.

Scandal is no stranger in the Bayou State, and it鈥檚 not enough to bar a public figure from a place of honor. In 1993, more than 20 years after his death, LeBlanc was inducted into the Louisiana Political Museum and Hall of Fame.

J. Mark Powell is a former television journalist. His nonfiction book 鈥淲itness to War: The Story of the Civil War Told by Those Living Through It鈥� is available at . He wrote this for .