flamboyant about the founder and ex-head of the E. S. Lowe Co., a soft-spoken, highly articulate man who usually looks thoughtful and somewhat abstracted—perhaps even a little wistful.
Lowe’s unassuming attitude belies the fact that in addition to heading up one of the nation’s top ten game firms, he is heavily involved in construction, finance, broadcasting, and theatrical ventures.
But games have made Lowe’s fortune. His company sells a sizable line of staple games, as well as a sprinkling of promotional ones. However, it is Bingo and Yahtzee that have remained at the top of the list.
Like Monopoly, Bingo is a product of the American Depression. “I was a toy salesman in those days,” Lowe recalls, “and, believe me, times were rough. I was pretty tired and discouraged on the night that I discovered what was to become Bingo.”
Lowe had launched a game business just before the market crash. His company’s sales were poor, and the venture seemed chancy.
One night, after a disappointing sales trip to Atlanta, the weary businessman got into his car and began driving toward Jacksonville for his next appointments. Soon a cluster of bright lights on the road ahead caught his attention. Knowing that there was no city in that direction, Lowe drove toward the lights and discovered they were coming from a smalltown carnival. He parked and got out.
All but one of the carnival booths were closed, but the one still open was jammed with people. An eager crowd was clustered around a horseshoe shaped table covered with numbered cards and beans. The game being played was a Lotto variant called Beano, and the pitchman—clearly the only one in the carnival making money—called out numbers, which players filled in on their cards. Anyone who filled a line on a card horizontally, vertically, or diagonally won a Kewpie doll; it cost a nickel a card to play. The players’ equipment consisted of a dozen cards with hand-made rubber-stamp impressions; the caller’s set of numbers was a cigarbox full of wooden discs with hand-written numbers on them.
The pitchman later told Lowe that while traveling in Germany the previous summer with a carnival, he had bought a game of Lotto for his children. They liked it so much that he suspected it had the makings of a good tent game, so he worked up the variation he named Beano using a set of seventy-five “call” numbers. It was so successful in Europe that he brought it back to the States, where he continued working the concession.
Lowe tried to play Beano that night, but he couldn’t even get near the game table because none of the players would give up a seat. “But while I was waiting around,” Lowe explains, “I watched the people playing Beano, and I noticed that they were practically addicted to it. The pitchman wanted to close up, but every time he said, ‘This is the last game,’ it did no good. The players simply wouldn’t budge. When he finally closed at three o’clock in the morning, he had to chase them out.”
The salesman was intrigued by what he saw. If the game was so fascinating to play, wouldn’t it make sense to put it in his foundering line? But perhaps the carnival experience was a one-time freak of human nature. How could he test it?
Lowe bought some rubber stamps, cardboard, and beans, and invited a few friends over. Running the game the same way he had seen it at the carnival, Lowe called the numbers and observed his friends’ behavior. Soon they were playing with the same intensity he had observed at the carnival.
Lowe invited more people over and continued to test the game. Then, during one session, he noticed a girl who seemed close to winning. She grew more and more excited as her card filled up, until at last there was only one number left . . . and it was called!
The girl hopped up and down with glee. But she also became tongue-tied in her enthusiasm and, instead of shouting “Beano,” started stuttering, “B-B-B-BINGO!”
“I cannot