Did you know that the secret to the longstanding success of G.I. Joe was an inverted thumbnail?
When Hasbro produced the earliest 12-inch versions of the popular military combat doll—sorry,
action figure—in 1964, they were concerned companies might produce copycat versions. But
those early figures had a production error. The nail on the thumb was inverted, so it was on the
inside of the thumb. That meant if a company tried knocking it off without inspecting it too closely,
copying the thumb would be a dead giveaway. The toys also had a scar on the face,
which was intentional. These unique features made the Joes distinctive and allowed Hasbro
to pursue copyright or patent infringement cases. That was smart business. In the decades to come,
G.I. Joe would not only rule toy shelves, but dominate cartoons, invade comics, and
cross over into live-action blockbuster movies. Or, movies, anyway. At their peak in the ‘80s,
two out of every three boys in the U.S. owned at least one Joe. It’s the story of America’s
greatest fictional military force—that has basically never managed to defeat
its primary enemy or even hit a target—and it’s next on this edition of Throwback.
Welcome to the show where we take a look back at some of the most influential pop culture stories
and events you may remember from your childhood. I’m Erin McCarthy, and while I was not alive when
G.I. Joe first burst onto the scene in 1964, I’ve been around for many of the toy’s moments
in the spotlight. The public service messages at the end of the 1980s animated series taught
me never to swim during a thunderstorm, never pull a fire alarm if there’s no fire, and never
to jump over downed power lines with my bike, which before that I really, really loved to do.
But before the Joes could lecture kids, they had to go through some growing pains of their own.
You’re familiar with Hasbro, the gigantic toy company responsible for G.I. Joe,
Transformers, and other classic toy lines. But in the 1950s,
the brand was best known as the manufacturer of the unarmed pacifist called Mr. Potato Head.
The word Hasbro refers to the Hassenfeld brothers—siblings Henry,
Hillel, and Herman—who were originally in the business of marketing textile scraps.
They moved from that to school supplies, and eventually to toys like Mr. Potato Head.
In those days, people shoved those plastic eyeballs into real potatoes.
By the 1960s, however, the toy market seemed ripe for something else. Something beyond tubers.
America was caught in the middle of the Cold War. Hasbro knew there was an appetite among kids for
combat toys. After all, little green Army men made of lead and later plastic had been perennial hits.
But those tiny plastic toys weren’t posable like Mattel’s popular Barbie line.
What if you could combine the two trends? As with many such ideas, there’s debate about
who came up with GI Joe. The fight centers on Stan Weston and toy designer Lawrence Reiner.
According to one story, Weston was a licensing agent who cut deals for merchandising based on
existing properties, like Dr. Kildare, a popular medical television drama that was kind of the
Grey’s Anatomy of its time. Weston believed poseable military toys could fill a need in the
market. Lawrence Reiner then came up with the idea of figures that could move their arms and legs.
The other story says that Reiner was working for Ideal Toy Company when they began thinking of
relatives to market for their Tammy dolls, like making a fireman father. Reiner came up with a
soldier, and after taking it to his boss was told a phrase that many people would say—“boys
will never play with dolls.” But Reiner’s boss gave him permission to shop the idea around
elsewhere, and Reiner eventually met Weston. Whichever story is true, Weston had a lot more
than dolls in mind. He wanted to create a toy that emulated the razor blade business model.
Say a customer buys a razor. That’s fine. But what the razor blade company really wants is for
that customer to keep buying disposable razor blade heads. That was what Weston wanted for
toys. Kids could buy an action figure, and then all the accessories for it—the weapons, outfits,
and vehicles they’d need to patrol the backyard. Hasbro executive Donald Levine liked it
and worked with Weston to create some prototypes of the figures in uniform.
On the strength of the samples, skeptical Hasbro boss Merrill Hassenfeld made Weston an offer.
He could take a flat fee of $75,000, or a royalty based on toys sold. Weston countered with $100,000
and handed over total ownership to Hasbro. It would be a deal that Weston would grow to regret.
Hasbro executive Donald Levine got the name G.I. Joe from a 1945 film titled The Story of G.I. Joe,
but the name first appeared as the title of a 1942 comic strip by David Breger.
Levine also worked to develop the entire assortment of figures and had the idea to
fit them with articulated joints, which allowed the toys to kneel down to get behind enemy lines
or lob a grenade at the nearest housecat. Along with the accidental thumbnail and scar,
Hasbro had a toy line, save for one problem. They were worried boys of the era wouldn’t want
to play with what amounted to a doll. So Hasbro insisted retailers call the Joes action figures.
When Hasbro proudly showed off their Joe line at the Toy Fair in 1964,
prospective buyers laughed. These were toy soldiers in fancy clothing.
Few people thought kids would be interested. But they were. G.I. Joe was an immediate hit when
it debuted that year, with sales of the $4 figures far exceeding Hasbro’s expectations. Multiple
branches of the United States armed forces were represented. You could get an Action soldier,
marine, sailor, or pilot. Each figure was an imposing 12 inches tall, with real fabric
uniforms and 19 points of articulation. To save on manufacturing costs, the bodies were the same.
Only the heads and accessories differed. This was a great idea ... until it wasn’t.
By the end of the 1960s, America was deep into a divisive war in Vietnam, and the use of military
force was no longer something that everyone could get behind. The toys, once a piece of Americana,
became controversial. So Hasbro decided to pivot, reframing the G.I. Joe line as
a team of adventurers who went on top-secret missions that had no military sanctioning.
There wasn’t a lot of continuity to these stories. Sometimes the figures were on a mission to save
the environment. Other times, they were fighting mummies or looking for the abominable snowman.
Instead of a Naval officer, a Joe might be an aquanaut. The new line also pioneered
something that entered the pop culture lexicon—a kung-fu grip feature, which allowed the figures
to grasp guns or ropes. What this had to do with kung-fu, I cannot tell you, but kids liked it.
By 1976, G.I. Joe barely resembled the original toy line. The figures had been reduced in size
to 8 inches. Characters like Bullet Man and Atomic Man battled against galactic cavemen
known as the Intruders. But not even the lifelike hair and beards on the Joes could entice kids.
Hasbro quietly gave the Joes an honorable discharge,
not realizing they’d soon be back in a big way. Or in a small way.
The success of Star Wars in 1977 was felt throughout the movie and toy industries,
and anything having to do with outer space was suddenly hot. To capitalize on the trend,
a Hasbro executive named Bob Prupis decided to relaunch G.I. Joe as a military operation with
a science fiction element. Soldiers would carry laser weapons and travel via jetpack. Prupis
dubbed the project Operation: Blast-Off. There was just one problem. And that problem was a
very real world situation involving petroleum. Remember that the original Joes were 12 inches
in height, which meant a lot of plastic was being used to produce them. But a series of
energy crises in the ‘70s affected the price of petroleum, which was the raw material used
to make the plastic, meaning each Joe would have cost way too much at retail to entice customers.
Attempts to reduce the amount of raw materials needed for production hadn’t worked out.
Some of the later Joes made to conserve raw plastic were so flimsy their arms would
spontaneously come off. Not a good trait for a soldier. So Prupis innovated again,
once more turning to Star Wars for inspiration. The Star Wars toy line from Kenner featured
figures that were just 3.75-inches tall. This let them keep production costs low and allowed them
to make vehicles the figures could fit into for reasonable retail prices. Prupis decided these
new Joes would need to be smaller in stature. But that still didn’t excite the higher-ups
at Hasbro. While American attitudes about the military had softened since the end of the Vietnam
war, the Joes still felt a little aimless. Having them fight real world threats would be offensive;
having them fight mummies was kind of stupid. So, with the help of marketing firm Griffin-Bacal and
Hasbro creatives Kirk Bozigian, Rod Rudat, and Greg Bernstein, Prupis tried to hammer out what
the G.I. Joe of the 1980s would look like. While Hasbro was excellent at making toys,
they had never launched a cohesive mythology surrounding one of their toy lines.
What they needed was a partner with experience in storytelling.
And who better than the people at Marvel Comics? Griffin-Bacal reached out to Marvel, which was
receptive to partnering up with Hasbro in a mutually beneficial arrangement. Hasbro
would design and market toys; Marvel would come up with motivations for the Joes to be marching
into battle as part of a comic book series. As a bonus, Griffin-Bacal promised to create television
advertisements for the comics, which was rarely done at the time. That served two purposes—it
got the word out on G.I. Joe, and it circumvented the strict television broadcasting rules of the
era about toy commercials. This was an ad for a comic, not a toy. On the surface, anyway.
Marvel contributed a lot to the G.I. Joe lore. At the time, Marvel’s editor-in-chief, Jim Shooter,
knew writer Larry Hama was working on a title named Fury Force, which was a
military adventure series starring Nick Fury Jr. as the leader of an elite strike team. Hama was,
himself, a Vietnam war veteran—he knew his way around the tropes of the war story genre.
But Fury Force was idling and Marvel wasn’t sure it was ever going to move forward.
So Shooter told Hama to take some of the ideas he had earmarked for Fury Force
and adapt them for the G.I. Joe series. At this point, it’s hard to say where Hasbro ended
and Marvel began. According to Hama, he would usually be presented with black and white drawings
and a rough idea of the character’s purpose. It would be up to him to come up with a personality.
Another Marvel editor, Archie Goodwin, suggested that the Joes face a perpetual foe in Cobra,
a kind of non-specific terrorist organization led by the evil and helmeted Cobra Commander,
who served as the franchise’s Big Bad. Hama contributed a number of character and vehicle
ideas, which he kept on file cards that Hasbro eventually used on the packaging of the toy line.
This bold new look for Joe was unveiled in 1982, when Hasbro debuted 11 figures and 8 pieces of
equipment, including fan favorite ninja Snake Eyes, Scarlett, and Cobra soldiers. Even though
the figures were smaller, they still retained a lot of articulation. Each one had 10 points,
or double that of the average Star Wars figure. The Joe line also gave us what’s considered one
of the most coveted toys ever made—the USS Flagg, a massive, and I mean massive, aircraft carrier
that stretched to over seven feet in length once it was fully assembled. It was so big it
had its own elevator. Kids would need a separate bedroom to store this thing. It retailed for $100,
and many kids whose parents weren’t willing to shell out for it wound up buying it as
an adult for collector’s prices. During the 1982 holiday season,
Hasbro expected to sell $15 million in G.I. Joe toys. Instead, they sold $50 million.
The second year, it was $100 million. And in another parallel to Star Wars, which basically
sold an empty box during the fall of 1977 because no figures were ready, Hasbro offered fans the
chance to get a mail-in Cobra Commander if they sent in proofs of purchase of existing figures.
Hasbro thought maybe 5000 orders would come in. They got 125,000.
The toys helped sell the comics, and the comics helped sell the toys. In fact,
Marvel’s G.I. Joe was once its best-selling subscription title, moving over 331,000 copies
a month—even outselling The Amazing Spider-Man. It was clear Hasbro knew their resurrected
toy line was turning into a phenomenon. But knowing was only half the battle.
As successful as the Marvel Comics title was, Hasbro knew that to really break through to
their audience, they’d need more exposure. Kenner’s Star Wars toys had a movie series to
help them move little plastic Luke Skywalkers. A G.I. Joe movie was a little too ambitious,
but an animated limited series? Very doable. In 1983, Hasbro brought on a writer named
Ron Friedman to script the adventures of the Joes in their endless conflict against Cobra.
The result was G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero, a five-episode series that was followed in 1984 by
G.I. Joe: The Revenge of Cobra. These brief runs were a proof of concept for an ongoing animated
series which debuted in 1985. For that series, Hasbro enlisted a military consultant in the
form of the Rhode Island National Guard, which helped make sure the uniforms and vehicles were
at least plausible in appearance. In return, the Guard insisted the military be made to look good.
But parents insisted that the military not look too good at their job. In the cartoon version
of G.I. Joe, enemy soldiers who get clipped typically parachute to safety. And despite lots
of firefights, no soldier ever died on the show. So on the one hand, G.I. Joe glorified war and
violence without any repercussions. But if we’re being fair, in some respects it was also pretty
progressive for its time. The Joes welcomed female members like Scarlett long before the actual U.S.
military got its act together on that front. And it wasn’t mentioned as anything remarkable
within the context of the show, either. The Hasbro and Marvel synergy introduced
some memorable characters into the Joe canon, including Duke, Zartan, Baroness, Destro,
Storm Shadow, and Lady Jaye. But the biggest character of them all might have been Wally Burr,
who was the primary voice director for the show and was himself a World War II veteran. According
to voice actors, Burr treated the show like a regimented military assignment, barking orders and
having actors fall in line with multiple takes. All of this was made possible by, of all people,
Ronald Reagan. The President had pursued a policy of deregulation at the Federal
Communications Commission, leaving Hasbro free to produce the cartoon, which they did in conjunction
with Sunbow Productions, a division of the Griffin-Bacal marketing firm,
and Marvel Productions. In addition to the two limited series, the main show ran for 95
episodes. It also introduced the now-iconic phrase, “Yo, Joe!” to the Joe mythology, though
Ron Friedman originally scripted the line as “Ho, Joe!” The change was …. probably for the best.
The show wasn’t completely free of responsibility, however.
To appease parents and broadcast policymakers who feared it was nothing more than a 22-minute toy
commercial, Hasbro and others inserted a public service message at the end of each episode.
These typically consisted of a Joe character popping up just as some kids were doing something
irresponsible like, oh, playing with fire, and admonishing them not to act foolishly.
The spot’s closing line, “And knowing is half the battle,” became an earworm for kids of the ‘80s.
It all worked. G.I. Joe was a massive success, sending Hasbro’s stock from 42 cents a share
to $4.36 by September 1985. But G.I. Joe’s tour of duty couldn’t last forever. They were about to get
competition—and not from Cobra, but from four turtles who were familiar with martial arts.
Something unique to G.I. Joe was that, unlike most toy lines,
it incorporated people from other areas of pop culture in the fictional world of the Joes.
In doing so, it also allowed audiences from other areas of entertainment to engage in the toys,
comics, and cartoons. If you really think about it, the Joe line might be one of the earliest
examples of a shared universe. How? Take a look. In 1985, the only thing more animated than a
cartoon were the heroes and villains of the World Wrestling Federation. To capitalize
on the popularity of pro wrestling, Hasbro invited Sergeant Slaughter for a meeting.
Slaughter, whose real name is Robert Remus, is not an actual veteran but managed to carry the
stern disposition of a drill instructor to the ring. Hasbro thought he’d make a perfect recruit,
and Slaughter appeared as himself—or, his wrestling character—in the toy line, comics,
and series. The toy was a mail-in—kids had to send in proof of purchase tabs to get him.
Based on the success of Sergeant Slaughter, Hasbro went after another larger-than-life character in
the form of William Perry, an NFL star and Chicago Bears defensive lineman whose nickname was “The
Refrigerator.” In 1986, the Bears won the Super Bowl and became something of a cultural sensation.
It made perfect 1980s sense for Perry to become the Joes’ physical fitness instructor.
He came packaged with a football on a chain, presumably to bludgeon Cobra with.
While Crystal Ball wasn’t exactly based on an existing character, it did come from one of the
20th century’s most valued imaginations—Stephen King. The horror author’s son, Owen, was such a
big fan of the Joe toy line that he and his father pitched the idea for a Cobra hypnotist to Hasbro,
which liked the idea and eventually released him as an action figure in 1987.
Hasbro also released a figure named Sneak Peak that year, which was made in the likeness of
Owen and carries his name. Both Crystal Ball and Sneak Peak had ties to Bangor, Maine—King’s
hometown. King actually gave Crystal Ball a shout out in the novel Tommyknockers.
After the Joes’ heyday of the 1980s—which we’ll get to momentarily—Hasbro issued a
line of retro 12-inch figures in the late 1990s based on iconic American historical figures.
They included George Washington, General George S. Patton, and Theodore Roosevelt,
complete with a polka-dot bandana and Colt revolver.
Finally, Hasbro negotiated with Sylvester Stallone to incorporate the character of
Rocky Balboa into the G.I. Joe universe. Rocky would have been a hand-to-hand combat instructor.
It nearly happened, but Hasbro failed to complete the deal, and Stallone’s likeness was used for a
Rambo toy line by Coleco instead. Hasbro released a boxing-themed Cobra toy named Big Boa in 1987.
Big Boa. Balboa. Oh, well. Ivan Drago would have made an ideal Cobra villain.
"If he dies, he dies."
The end of the ‘80s was also the end of an era for G.I. Joe. Newer toy lines and cartoons like
the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were diverting the attention of kids, and not even some hail
Mary attempts like incorporating characters from the popular video game Street Fighter II
could make much difference. In the 1987 G.I. Joe direct-to-video animated movie they even tried to
kill off popular leading character Duke, though someone clearly had second thoughts, as a dubbed
line indicates he had merely gone into a coma. It was G.I. Joe by way of General Hospital.
A second cartoon followed, this one airing from 1989 to 1992, but it wasn’t very well-received
by Joe fans. Hasbro discontinued the main Joe line in 1994 and Marvel ceased publication of
their comic after 155 issues that same year. In the final issue, the Joes were disbanded and
their headquarters closed—perhaps for good. But the Joes had one more round of ammunition
left—nostalgia. As time went on, kids who grew up with the Joe toys and cartoons became adults
who started snapping up classic Joe toys for hefty prices. Throughout the 1990s and into the 2000s,
Hasbro tried to reinvigorate the line with ideas like Sgt. Savage and His Screaming
Eagles and G.I. Joe Extreme. But fans seemed to prefer the original recipe.
The toy line got its second wind in 2009, when Paramount released G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra,
the first live-action adaptation of the franchise. Starring Channing Tatum as Duke
and Joseph Gordon-Levitt as Cobra Commander, it was successful enough to warrant a sequel, G.I.
Joe: Retaliation, in 2013. The story got another wrestler involved: former WWE superstar Dwayne
‘the Rock’ Johnson, who co-starred in the film. More recently, Snake Eyes: G.I. Joe: Origins
hit theaters, starring Henry Golding as Snake Eyes and Samara Weaving as
Scarlett. Thanks to the pandemic, mixed reviews, and perhaps one title colon too many, that
film did only middling business. But it’s clear that Hasbro will continue to mine the
G.I. Joe universe. A Lady Jaye television series is still in development at Amazon.
So why has G.I. Joe endured for nearly 60 years? Early on, it was about filling a need. Kids wanted
an action doll—sorry, action figure—that was nimble enough to fuel their play scenarios. Later,
the toys became a way to interact with characters they saw on television. Good and evil were clearly
defined. The characters were memorable. The opportunity for waging war seemed endless. And
unlike a lot of real wars, the motivations were clear. Hasbro had made superheroes of soldiers.
The only person unhappy about this development? Stan Weston. Remember that he created the toy
line and received $100,000 for a franchise that’s made hundreds of millions. In 2015,
Weston sued Hasbro to try and recapture the copyright. The case was settled in 2016,
with details that were undisclosed but hopefully made Weston, who died in 2017,
happy. Without him, Hasbro might still be in the business of sticking plastic eyes into potatoes.
Who was your favorite member of G.I. Joe not named Snake Eyes?
Leave us a comment below. Thanks for watching, and remember—never swim during a thunderstorm.