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Cleaning Coops. If Perdue looks believable as a man devoted to raising tender chickens, it is no accident. His father Arthur, now 91, quit his job as a Railway Express agent and in 1920 set up a chicken house on Maryland's Eastern Shore. Frank, an only child, grew up with the birds: "I dug cesspools, made coops and cleaned them out." By the mid 1950s, the Perdues' well-bred chickens were winning top prices at auctions, but Frank realized that there was money to be made processing and marketing the birds as well. Eight years ago, he rescued his chickens from the anonymity of commodity marketing by putting his name on them. In 1971 he went to Madison Avenue. He devoured tomes on advertising, picked the brains of journalists and broadcasting executives and interviewed dozens of admen before choosing the firm of Scali, McCabe, Sloves Inc.
Today Perdue spends $1 million a year on advertising. In 1964 he employed 265 people, today nearly 3,200. Perdue Inc. supplies chicks and feed to 900 contract growers, who raise the broilers for a fee of about a dime each. "We mix our own grain," says Perdue. "We have our own poultry veterinarians and nutritionists. We leave no stone unturned in getting the best product."
Down-to-earth though he may appear on television, Frank Perdue is no bumpkin. He wears Gucci loafers and drives a blue Mercedes, lives in a condominium in Ocean City, Md. (he and his wife recently separated) and plays a plucky game of tennis when he can. Offscreen, he is even beginning to talk like an adman. He professes no fear of other firms that are beginning to emulate him by advertising brand-name chickens—because, he says, "nothing puts a bad product out of business faster than good advertising."