Gary Dretzka
Noah Forrest
Leonard Klady
David Poland
Douglas Pratt
Ray Pride

Apart from the occasional Lacoste crocodile, Munsingwear penguin and Cat hat, the ’60s were blessedly free of clothing festooned with corporate logos … unless, of course, they were stamped on a patch of leather designating the width and length of a pair of jeans. Apparel was apparel, billboards were billboards, and most people appreciated the difference between the two.

If there were such a thing as the Official Thingamajig of the Summer Olympics or World Series, no one paid much attention to it. Gatorade "showers" wouldn’t become the Official Celebratory Cliché of the NFL until 1985.

You didn’t have to be a hippie or campus radical to resist plugging anything more specific than a favorite pro or college team. If a designer wanted free advertising, they could damn well give their fashions away for free. That would change for good, in 1972, after the Nike "swoosh" became part of the sports vernacular.

Of all the iconic products to emerge from that tumultuous decade -- bell-bottoms, granola, VW buses, the Rolling Stones -- perhaps only "Dr. Bronner’s 18-in-1 Hemp Peppermint PURE-CASTILLE SOAP" remains uncorrupted by corporate exploitation, compromised ingredients and phony celebrity endorsements. The multipurpose, bio-degradable and cruelty free soap/shampoo/toothpaste/detergent/shave cream/mosquito repellent/cleanser remains every bit as useful and idiosyncratic as it was at the dawn of the Summer of Love.

If today’s marketing geniuses were in place 40 years ago, they might have convinced Emanuel H. Bronner -- the "Dr." was self-bestowed -- to promote his creation as the Official Soap of the Counterculture. Today, it could easily qualify as the Official Soap of Green America, if the inventor’s heirs didn’t abhor such publicity gimmickry.

Sara Lamm, the director and producer of Dr. Bronner's Magic Soapbox, is far too young to remember when bottles of the soap could be found in nearly every commune, crash pad, health-food store, college dorm and hitchhiker’s knapsack from Berkeley to Boston. The 32-year-old North Carolina native only discovered the product in 1996, while a student in Chapel Hill.

Apart from its practicality, famously tingly texture and Earth-friendly ingredients -- no, Virginia, the Green movement didn’t begin with the release of An Inconvenient Truth -- an exhaustive manifesto printed on the product’s label provided hours of bathroom reading. The quirkily punctuated 30,000-word screed extols the virtues of Bronner’s "All-One-God-Faith" and "Moral ABC," as well as his concept of Constructive Capitalism and profit-sharing.

Inspired by the horrors of World War II, the manifesto condemned dictators and referenced the world’s great religions (it even appeared to anticipate Rastafarianism), which, apparently, have something to do with Halley‘s Comet. Moreover, it advocated such environmental initiatives as wind-generated power, Babylon roof gardens, population control and increased use of hemp and natural oils.

"In the fall of 2000, I staged a series of live performance pieces -- adapted from the material on the label -- in New York City," recalled Lamm, who, with her husband and their newborn child, has since taken up residence in the Hollywood Hills. "I wrote to the company, asking if they would donate bottles of soap for the production. I was shocked not just to receive a huge box of the peppermint product, but also multiple phone calls from Ralph Bronner … the inventor’s son and company vice president."

Dr. Bronner died in March, 1997, but his manifesto is likely to remain on the labels of company products for a long time to come. Virtually the only thing that has changed is the soap formula, which now uses hemp-seed oil, instead of jojoba ("milder and less drying"). The labels are now printed with hemp-seed ink, as well.

"We stayed in touch," Lamm continues. "Occasionally, Ralph would even send me a card containing a $50 bill, suggesting I go out to dinner and take some friends. After 9/11, he asked if I would take 15 cases of soap to Ground Zero and hand them out to local residents and rescue workers.

"It seemed ludicrous, but Ralph was adamant. He believed in ‘working on the human level,’ and encouraged me by saying. ‘Everyone needs soap.’"

Despite her initial reservations, Lamm acknowledges that Ralph’s idea wasn’t so crazy, after all. It helped her connect with members of the community, and inspired the creation of a radio piece, "The Next Big Thing."

A documentary based on Bronner’s life, soap, philosophy and legacy became almost inevitable

Bronner was born on February 1, 1908, in Heilbronn, Germany, where his family had built a lucrative soap-making business. He often clashed with his stern, Orthodox Jewish father, but it was the rise of of the Nazi Party that convinced him to emigrate to the U.S. in 1929. Along the way, he dropped the H-E-I-L from his name, as a way to protest the rise of fascism and anti-Semitism.

Sadly, his parents turned down their son’s pleas to join him in America. Their factory would be nationalized in 1938, and his family would disappear shortly thereafter, presumably in an extermination camp.

Meanwhile, Bronner worked as a consultant to several American soap companies. When the industry converted to synthetic surfactant formulations -- still used today for beauty products -- he began working on his own line of soaps.

In 1947, while proselytizing at the University of Chicago, police confused Bronner’s evangelism with maniacal raving, and he was committed to a mental hospital. He escaped, but not before enduring electro-convulsive treatments.

Eventually, he landed on his feet in a town just northeast of San Diego, where he would establish his business, promote the manifesto, put his labor-relations theories to the test and, when he had the time, attempt to be a father to his children.

Unlike the products of larger, brand-name competitors, Bronner’s soaps were formulated and packaged by human hands. The company relied on satisfied customers to spread the word, not celebrity testimonials or 30-second ads in prime-time sitcoms.

Sales didn’t take off until the mid-’60s, when hippies and other ecologically minded young people effectively turned Bronner’s versatile creation into the Swiss Army knife of soap.

"It’s still true," Lamm points out. "Today, if you meet a left-leaning, environmentally sensitive person -- or someone who is considered eccentric -- chances are, they’ve heard of the soap. It’s that kind of touchstone product.

"In fact, a curator at the Smithsonian included a bottle of the Magic Soap in an exhibition there, because it represented the first commercial product to emerge from the counter-culture of the ‘60s."

Lamm’s research and Ralph’s memories, while interesting, stopped short of being sufficient reason to proceed on a documentary. It wasn’t until she was approached by a filmmaker who had embarked on a similar project in the ’80s, and was willing to license archival footage of Dr. Bronner, that Lamm gave herself the green light.

"I had studied oral history and documentary techniques, but mostly for radio," said Lamm, whose baby occasionally competes for Mom’s attention, during phone interviews. "Filmmaking required a steep learning curve, because I’m far more comfortable telling stories, or helping other people tell their own stories. It was fortunate that my first film project was about something people already were curious about.

"The licensed material took up the greater part of our budget, but it was a blessing. My husband makes commercials, so we already had a camera and access to editing facilities."

The Bronner operation remains tiny, when compared to companies that can convince consumers they’re Green, simply by changing the color of a box of detergent. Still, having already weathered severe economic doldrums in the ’90s -- as well as the co-opting of the counterculture in the mid-’70s -- the soap is in a perfect position to capitalize on another generation’s embracing of sound environmental practices.

"Sales gone crazy in the last five years," Lamm adds. "It’s hard to sell products this unique to businesses and industry types, but, out in world, enthusiasm has always been there. Soap-users are coming out of the woodwork."

Not all of Bronner’s teachings are embraced by fans of the company’s products, which no longer are limited to multi-faceted soaps. It takes a great leap of faith to use the soap as a substitute for toothpaste, for example, and, while clean hair is nice, there’s probably a very reason why the product probably isn’t by hair-dressers in Hollywood.

One scientific-based theory, in particular, is of questionable benefit to women seeking a natural method of birth control.

Bronner suggested using a mixture of lemon juice and Vaseline as a spermicide. The lemon’s high acidity kills sperm, but could burn or damage the cervix and vaginal lining. Vaseline, not being water-soluble, probably isn’t the ideal delivery system, either.

July 25, 2007

- Gary Dretzka

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