Did You Boscov Today? — How a Catchphrase Turned a Slow Month into a Shopping Phenomenon

Few retail promotions have ever captured the public imagination like Boscov’s famous April tradition: “Did You Boscov Today?” What began as a tongue-in-cheek idea from Albert R. Boscov in 1970 grew into a shopping phenomenon that packed stores, flooded parking lots, inspired slogans, and became one of the most talked-about events in the company’s history.

The idea originated in 1970, when Easter landed in March, leaving April—a traditionally slow month in retail—without its usual sales boost. In a 1976 memo, Albert confessed that the concept was intended as little more than a joke. He wanted to find a playful way to keep customers visiting, even when there wasn’t a holiday to draw them in.

So, in April 1970, Boscov’s launched a daring promotion in its three Reading stores: visit every one of the 26 shopping days in April, and you’ll receive a free set of Revere or Corning Ware cookware. No purchase was necessary. Customers only had to stop in, get their visit validated with a stamp on a calendar, and keep coming back.

“We thought it would be a fun thing to advertise,” Albert later recalled. “Maybe a few hundred people would take us up on it.” To prepare, the company printed about 1,000 calendars and secured 1,000 cookware sets for giveaways.

The public response was overwhelming. Instead of the anticipated few hundred participants, 25,000 people completed the challenge. Calendars had to be reprinted in staggering numbers, the modest validation booth expanded to banquet tables, and every available secretary was pressed into stamping duty while off-duty policemen directed traffic in the packed parking lots. By month’s end, the company had given away the original 1,000 cookware sets plus another 24,000. It became, by Albert’s own admission, the most expensive event the company had ever run, yet the goodwill and loyalty it created were priceless. He had imagined needing 4,000 to 5,000 sets, only to find himself scouring the country for 10,000. The phenomenon rolled on in the years that followed, growing with each new store—from Lebanon and Pottsville to Sunbury, Hazleton, Wilkes-Barre, Dover, and Binghamton.

To keep the momentum fresh, Boscov’s made the event a game. Shoppers submitted graffiti-style slogans in droves—up to 4,000 envelopes a day, some containing 40 or 50 entries each. About twenty new slogans appeared in print daily, each winning its author a small prize and a chance at a larger award. Families, card clubs, and school classes sent slogans in by the bushel. The creativity exploded with lines like “The Devil Made Me Boscov,” “Boscov All Your Cares Away,” and “I Could Have Boscoved All Night.” So much mail poured in that extra staff had to be hired just to open it. Judges worked full-time selecting winners for use in ads, and the best slogans soon reappeared on colorful buttons and stickers that customers wore with pride. One employee admitted she was tasked with making 26 button designs, one for each shopping day, but got so carried away she ended up producing 400. Shoppers plastered stickers everywhere—even sending photos of them affixed to the Eiffel Tower in Paris—while others sneakily stuck them on strangers’ backs, turning them into walking advertisements.

Meanwhile, store operators began making random phone calls, and if the person who answered cheerfully replied “Did You Boscov Today?” a gift certificate arrived in the mail. In the first week alone, 150 winners were chosen this way.

Spotters roamed as far as Pottstown to catch customers wearing their buttons, handing out dollar prizes on the spot.

Creative types wrote songs and poems; one student even submitted a parody of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” The fun was infectious, and with as many as 20,000 people a day streaming into the stores, merchandise disappeared as fast as it was stocked. On the first day alone, 12,000 pairs of hosiery sold out within hours, and 52,000 light bulbs priced at nine cents each vanished in a single promotion. Customers who had sworn they weren’t going to buy anything inevitably broke down—one woman admitted she circled a stereo set ten times before finally charging it to her account. Even organized groups like ladies’ clubs made pilgrimages to the store, checking in as a collective and adding to the carnival-like atmosphere.

The scale of the promotion attracted national attention. Retailers from across the country called Albert Boscov to find out how it worked, with inquiries coming from as far as Portland, Oregon, and even large merchandising houses in Chicago. Many marveled at the combination of simplicity and spectacle, calling it the greatest retail promotion ever staged on the East Coast. Inside the company, every department had to stretch to keep pace. Validation centers bustled from morning to night, sometimes requiring three teams of staff just to keep the lines moving. By the end of April, more than 72,000 pairs of Revere and Corning cookware had been distributed, and the stores had become community gathering places as much as shopping destinations.

When the 1974 gasoline shortage threatened the tradition, the company considered ending it, only to face a wave of protest from loyal “Boscovers.” Instead, the challenge was restructured: rather than 26 visits, customers now needed just 12, with weekly bonus bargains available for those who visited three times in a single week. The ritual endured, adjusted to fit the times.

Looking back, Albert Boscov admitted he never imagined a lighthearted gimmick could “so completely capture the public’s imagination.” But it did. The genius of “Did You Boscov Today?” wasn’t just the free cookware—it was the way the promotion transformed shopping into theater, where customers became participants, neighbors became teammates, and even strangers in line became part of the game. It blurred the boundary between business and community, leaving April not just as another month on the calendar, but as the season of Boscoving: born of a tongue-in-cheek idea, sustained by joy, and remembered as one of the most remarkable retail traditions in American history.

For the thousands who collected stamps, swapped slogans, and wore their buttons like badges, April became more than a page on the calendar. It was the season of Boscoving—born of an idea, sustained by joy, and remembered as the moment when a four word nudge turned a slow month into a living tradition.