But it was Schweig Engel who took the green screen and ran with it like ADHD kids in a Pixy Stix factory. In one ad, Mr. T (John North) grew enraged that Lewis and Stein didn't have any Schweig Engel jewelry. So he tossed them three stories up against a brick wall. In the spot called "Jurassic Credit," Lewis and Stein rode bareback on dinosaurs (which, inexplicably, they kept petting).
Some of the spoofs drew the ire of the spoofees. Columbia Pictures insisted they stop running "Credit Busters" (modeled on Ghostbusters). And Chuck Berry's lawyer sent a cease-and-desist letter when they released an ad called "Credit B. Goode."
Schweig Engel's John North.
No Bull: In this Schweig Engel spot, Stein, North and Lewis avoided virtual cowpies on greenscreen.
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The big advantage of low-budget commercials, Stein says, was that they offered a lot of bang for your buck. Most were produced at the KPLR (Channel 11) studio and ran during The Three Stooges, Saturday movies and late-night TV.
KPLR sweetened the deal by producing them for free.
"We might've spent five- or six-thousand dollars to produce them," says Henry Elbert, the network's ad executive who handled the Schweig Engel account. "But they might've spent thirty thousand a year to have the ads run."
They weren't risk-free, Elbert concedes.
"A lot of times people won't shop at your store because your commercials are so stupid," explains Elbert, who played Pinnochio in one spot. "But people will remember you. And the bottom line is, when you're trying to sell something, you never know when somebody's going to buy. So when they are going to buy, you want that top-of-the-mind awareness."
And the big takeaway from each and every Schweig Engel episode was that anybody could secure some kind of credit. To back up this guarantee, they swore that any customer denied credit was formally invited to: punch them in the nose; pop off their heads; blast them with pies; run over them with a free Mercedes-Benz; pull the credit manger out to the parking lot to run him over; obtain a free mountain bike and run over Mike Stein. (There was a distinct emphasis on vehicular assault.)
Stein estimates he personally approved a half-million credit applications in a fifteen-year span. He denies that any serious assaults took place.
Jim Winkle, a former producer for KPLR, has an altogether different theory for the success of not only Schweig Engel, but Mizerany, "Becky, Queen of Carpet" and all businesses trafficking in goofball pitches: It was a subtle decoy.
"I always thought they wanted to give people the impression that they're dumb so that people would come in and try to take advantage 'em on the price," Winkle says. "They thought that would get people in the store. What's that phrase? They were crazy, crazy like foxes."
By the mid-'90s, Schweig Engel had ballooned from 11 employees in one store to 65 employees in three locations.
"The community took care of us," Lewis remembers. "Mike took the bars off the windows at our Natural Bridge location. That said a lot for north city. And we only had one break-in."
The love spilled outside of the retail space. "I couldn't go to the airport without someone recognizing me," John North recalls. "It got to the point that people thought we were celebrities."
The national affiliate stations considered Schweig Engel's rise newsy. During an interview with ABC Stein said, "If a person got up and went to the restroom," he said, "or went to get a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich during my ad, I think I'd die."
On KSDK (Channel 5), Art Holliday asked the boys whether they took it as a compliment that Riverfront Times referred to their spots in a 1991 article as "the most absurd on television" and "deranged."
"Oh yes," Stein replied. "We shoot for being the worst commercial in St. Louis."
In the 1990s, Schweig Engel began buying ad space on cable in the city, says Jeff McCann, formerly an advertising salesman at TCI.
"There wasn't a lot on cable yet," McCann says. "But Mike bought into it. He knew how to get his name out there."
McCann adds that it wasn't just the ads that created a buzz.
"When you walked into Schweig Engel you'd see all those guys," says McCann. There was Mike, there was John, there was Warren. They were that accessible. And I think that's why they did so well as long as they did."
The Schweig Engel party ended in 2004. Stein says the business was still profitable, but the partners were ready to move on. The original building is now, ironically, a National Rent-to-Own.
Stein became manager of Alro Heating & Cooling in St. Ann. John North moved to DeBary, Florida, where he now runs two separate businesses (one manages credit-card fees for other companies). Warren Lewis works for Value City Furniture but, while vice president at Schweig Engel, took great pride in having risen from maintenance man to the first company officer from outside the family. (He was also one of the very first black furniture buyers in the United States.)
Stein says he and North are planning on flying out to LA in early 2012 to make the Funny or Die commercials. He's kicking around an Iron Man spoof. Meanwhile, Nick Corirossi is salivating.