Crazy over Calendars

By J.D. Reed

From Teddy bears to trivia, they sell like there is no tomorrow

In China it will be the Year of the Ox, but in American bookstores, gift and stationery shops, 1985 may just become the Year of the Calendar. Some 1,500 different wall and desk versions, including a circular pop-up of flowers and ones with detachable postcards, celebrating everything from cats to Culture Club, are being snapped up at a phenomenal pace. Some favorites have earned second press runs; 250,000 Trivial Pursuit (QuillMark) calendars sold out in the U.S. and Canada in a month, and Cabbage Patch Kids (Abrams) has been bought by 1.4 million doll lovers. Says Michael Ritz, promotions director of Abbeville Press, where eight of 15 calendars are sellouts: "It's just an amazing year."

One reason for the shopping spree is that calendars are bargains, costing from $4.95 for wall models to $14.95 for desk versions. Another factor: freebies from local merchants and major companies are disappearing. Cost-conscious Chemical Bank, for instance, gave away 550,000 calendars in its New York branches in 1982 but has printed less than half that number this year. Calendars are becoming personal statements. "There's no such thing as the family calendar any more," says Paul Gottlieb, president of Harry N. Abrams, which publishes seven calendars. "Everyone in the family has to have one, and they have to express individual tastes."

Borrowing from the book business, both B. Dalton and Waldenbooks issue weekly bestseller lists for calendars. Topping last week's Dalton chart: The Teddy Bear Calendar (Workman). Its well-mannered bears at play will likely sell out the 390,000-copy printing. One reason: a contest that allows ursophiles to submit pictures of their own Teddies, which may be selected for inclusion in the '86 edition. Calendars of pinups and pine trees are favorites on everybody's list. The poster-size Sports Illustrated 's Swimsuit Calendar, featuring supermodels in torrid Caribbean settings, is third on Waldenbooks' list. Magnum, p.i. (Landmark) is fourth, offering pictures of Tom Selleck in fuzzy focus and crisp action. The second Ansel Adams Calendar (New York Graphic Society Books) has resonant prints of the master's favorites such as a Cape Cod barn and Yosemite Valley. They are enhanced by the latest laser-scanned printing techniques.

The most recent calendar rage, however, has virtually no pictures at all. The fat little memo-pad-style, day-at-a-time calendars work on words. At least half a dozen companies produce a variety of them, including one called Murphy's Law (Price/Stern/Sloan) and others for sports trivia, Bible verses, computer terms, astrological signs and even dirty jokes. The 365 new-words-a-year calendar (Workman) made both lists, with offerings like "Dionysian . . . recklessly uninhibited; frenzied." The success is in the format, says Publisher Peter Workman. "Each day they entertain, surprise and educate, like books you can savor piece by piece over a full year."

Indeed, people cannot do without them, believes Lucy Fellowes, organizer of "Embellished Calendars: An Illustrated History," an exhibition which opened last week at New York City's Cooper-Hewitt Museum. Says she: "Even though watches no longer need faces, people still need calendars. In 400 years no one has improved on those paper pages hanging on the wall." But they certainly have made more of them.

-- By J.D. Reed.

Reported by Val Castronovo/New York and Meg Grant/Los Angeles

With reporting by Val Castronovo, Meg Grant