online community focused on sharing and reminiscing about video, audio, and images that stir our memories of the past – old television, theme songs, commercials, print advertisements, the sights and sounds you remember
Before cereal commercials got too complicated, Cheerios gave us the Cheerios Kid, Sue, and the promise of “go-power.”
The idea was simple: eat Cheerios and suddenly you had the energy to take on whatever trouble showed up next. The late-1960s ads had that catchy “Get Yourself Go” jingle, the kind of line that stuck in your head long after Saturday morning cartoons were over.
A fun bit of trivia: the jingle is credited to Neil Diamond, before most of us knew him as the Neil Diamond.
Looking back, it was pure cereal-commercial magic: a bowl of oats, a quick cartoon adventure, and one more earworm we never quite forgot.
As a kid growing up, I didn’t understand why everyone said “Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee” was incorrect English. I just knew they made great baked products.
The famous Sara Lee campaign was built around that odd but unforgettable line:
“Everybody doesn’t like something, but nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee.”
It was catchy, a little strange, and maybe not what your English teacher wanted to hear, but that was the point. The double negative made people notice it, remember it, and repeat it.
The commercials usually showed off Sara Lee cakes, pies, pound cake, coffee cake, and other desserts that looked like they came from a bakery, even if they came from the freezer. For a lot of families, Sara Lee was the “company’s coming” dessert you could serve without doing all the baking yourself.
Looking back, the grammar may have been questionable, but the advertising worked. Everybody had foods they didn’t like, but the campaign wanted us to believe Sara Lee was the one thing nobody could turn down.
And honestly, as a kid, I wasn’t diagramming the sentence. I was looking at the cake.
It was catchy, silly, and easy for kids to repeat, which is exactly what made old snack commercials work. A plain lunch suddenly felt more exciting when you added a bag of Fritos.
That was the charm of the campaign. It did not need a complicated story. It was just a happy little reminder that Fritos were salty, crunchy, and perfect next to a sandwich.
Here’s another earworm from the ’70s to get stuck in your head for the rest of the day.
Ken-L Ration was one of the big names in dog food for decades, dating back to the 1920s. The brand became known for canned dog food and later dry food, but most of us remember it because of that insanely catchy commercial jingle.
The song was based on “My Dog’s Bigger Than Your Dog” by folk singer Tom Paxton, and the ad turned it into a playground-style brag between kids. The idea was simple: my dog is bigger, faster, shinier, and better because he eats Ken-L Ration.
It was the kind of jingle advertisers loved because you didn’t just hear it — you repeated it. Kids could sing it, parents remembered it, and the brand name was baked right into the hook.
Ken-L Ration was eventually owned by Quaker Oats and later sold to H.J. Heinz in the 1990s, but the product faded from store shelves. The jingle, though? That survived. For a lot of us, all it takes is one line:
“My dog’s bigger than your dog…”
…and suddenly the whole thing comes running back like a dog hearing the can opener.
The StarKist “Sorry, Charlie” campaign started in 1961 and gave us one of the great advertising mascots: Charlie the Tuna. He was created by Tom Rogers of the Leo Burnett Agency as a beatnik-style tuna with a beret, thick glasses, and plenty of confidence. Charlie thought his “good taste” made him perfect for StarKist, but the joke was that StarKist did not want tuna with good taste — they wanted tuna that tastes good.
Charlie himself was originally voiced by actor Herschel Bernardi, who gave him that hip, New York, slightly theatrical sound. The famous announcer line “Sorry, Charlie” was voiced by Danny Dark, one of the biggest commercial voice-over artists of his era. StarKist’s own history page credits Dark as the narrator who delivered the line.
The commercials worked because Charlie was trying so hard to be chosen. He dressed sharp, talked cool, and acted like a sophisticated fish who deserved to end up in the can. Instead, he was rejected every time. Poor Charlie never understood that he was selling the product by not being good enough.
Looking back, it was a perfect old-school ad gag: one simple joke, a catchy phrase, and a character everyone remembered. “Sorry, Charlie” became bigger than tuna and turned into something people said whenever someone got rejected.
1963 was a little early for me to go out and get a quick tan. I just did it the old-fashioned way — by playing outside! But I sure remember the jingle.
Back then, nobody thought much about sunscreen warnings. You went outside, rode bikes, played ball, ran around the neighborhood, and by the end of summer you had the tan lines to prove it.
QT promised color without baking in the sun, which sounds funny now because self-tanners later became famous for streaks, blotches, and that dreaded orange look. But in that era, tanning was sold as healthy, glamorous, and fashionable.
Looking back, QT feels like a perfect little time capsule: a bottle promising summer color on demand, indoor or outdoor, rain or shine. Before spray tans, tanning beds, bronzers, and modern sunscreen warnings, there was Coppertone QT telling everyone they could hurry up and get tan.
That line was everywhere. The ads promised you didn’t need much, just a small dab, and suddenly you’d look sharp, smooth, and “debonair.” The jingle was credited to Hanley M. Norins of the Young & Rubicam advertising agency.
Of course, the best part was the promise that “the gals’ll all pursue ya” and love running their fingers through your hair. That was peak old-school advertising: use the product, look handsome, and suddenly romance is chasing you down the street.
By the 1960s, the Beatles and the dry, natural hair look started making heavily slicked hair seem old-fashioned, so Brylcreem had to adjust its pitch. But for anyone who grew up hearing that jingle, “a little dab’ll do ya” is still one of those lines that instantly brings back a whole era of bathroom mirrors, combs, crew cuts, and Dad’s medicine cabinet.
You Can Trust Your Car to the Man Who Wears the Star was one of those great old advertising lines that stuck in your head because it did exactly what a slogan was supposed to do: it made the brand feel safe, familiar, and dependable.
Texaco’s “star” was right there in the logo, and the “man who wears the star” was the service station attendant. Back then, gas stations were not just places where you pumped your own gas and left. An attendant might check your oil, clean your windshield, look at your tires, and give the car a quick once-over while you sat behind the wheel. The campaign sold Texaco as more than gasoline. It sold trust.
The slogan became closely tied to Texaco’s image during the full-service gas station era. The message was simple: pull into Texaco, look for the star, and you were in good hands. It fit perfectly with the time, when uniformed attendants and branded service stations were part of the American road trip experience.
The jingle is most commonly credited to Roy Eaton, a pioneering Black advertising composer who worked on major campaigns including Texaco and Chef Boyardee Beefaroni. One profile says Eaton created the Texaco jingle in 1962, and another notes it was recognized by Advertising Age as part of one of the top ad campaigns of the 20th century. As for who sang the original version, that part is less clear. The safest answer is that it was likely performed by commercial session singers over the years, with different versions used in different Texaco spots.
The line worked because it sounded almost like a jingle before you even heard the music. “You can trust your car to the man who wears the star” has that smooth, sing-song rhythm that made it easy to remember. Texaco also used another famous star-themed line, “Star of the American Road,” leaning heavily into the red star logo as a symbol of dependability.
Looking back, it is a reminder of when gas stations felt more personal. The “man who wears the star” was not just selling gas. He represented service, pride, and that old-school promise that somebody actually knew your car and cared whether you made it down the road.
If you grew up in the early 1970s, you didn’t just watch commercials… you experienced them. And when Sammy Davis Jr. showed up singing “Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz,” it felt less like an ad and more like a mini performance right in your living room. This wasn’t just someone reciting a jingle — this was Sammy bringing that full stage presence, the same energy he gave in Vegas, and dropping it into a few unforgettable seconds of television.
By 1973, the Alka-Seltzer jingle was already a household staple, written by Tom Dawes back in the late ’60s. But Sammy’s version gave it new life. He added swing, personality, and that unmistakable charm that made you stop what you were doing and watch. In an era when commercials leaned heavily on catchy tunes and big personalities, this one hit the sweet spot. You remembered the performance first… and somewhere right behind it, the product.
That was the magic of those days. The whole house would pause — parents, kids, whoever was in the room — because you knew something fun was coming. And decades later, it still works. Just reading the words “Plop Plop, Fizz Fizz” probably brought the whole thing rushing back.
I have vague memories of Farfel the dog himself, but that Nestlé’s jingle? That’s burned in there for life.
You know exactly what I’m talking about.
🎵 “N-E-S-T-L-E-S… Nestlé’s makes the very best…” 🎵 …and then that voice comes in to finish it… “…chaaawwwwclit.”
Come on… you just heard it in your head, didn’t you?
That’s the part that stuck. Not the puppet, not even the commercial itself half the time… just that drawn-out delivery that somehow made it impossible to forget.
Now Farfel, for those who might not remember him as clearly, was this floppy-eared puppet dog created and voiced by Jimmy Nelson. He wasn’t flashy, wasn’t over-the-top… just kind of laid back, almost like he couldn’t be bothered to finish the word properly. And funny enough, that “lazy” delivery wasn’t even planned—it came from a mistake where the puppet’s mouth snapped shut early, and instead of fixing it, they kept it. Best decision they ever made.
And here’s something I was thinking about… back then, puppets didn’t creep us out the way they seem to today. You look at some of the comments online now and kids are like, “That thing is nightmare fuel!” Meanwhile, we were sitting there in the living room, probably on the floor, completely fine with it. No second thought. It was just part of the show.
Different time. Different mindset.
The commercial itself was simple. No crazy effects, no fast cuts, no overproduction. Just a catchy jingle, a memorable voice, and a brand like Nestlé making sure you never forgot their name. And it worked—because here we are, decades later, still singing it like it aired yesterday.
And that’s really the magic of those old commercials. They didn’t need to hit you over the head… they just slipped in, nice and easy, and stayed there.
Now I’ve got to ask… do you remember Farfel more, or is it the jingle that stuck with you like it did with me?
