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[00:09] It's April 22nd, 1985, at the Woodruff Arts Center in Atlanta, Georgia. 54-year-old Roberto Goizueta, CEO of the Coca-Cola Company, steps onto a stage. He pauses for a fraction of a second, just long enough to take in the sea of faces in the room. Roberto is about to speak to Coca-Cola's bottlers, the independent partners who manufacture, package, and distribute the company's famous soft drinks. They're all critical to Coke's success, and without them, there's no way it would have become one of the world's most famous brands. But facing them today, Roberto feels his pulse quicken. He knows the news he's about to deliver will come as a shock to the bottlers, and he has no idea how they'll respond. So Roberto gives a small signal toward the back of the room, and servers file in, each carrying a tray of glasses filled with what looks like Coca-Cola. The bottlers lean forward, intrigued. As the servers hand out the drinks, Roberto steps up to the mic and makes a surprise announcement. The bottlers are drinking Coca-Cola, but not as they know it now. What they have in their glasses is new Coke, a completely revised recipe that will soon replace the formula Coca-Cola has used for decades. Murmurs ripple through the crowd. The guests take tentative sips of the samples, and eyes narrow in concentration. They glance around, each judging the other's reactions. Then, one bottler stands and applauds. Another joins him. The ovation builds, and within moments, the entire room is on its feet. Roberto beams back at them. It looks like his gamble is going to pay off. Roberto Goizueta's bold move to change a 100-year-old product has passed its first hurdle in Atlanta. But another challenge still lies ahead. Roberto must announce the change to the rest of the world, and he'll be caught off guard by the extreme reaction after New Coke makes its debut on April 23, 1985. I know it might seem a bit early to be thinking about this, but what is going to be under your Christmas tree this year? If you've ever asked Santa for an incredible 10-day tour of France, Germany and Austria packed with tradition, Christmas cheer and history, well, do I have good news for you? I'm putting together a winter wonderland trip to Europe and its famous Christmas markets, plus some incredible historic sites, and you can come with me. It's a small group, pretty intimate. So go to historydaily.com and look for the Christmas Market Tour section for details on the itinerary and how to sign up for the waitlist. That's historydaily.com. From Noiser and Airship, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is History Daily. History is made every day. On this podcast, every day, we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world. Today is April 23rd, 1985, the New Coke Blunder. It's April 23rd, 1985, in New York City's Lincoln Center, the morning after bottlers were told Coca-Cola would be launching new Coke. The lights are dimmed and hundreds of reporters are facing an enormous 100-foot screen as a carefully produced video begins to roll. American landmarks flash past, familiar music swells, Bruce Springsteen and other celebrities smile and raise Coke's iconic red cans and contoured bottles. The imagery is saturated with a Coca-Cola brand, bold, confident and patriotic. To one side of the stage, Coca-Cola CEO Roberto Cozüedes faces away from the screen. He's seen this montage plenty of times already, so instead he watches the audience trying to sense their reaction. And after a few moments, the compilation ends with the words, We are, we always will be Coca-Cola, all American history. As the lights come up, Roberto steps forward to the podium and reads from a prepared statement. He begins with a promise that the best has been made better. The Coca-Cola company is launching New Coke, a drink made from a brand new recipe. Years of research and extensive testing have led to this moment. Roberto describes it as a surest move that Coca-Cola has ever made. And at the end of his speech, he invites questions from the floor. Reporters shoot their hands into the air and Roberto lets out a nervous laugh. New Coke has certainly sparked their interest, but his heart sinks when he takes the first question and a reporter asks how New Coke compares to Pepsi. For more than a decade, America's soft drink giants have been locked in what the press calls the Cola Wars. Coca-Cola was once the clear market leader, selling millions of units every day. But since the 1970s, Pepsi has closed the gap with a series of smart business decisions. First came the Pepsi Challenge, a marketing campaign which featured blind taste tests showing the public preferring the taste of Pepsi. More recently, Pepsi enlisted pop superstar Michael Jackson, flooding television with ads proclaiming Pepsi as the choice of a new generation. That campaign drove sales skyward and brought Pepsi within striking distance of the top spot. So rather than sit back and allow Pepsi to take Coke's crown, Coca-Cola CEO Roberto Goizueta chose to do something bold. Hoping to change the company's narrative, he decided to reinvent his flagship product with a new formula. Roberto has already announced the news to the independent bottlers who work with Coca-Cola and they seem enthusiastic, but the reporters today are more difficult to please. Roberto deflects the first question that compares new Coke to Pepsi. He's careful not to criticize the old Coca-Cola formula either. Neither does he mention rival Pepsi by name. Instead, Roberto insists that new Coke is simply making a great product even better, and repeats his claim that new Coke beats every other drink in blind taste tests. But when he's asked to describe the taste of new Coke, Roberto hesitates. He's conscious that if he describes it as sweet, the press will jump on comparisons with sugary tasting Pepsi. But he doesn't know what else to say, so he can only offer a rambling answer that fails to articulate anything meaningful about the new flavor. The reporters in the room sense blood. Roberto's evasiveness does nothing to convince them that new Coke isn't a desperate attempt to become more like Pepsi. So for an hour, the news conference stretches on in the same way with hostile question after hostile question. Roberto is disappointed that the rollout hasn't generated the media enthusiasm he hoped for, but he's sure that when the American public tastes new Coke for themselves, they'll choose it over every other drink on the market. In the days that follow, news bulletins across the country lead with the new Coke announcement. The exposure is enormous, equivalent to nearly $100 million in advertising. But to Coca-Cola's frustration, the reporters mostly focus on the formula's sweet taste and whether new Coke has been specifically designed to be more like Pepsi. Some commentators wonder aloud if Americans will really accept such a radical change to a product so woven into the national identity. Others warn that the Coke they grew up with will soon vanish from the shelves entirely. So in at least one way, the launch of new Coke is a success. Two days after the announcement, surveys suggest that eight out of ten Americans have heard about the big switch. But awareness and acceptance are not the same thing, and Coca-Cola will soon discover just how wide that gap is. It's June 1985 at Coca-Cola's headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia, six weeks after New Coke hit store shelves across America. In a busy call center, 39-year-old marketing executive Sergio Zimon winces as an angry voice crackles through his headset. A middle-aged woman has been shouting down the line for nearly two minutes straight, furious that Coca-Cola has changed its familiar decades-old recipe. It isn't Sergio's job to try and calm her down. Thankfully for him, that task falls to the call center employee sitting beside him, and he can barely get a word in as the woman rants. Sergio's role is just to listen and summarize what she's saying. He turns to a fresh page in his notepad and jots down more notes. The woman likens new Coke to garbage water and says that Coca-Cola is unpatriotic for messing with the nation's favorite drink. Then she says that as long as new Coke stays on the shelves, she'll be drinking Pepsi instead. Sergio has listened to dozens of calls by now and they're much like this. The exact language is different, but the tone is always the same. Since new Coke went on sale two months ago, the backlash has been more severe than anyone at Coca-Cola predicted. The positive reaction Roberto Goisbetta received from bottlers back in April feels like a world away. The company's offices in Atlanta are fielding a thousand angry calls a day. There's also a petition going around that's calling for an old formula of Coke to be brought back. One customer in Seattle has even formed a lobby group called the Old Cola Drinkers of America that is demanding a national boycott. But back in the call center, Sergio has heard enough. He disconnects his headset and nods his thanks to the call center employee as the customer continues to blow off steam. Then he heads to his office to write up his report for the board. The directors are not shocked by what they read in it. They already know the mess they've created. Many have been receiving insulting and abusive letters to their own homes. But more disturbing than the hate mail is the latest sales data. New Coke was supposed to fend off the threat of Pepsi, but since its debut, sales have plummeted, especially in the southern states, a region traditionally viewed as Coke's heartland. There, vast numbers of restaurants have removed Coca-Cola from their menus. Stores have taken it off the shelves. Vending machines have been switched off. And that leaves Coca-Cola executives with a dilemma. To backtrack now would be a humiliating public relations disaster. The new recipe has cost millions to create and produce, but the company's theory that customers would embrace new Coke once they tried it has lost all credibility. Eventually, Coca-Cola's senior executives gather for an emergency meeting. The boardroom is tense as CEO Roberto Goizueta is presented with three possible courses of action. He can stand firm, reject what the critics are saying and back new Coke all the way. He can wait out the summer to see whether sales improve before making a final call, or he can reverse course and bring back old Coke immediately. Roberto listens to the options carefully, but it isn't a decision he can make lightly, so he declares that he'll announce his choice when he returns from vacation in a few weeks. Leaving his executives in suspense, Roberto then flies off to Europe. Still, there's no escaping the controversy across the Atlantic either. While having dinner in a restaurant in Monaco, Roberto has a chance encounter that puts everything into perspective. The elderly waiter shows Roberto to a table before ducking behind the bar. He returns with a basket covered by a cloth. Theatrically, the old man whisks away the cloth to present Roberto with a bottle of Coke. He tells Roberto proudly that this is original Coca-Cola, not the inferior new recipe. Roberto settles back in his seat, thinking. It seems that, just like in America, the introduction of new Coke has stirred an unexpected emotional response in Europe as well, and that helps him finally make his mind. Roberto will return from his vacation with a decision. As sales continue to tank, and customers switch to the company's main rival, Roberto will have to swallow his embarrassment and be bold. The future of Coca-Cola will depend on it. It's July 10th, 1985, at Coca-Cola Headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia, a few days after CEO Roberto Guizueta returned from vacation. As reporters and television crews crowd the lobby, company spokesman, Brandt Davis, steps up to a microphone. Papers in his hands are crumpled from nerves. He knows that tonight's news will carry his words around the world. So with his eyes rarely straying from the text in front of him, Brandt announces that old Coke is returning to stores under a new name, Coke Classic. It's the same recipe as before, with the same familiar taste. A ripple moves through the room, and a few reporters actually cheer, but Brandt isn't finished. Despite the negative coverage in the media, he insists that many Americans do prefer the taste of new Coke, so that will stay on shelves too. From now on, customers will have a choice between Coke Classic and new Coke. And although Coca-Cola presents the announcement diplomatically, the headlines tell a different story. Just 77 days after launching new Coke, the company has executed one of the most visible and embarrassing reversals in corporate history. But it is a popular decision. The company's call centers light up again with 31,000 calls over the next two days. And this time, it's grateful customers on the line who just want to thank Coca-Cola for listening. To the relief of the company's executives, that gratitude quickly translates into sales. Within months, Coke Classic has overtaken both New Coke and Pepsi and reclaimed its place as the nation's best loved soft drink. But the entire experience is a humbling one for Coca-Cola's top executives. Still, it's one they learn from. Over the next few years, the company will adjust its strategy. Rather than tamper with the flagship formula again, they will build Coca-Cola into a larger mega brand. They'll launch different varieties like Cherry Coke, but they'll always make sure to leave the original untouched. As for new Coke, it will linger on the shelves for more than a decade, its market share slowly dwindling until it's finally discontinued in 2002, 17 years after its disastrous launch on April 23, 1985. Next, on History Daily, April 24th, 1895, a sailor departs Boston, Massachusetts on an attempt to become the first person to sail around the world alone. From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily. Hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham. Audio editing by Mohamed Shazi. Sound design by Molly Bogg. Music by Throm. This episode is written and researched by Owen Paul Nichols. Edited by Scott Reeves. Managing producer, Emily Burke. Executive producers are William Simpson for Airship, Pascal Hughes for Noiser.