Remember That Time That Procter and Gamble’s CEO Sold His Soul?

If you were around in the 1980s, you may recall the big kerfuffle about Procter & Gamble and its association with the Church of Satan.

The subject generally came up when talking about a very special episode of Phil Donahue’s talk show. Specifically, it was the one in 1985 where the President of Procter & Gamble casually strolled onto the set, looked into the camera, and proudly announced, “Yep, we’re totally funding the Church of Satan, and by the way, our logo is full of devilish symbols.”

Oh, wait. Was it 1985? Actually, some folks swear it aired in 1982 — or possibly 1989.

Well, here’s the twist: it never happened. Not in 1982, not in 1985, not in 1989—not ever. Procter & Gamble has never had any connection to the Church of Satan. In fact, the Church of Satan itself—which you’d think would be flattered by the free publicity—has described the claim as “completely false.” But since when has the truth ever been a match for a juicy rumor?

The Birth of a Beastly Corporate Rumor

To understand how P&G found itself accused of being Lucifer’s favorite soap supplier, we need to rewind to a particularly paranoid time in American history: the Satanic Panic. From the late 1970s through the 1990s, the U.S. was gripped by a growing fear of Satanic cults lurking in every shadow—thanks to cultural milestones like the Manson Family trial and The Exorcist. It was the perfect storm of media hysteria and public gullibility.

Enter British sociologist Stanley Cohen, who in 1972 coined the term “moral panic” in his book Folk Devils and Moral Panics. Moral panics, Cohen explained, are those societal freak-outs where something—or someone—is suddenly perceived as a dire threat to the status quo. The media, never ones to pass up a good scare story, latch on and blow things out of proportion until everyone is clutching their pearls.

It was during this time that parents worried about the reports that their children’s favorite rock and roll songs, when played backwards, contained hidden evil commands such as: “let your hair grow long,” “do drugs,” and “buy more rock and roll with hidden backward messages.” Rinse and repeat.

In March 1980, The Minneapolis Tribune published an article titled “Rumor Giving Company a Devil of a Time,” reporting accusations that Procter & Gamble’s logo contained hidden Satanic imagery. The offending logo? A man in the moon peering out over 13 stars—which, according to conspiracy theorists, was basically a neon sign reading “Hail Satan.”

Tressie Rose, a spokesperson for P&G, tried to set the record straight: “[The logo] was first developed by wharf hands to mark STAR candle crate boxes. We then decided to formalize it, created the graphic, 13 stars for the 13 original American colonies. It was officially trademarked in 1882, but the incorporation of a face in the moon happened before that.” But, as you might expect, logic and historical facts didn’t stand a chance against a good old-fashioned conspiracy.

Jim Peters: The Man, The Myth, The Moral Panic

Enter Jim Peters, music director at the Zion Christian Life Center in St. Paul, Minnesota. Peters wasn’t just any church music director—he was part of a family of anti-rock crusaders who had already made headlines with a record-burning campaign in 1978. The strategy was a bit dubious — burn the offending records so impressionable teenagers won’t be influenced by them, but first you have to buy up all of the records, thus enriching the artists who created the stuff in the first place.

Peters claimed he’d found the P&G logo in a book by British Egyptologist E.A. Wallis Budge titled Amulets and Superstitions. According to Peters, this was all the proof needed to connect P&G to Satanic rituals. The company’s PR team, no doubt rolling their eyes so hard they could see their own brains, responded, “This is the kind of rumor we can’t do anything about… People will believe what they want to.”

Spoiler alert: they were right. People believing what they want to believe is exactly why a lot of folks think that Paul McCartney died back in 1967, but that’s another story.

The Rumor That Wouldn’t Die

Just when it seemed like the story might fade into obscurity, it reared its horned head again in January 1982. Newspapers across the Midwest began running headlines like “Soap Baron Battles Devilish Rumors,” adding spicy new details. This time, people claimed that the curls in the moon man’s beard and hair formed the number six—and because there were three curls, that obviously meant “666,” the mark of the beast. Admittedly, we thought our 7th grade teacher’s perm was just further evidence that she was an alien life form, so we can’t entirely dismiss the logic.

In June and July of 1982 alone, P&G received 15,000 calls and letters about the alleged Satanic connection. The company launched an aggressive media campaign to fight back, but as we all know, once the devil’s in the details, it’s hard to exorcise him.

Learn about the strange Curse of Colonel Sanders

P&G, in an attempt to squash the nonsense, filed lawsuits against several people spreading the rumors—including, bizarrely, an Atlanta weatherman. But the rumors had already gained momentum, fueled by leaflets, late-night gossip, and the rumor grapevine.

By 1985, the rumor had mutated yet again, with The New York Times reporting on leaflets being distributed in New York City, warning citizens of P&G’s supposed diabolical dealings. Even dropping the controversial logo in April 1985 backfired spectacularly—instead of calming fears, it convinced people the company had something to hide.

When Multi-Level Marketing Gets Multi-Level Weird

Just when you thought it couldn’t get stranger, in the 1990s, P&G found itself battling an unexpected foe: Amway distributors. Yes, the folks selling you cleaning supplies were now accusing P&G of funneling profits to the Church of Satan. Twice—in 1990 and again in 1995—Amway reps were caught using their voicemail system to spread the rumor.

P&G sued, and after a decade-long legal saga, finally won a civil suit against the Amway distributors in 2007. You’d think that would be the end of it, but rumors, like cockroaches, are notoriously hard to kill.

The Logo Returns—And So Might the Rumors

In 2013, P&G brought back a moon-like design to its corporate logo. Whether this will summon a fresh wave of hysteria remains to be seen—but in an era where a single internet posting can convince people that Finland doesn’t exist, who knows what the future holds for P&G.

Psychologist Rob Brotherton, author of Suspicious Minds: Why We Believe Conspiracy Theories, explains why these kinds of stories persist: “A lot of our beliefs, conspiracy theories included, are based on how well they fit with our intuition.” In other words, once people get an idea in their heads, no amount of logic or evidence can shake it loose. As Brotherton puts it, “Getting people to slow down and process claims more analytically… is easier said than done.”

And that, dear readers, is how Procter & Gamble found itself battling not just grime and grease, but also the Prince of Darkness himself.

So next time you pick up a box of Tide, remember: we can’t guarantee that it will clean your clothes to your satisfaction, but we’re pretty sure it’s not going to stain your soul.

---