The Great Thanksgiving Turkey Drop: A true historical account of chaos & feathers.

(Originally published in the email newsletter "Shakedown Street")

Every Thanksgiving, we are reminded of the wonderful, cherished, rare moments that make the holiday so very special.

In one small corner of North America, every season brings about the warm memory of a day that still personifies the holiday. When love, the spirit of giving, a little does of crass commercialism, and the need to better the existence of those around us all came into play for one day.

A day where, and when, a lesson for us all was carved in the stone of time. Well, for this story, carved in the concrete and asphalt might be a better way of putting it.

You see, every year, Thanksgiving brings tales of food, family, and football. However, no single tale is more heart-warming and, to some, infamous than The Great Turkey Drop, conceived and orchestrated by WKRP Radio in Cincinnati, Ohio. For a short time, legendary rock and roll courtesy of such icons as Dr. Johnny Fever was replaced by the equally legendary futile flapping of wings.

This wasn’t just a stunt. Oh, Mom’s stuffing forbid. It was a cataclysmic miscalculation destined to go down in history as one of humanity's most hilariously and poignant disastrous endeavors.

Now, for the first time anywhere, we are able to take you behind the fowl facade. Let us delve into the planning, execution, and aftermath of this fateful day, where witnesses stood by helpless, transfixed to their speakers by the hapless yet wonderful radio veteran newsman, Les Nessman.

The Plan That Should Never Have Hatched

This was the brainchild of station General Manager Arthur "Big Guy" Carlson, who always found himself struggling to find ways of bringing the radio station out of their ratings doldrums. What Art never knew, only later revealed after the passing of his mother, Lillian Carlson, was that she purchased the station as a tax write-off and wanted it to lose as much money as possible. Hence, she handed the reins to her media-clueless and often bumbling yet well-meaning son. Those who remember Art are to this day thankful for the loyalty of his office assistant, Jennifer Carlson, who shielded him from the harsh realities of life and kept people from making fun of his predilection for collecting toy trains.

The Turkey Drop was meant to be a public relations masterstroke, which would show the community how thankful the good people at WKRP were for their loyalty. The premise was simple and seemed to be almost foolproof. Drop live turkeys from a helicopter as a Thanksgiving giveaway. Those who catch them have an almost-instant Thanksgiving feast. In Carlson’s mind, it was a grand gesture, a way to unite the community and bolster WKRP's reputation.

Now, the key word in that paragraph is “almost”. You see, one critical detail was overlooked.

Turkeys, once almost tabbed as the National Bird until those darned bald eagles found a better publicist, while delicious when roasted, are terrible aviators.

Station staff were sworn to secrecy, and even the logistics team seemed unsure about how this event would play out. “We didn’t even know where the turkeys were coming from,” a station intern later confessed. “I thought maybe they’d parachute down or something. I found myself trying to figure out now just how to strap those chutes on the birds, but how long it would take in training them to pull the ripcord. Turns out, I was giving everyone way too much credit.”

The Execution: A Live Broadcast now part of Radio History

As the cue was given at the appropriate time and the helicopter rose into the sky, an eager crowd gathered below, hoping for free Thanksgiving dinner.

Enter Les Nessman, WKRP’s resident and veteran newsman, who provided live commentary. Les was a stalwart of the local broadcast community, and was one of those voices people trusted. While deadly serious about his journalism chops, as noted by some for his insistence in properly pronouncing the name of legendary golfer Chi Chi Rodriguez,

Nessman was a true professional in delivering narration as events unfolded before him. His iconic and dulcet tones captured the transition from festive anticipation to, unfortunately, sheer horror.

“It’s... it’s coming into view now,” Nessman began, his voice full of hope. “I see something dropping out of the helicopter. Oh, the humanity! They're turkeys! Turkeys are hitting the ground like sacks of wet cement!”

To this day, the sole remaining videotape of that moment is rarely played in public for fear of triggering long-dormant cases of PTSD. 



Post-Turkey Stress Disorder.

What followed can only be described as pandemonium. Turkeys rained down upon the unsuspecting crowd, creating a scene that one attendee described as “a cross between a horror movie and a poultry apocalypse.”

“People were screaming and running everywhere,” said an unnamed eyewitness. “One turkey took out a table full of pumpkin pies. Another landed right in a stroller, and thankfully, the baby was fine. But the stroller? Total loss. They had one heck of a time separating what was left of the turkey from the metal skeleton of the stroller”

The Aftermath: Feathers, Fury, and Fallout

When the helicopter finally landed and the dust (and feathers) settled, the event left a trail of devastation. Emergency services arrived to treat minor injuries—mostly bruises and turkey-related trauma. None of the first responders on scene had ever before been forced to deal with what happened when a 50 pound fowl landed on human heads.

Attendees were understandably shook.

“They didn’t even cook the birds,” said one disgruntled shopper. “If I’m getting hit by a turkey, it better at the very least be basted!”

Proving that a befuddled nature was one of his lovable quirks, the words spoken by Art Carlson remain legendary. “As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly.” To his final days, "Big Guy" never understood why something with such a plethora of feathers couldn’t even glide, much less fly.

His words encapsulated the sheer naivety of the entire endeavor, turning Nessman into a reluctant folk hero of botched promotions everywhere. There are numerous stories of various radio and other broadcasts promotions going awry and someone summing up the affair with something such as, “well, those damn turkeys did it again”. This despite, of course, the entire affair not being any fault of the turkeys who were there.



May they rest in peace. Or pieces. Take your pick.

Interviews with Survivors

Marge, a local baker: “I was selling pies at a booth when the turkeys started falling. One of them landed smack in my display! My pecan pie was ruined. People started grabbing my other pies to use as shields. It was total chaos.”

Tommy, a nine-year-old spectator: “I thought it was going to be cool, but then a turkey landed on my dad’s car and smashed the windshield. Dad said some words I’m not allowed to repeat.”

Arthur Carlson, years later: “I’ll admit, it wasn’t my best idea. But at least people remember it, right?”

Indeed they do, Art. Indeed they do.

Lessons Learned (or Not)

The Great Turkey Drop of Cincinnati has since become a cautionary tale for marketers everywhere. It is a testament to the importance of planning, common sense, and understanding basic aerodynamics. Still, one must admire the audacity of WKRP for attempting something so outlandishly original.

Would a modern-day event like this be allowed to happen? Unlikely, thanks to liability laws and animal rights activists. But there’s something undeniably nostalgic about the sheer absurdity of the Turkey Drop. It harkens back to a time when live stunts were the norm, and PR disasters were met with laughter rather than lawsuits.

A Thanksgiving Legacy

In the end, the Turkey Drop wasn’t just a failure; it was an event that transcended its own absurdity to become a cultural touchstone. It reminded us that ambition without practicality often ends in hilarity, and sometimes, feathers.

So, this Thanksgiving, as you carve your perfectly cooked turkey, take a moment to reflect on those who sacrificed more than stuffing for the sake of a promotional moment. Let us be thankful for lessons learned and for the enduring legacy of WKRP, proving once and for all that even the most disastrous ideas can be remembered fondly.

Despite the fact not a drumstick survived.

Pass the gravy, please.

When not debating the type of cranberry sauce that should be served at the Thanksgiving repast, Ed Berliner is the Editorial Director and Lead Columnist for the email newsletters, "Shakedown Street" and "The Business Beagle". Don't miss a single episode or stories such as this by subscribing today