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This was more than just an ugly intruder on previously leadz.io review . This opened the gates for a massive migration onto the Web. Companies scrambled to get their names online, and one way they did that in addition to creating their own pages was to advertise on other sites, and to link those ads back to their pages. Of course, they had no way of knowing how many people arrived at their sites by way of the ads, although today that’s the kind of simple, basic stuff we take for granted. But
HotWired was the very first site to track ad response and, most importantly, made that information available to advertisers. We take it for granted now, and even consider banner ads passé, but the implication was enormous. For the first time websites could compete for advertisers with the support of actual numbers. This was huge. Banner ads changed John Reese’s auto-responder business. It started with his customers asking if they could put text ads for their products into his auto-responses. These text ads soon became banner ads, and before he knew it, Reese was in the banner ad brokering business. And paying his bills.
Gimme Fever One of the hot catchphrases in the industry these days is “viral marketing,” the process where various introductions to something new spread and self-replicate, causing its popularity to grow exponentially. As with a lot of marketing concepts, it’s an old standard with a new name (traditional marketing used to call it “word of mouth” or sometimes “whisper campaign”), although occasionally a new twist may get added. Internet Marketing—and even the Web itself—succeeded in large part through viral marketing, although it was not anyone’s carefully orchestrated campaign. It was just “Dude, you have got to check this out,” repeated over and over until it reached critical mass. You can trace this spread starting with almost any early adopter, but let’s follow just one trade route so you get the bigger view. We’ll pick a pioneer: Jonathan Mizel, a former salesman living in the San Francisco Bay area. Mizel explored the bulletin boards, Usenet groups and classifieds from the very beginning, and in mapping out his travels he discovered a way to get his ads posted in the most visible spot in certain online classifieds. Naturally he wrote up a little guidebook, and started selling it online. That was his first-ever Internet Marketing product. Michael Enlow, as I mentioned earlier, was already a serious power user of the classifieds and bulletin boards in those early, pre-web days. Around the time Mizel was figuring out how to work the system, Enlow started a newsletter that he posted to several bulletin boards. In it he sold both his own products and those of others, and occasionally touted some up-and-comer who’d caught his attention. When Enlow plugged Mizel’s guidebook, its sales picked up serious momentum. Mizel was off to a great start, and meanwhile more people felt more confident about getting into the marketplace. More people means more customers.
When he was first starting out, Mizel often hung out after hours at a funky leadz.io review store where techies and marketing type people from all the hot computer companies—Apple, Macromedia—got together with their guitars and drums and what have you for a regular jam session. One of the people Mizel met there was a multimedia expert named Declan Dunn. Some years later, when Mizel started a seminar company, he tapped his old friend Declan Dunn to be “the online guy”; the “copy guy” was Marlon Sanders. Mizel, Dunn and Sanders promoted not only other company’s seminars but held their own, hitting on average two cities every weekend and spreading the Internet gospel, regaling eager adventurer-wannabes with their tales of online derring-do. Thousands sat mesmerized by their true-life tales. More people joined the online migration. One of those attendees at a Mizel/Dunn/Sanders seminar who was revved up and ready to explore the new world was an independent auto consultant, a young Canadian from Carleton Place, Ontario, who owned two specialty car companies. Corey Rudl had spent fourteen years doing recon in the auto world, scouting out every chisel and flimflam that some unscrupulous people in the business—the folks we count on to sell, repair, and even insure our cars—could perpetrate on unsuspecting customers. Rudl turned his knowledge into Car Secrets
Revealed, a book he tried to market offline. It flopped. Nine months after he moved his promotion online, it had driven in over $140,000 in net profit and earned him so much notoriety for exposing the scammers that he was featured on The Maury Povich Show. This inspired Rudl to create another product called Insider Secrets to Marketing your Business on the Internet. In it, he compiled his Internet Marketing know-how into a product that many, many Internet Marketers now credit with jump-starting their online careers, including Tom Antion, Randy Charach, and Rosalind Gardner.
John Carlton once remarked that if you look at all the up-and-coming gurus, there’s hardly one who didn’t follow one of four guides: Carlton himself, Jay Abraham, Gary Halbert or Dan Kennedy (who was geared more to offline, non-information products). As the late Kurt Vonnegut would have said, “So it goes.” Students become teachers whose students become teachers. Is it for the money? Sure, in part. But there is also a kind of evangelistic fervor, a technological wanderlust that inspires certain people to keep pushing the boundaries farther and farther out. There are dozens of product launches each year and nearly as many seminars, and most of them involved can be traced back through the guru “lineage.” Whether they will become the gurus of tomorrow will depend on how well they were paying attention, and how well they persevere.
Business Class It’s easy to picture the earnest New Yorker bustling off the plane in 1981 headed for the Chicago offices of McGraw-Hill lugging his brand new Kaypro “portable,” a thirty-pound computer that looked more like a sewing machine than a laptop. David Garfinkel worked as a business journalist for the publisher, but his interest in and knowledge of new technology had somehow made him the in-house expert—no small thing in a technically adept crowd—on telecommunications for reporters and editors outside the main office. This was back in the days of 300 baud modems that required bulky cradles the size of tissue boxes. These had two round rubber wells to hold the phone receiver: you dialed the number, waited for the squeal, then jammed the phone into the suction holders and waited until the next millennium for the two computer systems to finish their elaborate greeting rituals. A handful of people Garfinkel knew had email addresses, but mainly the connection allowed him to 
send information and articles from one office to another, an ability that suggested all sorts of possibilities. So Garfinkel was already computer savvy and eager to learn even more when he was invited to a copywriting seminar in Key West featuring none other than the infamous Gary Halbert. Halbert’s emphasis was on direct mail and commercial copywriting, which was the same direction Garfinkel had begun to lean. A natural-born writer, Garfinkel had spent years perfecting his craft and his talents for teaching others to write. He watched the emergence of Internet Marketing with great skepticism, appalled by the excessive claims made by fly-by-night, dot-com startups and shady-sounding, get-rich-quick hypesters. But he was as intrigued by the potential as he was repulsed by the reality. Not long after the turn of the new century, a copywriting friend named Don Hauptman told Garfinkel about a newsletter that needed an editor. At the time Garfinkel had been working freelance for years, and was not too keen on the idea of getting locked into a situation with a single client and project, but when he learned more he changed his mind. He would be editing a $500-a-year subscription newsletter called What’s Working Online; ironically, it was printed and distributed offline. The readership comprised execs in such big-name corporations as Goldman Sachs, CBS, Playboy, Disney—the hot-shot companies of the day looking to establish an Internet presence. The current editor had given notice, and with no one internal in place to move up the publisher was looking frantically for a replacement. Still not 100 percent committed to the idea, Garfinkel named an outrageously high fee for what looked like a routine job without much challenge, fully expecting (and half hoping) to be turned down. He was wrong on all counts. Looking back, he says that the newsletter title ought to have been followed by a question mark and had the tagline, “not much,” as all around dot.com bubbles burst and companies without solid foot

ing crashed to the ground. But talking with people about what was and wasn’t surviving was enlightening. For the most part, the companies that were staying afloat weren’t those with snazzy online marketing programs but those that were using the workhorse efficiency of the Internet to automate some key component of their long-distance leadz.io review , such as manufacturing, shipping, or order taking—for example, Southwest Airlines, which saved millions of dollars a year by issuing tickets online. Unfortunately, soon one of the things that was not working online was the newsletter itself. The atmosphere had changed since the late 1990s, when companies had been told over and over that if they didn’t take their businesses online and forget about bricks and mortar they would be left behind—what Garfinkel called the “dot con” scare. First top managers and mid-level executives were frightened that they couldn’t stay ahead of their competitors if they didn’t fling up a fancy website with lots of the proverbial bells and whistles. Then, as the all-glitz-no-groundwork dot.coms blew up, the same companies got nervous and backed away from the Internet, frightened to get too far ahead. On January 16, 2001, the publishers told Garfinkel that he was doing a great job, absolutely top-notch, and handed him a pink slip. They just couldn’t keep the circulation up and had to cancel his contract. Garfinkel meanwhile had discovered his knack for teaching, and in late 1999 had finished putting together a tape and workbook course that he started selling through traditional sources, clearing around $5,000 in a good month. He showed his materials to his friend, fellow copywriting great, Joe Vitale. Vitale had just been recently asked by his good friend, Mark Joyner, if Vitale knew of anyone else who would be interested in digitalizing their products. Joyner had just successfully put Vitale’s videos online with great success and was wanting to do more. It was Garfinkel’s lucky day. Putting audio
online was pretty high-tech in those days, and Joyner not only knew how to do that, but how to market the stuff online too. On April 11, 2000, Aesop.com launched Garfinkel’s Killer Copy Tactics. His world changed. His life changed. His tax bracket changed. Everything changed. He made more than $60,000 that month.










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