Advertiser-supported entertainment is nothing new. Since medieval times, people could see free entertainment right in their hometown as long as they listened to a sales pitch for dubious remedies along with the singing, dancing, and side show acts. Sales of snake oil and other patent medicines paid for the show and then some. Like other forms of traveling entertainment, the medicine show lost its luster when people gained the opportunity to go see movies instead. The medicine show had one last hurrah during the 20th century in the form of Hadacol.
LeBlanc ran into some trouble with the FDA over the patent medicines he was selling in 1941. Rather than deal with defending products that weren't all that profitable, he stopped making Dixie Dew Cough Syrup and Happy Day Headache Powders. Then he came up with something better. The story LeBlanc told was that he was suffering from pain in his big toe, and the only doctor who could help him wouldn't share the recipe for the medicine he used. So LeBlanc stole some from an inattentive nurse and research the ingredients on the label. From that information, he developed Hadacol. The name was short for Happy Day Company, with an L for LeBlanc. However, many years later when someone asked how he named the drug, LeBlanc said "Well, I hadda call it something."
Hadacol was a mixture of vitamins B1 and B2, iron, niacin, calcium, phosphorous, honey, and diluted hydrochloric acid in 12% alcohol. The alcohol content wasn't all that high, but the hydrochloric acid meant it was delivered through the body faster than it would be otherwise. The mixture really made people feel better, although it wasn't a cure for the many diseases it was advertised for: high blood pressure, ulcers, strokes, asthma, arthritis, diabetes, pneumonia, anemia, cancer, epilepsy, gall stones, heart trouble, and hay fever. And that was only the beginning.
What made Hadacol a success was LeBlanc's advertising ingenuity. He explored ways to promote his product that took the public by surprise -and worked. He kept supplies low in some pharmacies to create demand. He paid people for their testimonies, which sometimes crossed the line to ridiculous.
"Two months ago I couldn't read nor write. I took four bottles of Hadacol, and now I'm teaching school."