In the 90s, bizarre rumors and urban legends spread to the masses via fax machine
Memes 1.0
Memphis police couldn’t figure it out. Frantic callers demanded more information about dangerous gang initiations in the area, specifically, one ritual known as “Lights Out.”
People told police they had heard gang members were driving around with their headlights turned off. If another driver flashed or high-beamed their lights, the gang member would follow them home and murder them.
When police asked where the concerned citizens had gotten the information, many replied that a friend or family member had faxed it to them. Even more ironic, the fax looked like an authentic police bulletin.
The “Lights Out” urban legend was one of countless schemes circulated primarily via fax machine in the 1990s and early 2000s. Think of it like email chain letters before Hotmail. The origins are murky but each myth spreads like a virus — one concerned dad faxes it to another carpool mom, ad nauseum. Some versions of faxlore still exist to this day.
In Memphis, officials finally held a press conference in August 1993. “Fax-driven rumors crisscrossed the county this week,” they announced. Not only had “Lights Out” not come from police, investigators had discovered no evidence of any related gang activity. The Memphis Commercial Appeal ran a story with the headline “Officials Deny Faxing Gang Warnings.”
But by autumn the rumor spread to Chicago, other major cities, and then nationwide — all thanks to fax machines, and widespread credulity.
In general, paper-based lore increased the spread of rumors, practical jokes, comics, and art. The introduction of the photocopier helped. The term “Xeroxlore” was coined by English professor Michael J. Preston in 1974 after office workers started manipulating and distributing fake memos or meeting agendas using their company’s “cutting-edge” copying technology.
Though Xeroxlore and faxlore spread slowly by today’s standards, from office to office, it occasionally breached city or county limits.
In the early 1990s, the “Blue Star Acid” Hoax warned parents that drug dealers were attempting to target kids by distributing temporary tattoos laced with LSD. The legend claimed tattoos came in the shape of blue stars or popular cartoon characters like Mickey Mouse or Bart Simpson. People used fax machines to circulate the rumor, though similar flyers had appeared in Mexico and the UK throughout the 1970s and 80s. (I was not allowed to wear fake tattoos in elementary school for said reason.)
For the most part, faxlore legends fizzled out or became so widespread that media were compelled to discredit rumors. But then the World Wide Web arrived. One might envision technology would help to inform the vulnerable masses, to tuck humanity into one collective web of safety, comforted by the stability of mass-governed factuality. But have you seen Facebook lately?
The internet fanned the flames of every smoldering piece of faxlore out there. Suddenly people could forward chain letters about sick puppies and secret cookie recipes in perpetuity, to as many addresses they had saved. What’s more, they could tweak the messaging to make it resonate with their communities, ensuring wider sharing.
Sometimes it backfired. In 1989, a 9-year-old British boy named Craig Shergold had cancer. Someone made a plea on his behalf to send Craig greeting cards to lift his spirits. By May 1991, Craig had a Guinness World Record: he had received 33 million cards. Doctors operated on his tumor that year, and Craig survived…and continued to receive cards. By 1998, he had an estimated 250 million cards. President Bill Clinton and Michael Jackson even sent cards. His story had been faxed, emailed, and shared so many times that people now addressed “Craig Shelford,” “Craig Stafford,” “Craig Shefford,” or “Greg Sherwood.” After awhile, the Shergold family got its own postal code and, exhausted by the deluge, ultimately moved away.
As internet users became more savvy, many were able to roll their eyes at hoaxes like “Lights Out.” Most just sink into the internet abyss.
But the staying power of stories like Craig Shergold’s means some material just mutates or snowballs until it’s embedded in the social consciousness. When I got my driver’s license in 2004, my aunt sat me down with a grave face. She warned me to be careful driving at night, and to keep an eye out for cars without headlights. A friend had emailed her the news.
