This essay originally published in the Sunday, Jan. 26, 2025 edition of the Fortune Archives newsletter.
Roy T. Hurley was “a troubled man.” The 63-year-old chairman and president of the aviation and manufacturing company Curtiss-Wright had seen enormous success in a series of executive roles, Fortune journalist Francis Bello explained in a feature published 65 years ago. But within the space of one year, Hurley had lost three friends and one associate—all of them men—to heart attacks. Hurley, whom Bello describes as “trim if not precisely slender,” was worried that he might be headed for a similar fate.
It’s common knowledge today that excess weight, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol can increase the risk of a coronary crisis, but in 1959 Hurley’s discovery of these truths came as a shock. Hurley decided against adopting an exercise regimen because he did not have “the time or the inclination,” but he resolved to overhaul his diet. Following medical advice, he cut out bacon, butter, pastries, and creamy soups, among other things, and started taking “supplemental vitamins as ‘insurance’” for any missing nutrients. On his diet, Hurley lost more than 30 pounds and cut his cholesterol levels nearly in half.
The article goes on to explain that most nutritionists at the time rejected “the notion that an excess of vitamins can produce a state of ‘super’ health.” And indeed the value of nutritional supplements remains the subject of intense debate, as I explored in a recent feature for Fortune magazine on AG1, a $100-a-month green powder that claims to offer science-backed “foundational nutrition” when mixed into a glass of water each morning.
Thanks to the endorsement of A-list celebrities and myriad well-known podcasters, AG1 (formerly known as Athletic Greens) has become a wellness juggernaut that is rolling out to a broader audience and projecting $600 million in annual revenue for 2024. Meanwhile, the debate over the efficacy of the product is accelerating in the wellness world, and the scientists and nutritionists I spoke with were skeptical of the company’s claims that the powder can improve digestion, reduce stress, support heart health, and more.
One thing is clear: Whether it’s a 1950s business executive gulping down vitamins or the wildly popular podcaster Joe Rogan praising his daily glass of green juice as “a science-backed solution for energy, focus, and high performance,” the quest for a quick fix to help us live longer, richer, healthier lives hasn’t changed much. And the business of selling hope to those troubled by the prospect of their own mortality is still booming.
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