The following article is from http://www.socialsecurity.gov/history/ssn/misused.html:
The most misused Social Security Number of all time was 078-05-1120.
In 1938, wallet manufacturer the E. H. Ferree Company in Lockport, New York, decided to promote its product by showing how a Social Security card would fit into its wallets. A sample card, used for display purposes, was inserted in each wallet. Company Vice President and Treasurer Douglas Patterson thought it would be a clever idea to use the actual Social Security Number of his secretary, Mrs. Hilda Schrader Whitcher.
The wallet was sold by Woolworth stores and other department stores all over the country. Even though the card was only half the size of a real card, was printed all in red, and had the word “specimen” written across the face, many purchasers of the wallet adopted the SSN as their own. In the peak year of 1943, 5,755 people were using Hilda’s number. The Social Security Administration acted to eliminate the problem by voiding the number and publicizing that it was incorrect to use it. Mrs. Whitcher was given a new number. However, the number continued to be used for many years. In all, over 40,000 people reported this as their SSN. As late as 1977, 12 people were still found to be using the SSN “issued by Woolworth.”
Mrs. Whitcher recalled coming back from lunch one day to find her fellow workers teasing her about her new-found fame. They were singing the refrain from a popular song of the day: “Here comes the million-dollar baby from the five and ten cent store.”
Although the snafu gave her a measure of fame, it was mostly a nuisance. The FBI even showed up at her door to ask her about the widespread use of her number. In later years she observed: “They started using the number. They thought it was their own. I can’t understand how people can be so stupid. I can’t understand that.”
The New York wallet manufacturer was not the only one to cause confusion about Social Security numbers. More than a dozen similar cases have occurred over the years — usually when someone publishes a facsimile of an SSN using a made-up number. (The Whitcher case is far and away the worst involving a real SSN and an actual person.)
One embarrassing episode was the fault of the Social Security Board itself. In 1940 the Board published a pamphlet explaining the new program and showing a facsimile of a card on the cover. The card in the illustration used a made-up number of 219-09-9999. Sure enough, in 1962 a woman presented herself to the Provo, Utah, Social Security office, complaining that her new employer was refusing to accept her old Social Security number — 219-09-9999. When it was explained that this could not possibly be her number, she whipped out her copy of the 1940 pamphlet to prove that yes, indeed, it was her number!
Above is Hilda Whitcher holding her social security card.
And for a little more social security trivia
From the Baltimore City paper by Brennen Jensen posted 7/4/2001
How did 40,000 people come to impersonate Mrs. Hilda Schrader Whitcher? Why was Otto von Bismarck--the "Iron Chancellor"--an inspiration for President Franklin Roosevelt? Don't have a clue? Well, the answers can be found in Woodlawn, home of the Social Security Administration's History Room.
Baltimore is home to a number of niche museums--quirky repositories celebrating everything from light bulbs to dentistry equipment to circus sideshows. However, though little heralded, since 1963 it has also hosted a museum dedicated to the federal program dubbed "the largest bookkeeping operation in the history of the world." (Stifle that yawn. The place is fascinating. Really.)
Housed on the first floor of the main building within the sprawling Social Security Administration (SSA) campus, the museum is open to the public, albeit by appointment only. (Thanks to the Oklahoma City bombing, it's a little difficult to go blithely traipsing into federal buildings these days.) The place is run by SSA historian Larry DeWitt, who's happy to show folks around; about 1,000 people a year take the tour. First stop is The Pen, which DeWitt calls his "most prized possession." It's the writing instrument Roosevelt used to sign the Social Security Act into law in 1935. Next is a display chronicling the roots of the Social Security concept. It's here that a photo of a bewhiskered, spiked-helmet-clad Bismarck makes an appearance. Seems the German chancellor pioneered the concept of state pensions back in 1884. (Some 34 other countries had launched similar plans by the time the United States got around to it.)
The Depression, with its shuttered factories and bread lines, kick-started the movement here. Or, as exhibit signage puts it: proposals for dramatic social and economic change spread like weeds from the soil of the nation's discontent. This can be translated to mean that a number of wild-eyed demagogues came to the fore to capture millions of followers. Perhaps the most colorful of the demagogues were the pugnacious populist Sen. Huey "Kingfish" Long (father of "Louisiana politics," if you know what I mean and I'll bet you do) and firebrand Father Charles Coughlin, who used the airwaves to promote nationalized banking and anti-Semitism (earning him the title "the father of hate radio"). Champions of "the common man," these and other radicals didn't just want to tax the rich--they wanted to soak 'em good. (Long famously said no American should be allowed to have more than 1 million bucks, but promised each citizen a home, a car, and a radio.) The exhibit includes a video clip of Ina Ray Hutton and Her All-Girl Orchestra performing Long's theme song, "Every Man a King."
"We don't have these types of guys around anymore," DeWitt remarks.
Of course, calmer heads prevailed, and Social Security went from concept to signed law in just 14 months. Oddly enough, according to records, the first Social Security card was issued to John David Sweeney Jr., a wealthy Republican who hadn't voted for FDR. A Cleveland streetcar motorman, who retired the day after the system went into effect, is listed as the first to receive a Social Security check--for a whopping 17 cents.
The museum explains how the SSA came to be orphaned from the rest of the federal bureaucracy and placed here in Baltimore. When SSA was forming in the 1930s, no office buildings in Washington had floors strong enough to hold the gazillions of filing cabinets needed. So the SSA moved into Baltimore's rugged Candler Building (which still looms over the Inner Harbor). The move was supposed to be temporary, but as the agency bloomed--and its payroll swelled--local politicos scrambled to make sure it never left. Operations moved to Woodlawn in 1960.
One of the most recent items on display is SSA's first personal computer, a 256k IBM PC bought in 1983 from a Towson computer store. It has two, count 'em, two floppy drives, but no hard drive. The price tag: $9,600.
Oh, and what of Mrs. Hilda Schrader Whitcher? She was a secretary for a New York wallet manufacturer that, in 1938, started including a faux Social Security card in its wallets for demonstration purposes. In what, in hindsight, can be seen as a corporate blunder, company brass elected to use Whitcher's actual number--078-05-1120--on the phony card. The card was the wrong size, the wrong color, and had the word specimen emblazoned on it. No matter. Over the next 34 years, some 40,000 wallet-buyers claimed Whitcher's digits as their own. The hapless secretary, subsequently given a new number, said of the debacle, "I can't understand how people can be so stupid."