Friday’s ad brings Budweiser ad week to a close. This ad is from 1952, when A-B celebrated their 100th anniversary since the company that would become Anheuser-Busch first opened their doors in 1852. I can’t say the woman looks particularly happy on her wedding day, though perhaps it’s because the grooms looks a little too much like Snidely Whiplash with that cheesy mustache and the top hat.
Thursday’s ad is yet another Budweiser ad, this one from 1949. It, too, shows a party, though this one looks like it’s a “Gone With the Wind” costume party. Or did people really throw parties that looks like this in post-war America? “My, my. It’s so hot. But at least it’s not sticky. I just hare it when it’s sticky.” Now give me a beer.
Wednesday’s ad is still another Budweiser ad, this one from 1956. Like yesterdays, it shows a woman’s domestic struggles at pleasing her man, this time in putting on the best dinner party. One woman in a cocktail dress is whispering to another, who’s combing her hair, about another woman who’s skills as a hostess make her “real competition.” In part, that’s because she insists on always serving Budweiser. But you knew that had to be the reason, right? I can’t imagine why feminist groups often accuse alcohol ads of portraying woman in a less-than-flattering light.
Tuesday’s ad is another Budweiser ad. I’m not sure of the date, but based on the car I’d say Fifties. After getting married, the coy-looking bride found “She Married Two Men” Then the ad copy goes on to say that “all women do.” That’s apparently because there’s an inner and outer men. “And think of all the planning that goes into meals to make him contented.” Or if he’s so hard to please, he could just make his own damn meals. But I love the post script. “It’s a fact: Budweiser has delighted more husbands than any other brew ever known.” Single people? Not so much, apparently. I can’t imagine how they compiled that statistic, because I’m sure they must have the numbers to back it up stretching all the back into recorded history. After all, they wouldn’t have just made it up, now would they?
Monday’s ad is a Budweiser ad from 1944, during World War 2. The slogan being “The Minuteman is Still the Man of the Hour, the ad is comparing the colonial minutemen to the soldiers then fighting the war. The ad is surprisingly low key, and is very little about selling, with the only sales pitch at all simply being the logo, bottle and glass with just some small print about the brand.
I used to think of Slate’s online magazine as cutting edge stuff, but lately their coverage, at least of things I know something about, shows them to be staunchly conservative. Given that they’re owned by the Washington Post, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised.
Today an article by William Saletan on the web titlebar is known by the more balanced title “MADD vs. Rick Berman’s American Beverage Institute: Who’s Right About Drunken Driving?” but on the webpage itself by the much less so “Mad at MADD: Alcohol merchants say you shouldn’t donate to Mothers Against Drunk Driving. Really?” (I’m hardly perfect, but I still can’t help but point out it’s not usually referred to as “drunken driving,” but “drunk driving.”)
The article itself is all smoke and mirrors, and starts out by trying to sound reasonable, before veering way off the rails of reasonableness, much like MADD itself, who the author wastes no time in defending. What got apparent MADD-shill William Saletan’s hackles raised was that someone had the temerity to suggest that the neo-prohibitionist organization was not ready for sainthood. Specifically, the American Beverage Institute released a press release pointing out that “Mothers Against Drunk Driving Receives Another ‘D’ from Charity Rating Guide.” The fact that their press release is true seems not to matter, nor is the fact that this is not the first year that MADD’s rating as a charity has been called into question. Saletan accuses the release of “shouting,” as if a press release could shout without turning on the ALL CAPS. Hey Bill, LISTEN UP; that’s how you shout in print.
But his real beef is that he seems to believe that the ABI shouldn’t be allowed to criticize MADD since they’re a trade organization that represents the interests of alcohol producers, therefore anything they have to say on the subject is suspect. It’s an argument that has some merit, but only if it works both ways. MADD has been twisting facts for decades, but when they do it it’s in the service of a higher purpose, therefore it’s allowed, one has to guess.
Then Saletan goes on to accuse the ABI of having its own agenda, that of weakening drunken-driving regulations and claims that essentially ABI wants people to drive drunk, and they probably hate dogs and children, too. I’m exaggerating — only slightly — but the point is that he takes the position that everything ABI does is evil and everything MADD does is benign and well-intentioned. The irony, of course, is that nothing could be further from the truth.
Saletan argues that “ABI has fought MADD on nearly every alcohol-related issue” and that “ABI doesn’t argue for moderation,” despite the fact that the top of their home page includes the phrase “Drink Responsibly, Drive Responsibly.” His dripping sarcasm would be easier to take without such hypocrisy. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge that there might even be a reason why the ABI might oppose an organization like MADD, whose very being is to undermine every aspect of the alcohol industry. MADD, and other neo-prohibitionist organizations, have been attacking the alcohol industry virtually non-stop since prohibition ended yet Saletan doesn’t seem to believe that the ABI even has the right to defend themselves.
The fact that he refers to the ABI as using “extremism” is almost laughable, especially given his own attempt to smear ABI president Rick Berman by using examples of non-alcohol lobbying and companies. He suggests that while he doesn’t “know enough about MADD’s finances to tell you whether MADD is the best investment of your charitable dollars,” he “can say this: Any organization Berman has vilified is probably worth giving money to.” Saletan ends by stating that “if they’re [other non-profits] pissing off Rick Berman, they must be doing something right.” Well, at least that’s not extremism. Nothing personal there. Just some nice, balanced reporting like any good mainstream news outlet. Present the facts and let the reader decide. Uh-huh.
Saletan conveniently ignores that even MADD found Candy Lightner left the organization she founded several years ago because of their growing extremism.
MADD also ranks poorly with another charitable giving guide. Charity Navigator gives MADD an overall rating of 1 of 4 stars, the lowest level rating reserved only for a charity that “fails to meet industry standards.”
These dismal ratings reveal a shift in MADD’s mission. In the words of its own founder Candy Lightner: MADD “has become far more neo-prohibitionist than I had ever wanted or envisioned … I didn’t start MADD to deal with alcohol. I started MADD to deal with the issue of drunk driving.”
No surprises there. Saletan’s screed is typical. He ignores what doesn’t fit his personal world view and rails against everything else. He also states that “ABI is waging PR wars” against MADD and others, while MADD’s own warlike propaganda campaign is not even acknowledged.
Curiously, ABI is pretty much the only alcohol trade group I know of that consistently fights back against MADD and the other anti-alcohol groups. Most try to get along as best they can, a fool’s errand IMHO. It didn’t work for Neville Chamberlain, and I don’t believe appeasement will work in this case, either. So, naturally, ABI has to be vilified. How dare they defend their livelihoods? How dare they defend themselves when attacked? We in the alcohol industry are pure evil, or so it seems every time I read one of these hatchet jobs. But somebody has to shout back. Somebody has to remind these people that the majority of alcohol drinkers do so responsibly and in moderation. Somebody has to point out that there are, in fact, at least two sides to every story. Too bad Slate decided only one side needed to be told.
Last week, you may recall, that for the weekly beer in art last week I featured some sketches by French artist Gustave Doré. Those sketches were preliminary works that eventually were turned into engravings that became part of a larger work known as Doré’s London: A Pilgrimage, published in 1872. The final engravings appeared in Chapter 16 of the book, titled “The Town of Malt.” Digging a little further, I stumbled upon the text of Chapter 16, along with the six engravings that accompanied it. It’s an interesting time capsule and look backwards into what brewing was like in late 17th century London. Enjoy.
In the Brewery
Among the earliest of risers in London are those who supply it with its beer. Having seen the opening of Covent Garden Market on a summer morning (and there is not a more striking picture by the banks of the Thames), stroll along the Strand and Fleet Street, alive with newsboys and newsmen, and home-returning compositors; through Thames Street, over Southwark Bridge, to Park Street. Your nose will lead you to the town of Malt …
Mixing the Malt
… and Hops. The massive drays are out; the prodigious draymen are arrayed in their leather, that would gall any limbs but theirs of Titan build ; the stately horses that are the astonishment of the foreigner and the pride of the English brewer are tossing their noble heads and pawing the ground. The barrels are rolling and swinging in all directions. Thirsty London is being attended to, with a will: and with perfect order, under the control of matutinal clerks and overseers. Before the ordinary tradesman has touched his shutters, lumbering processions of heavily laden drays are debouching on various quarters of London, bearing the famous “entire” to scores of customers.
Within the gates are the government houses of the town of Malt and Hops, in which there are upwards of forty officials, who direct the coming and going, the filling and repairing, the brewing and selling of a rolling army of something like eighty thousand barrels. Their domain covers an acre of land, and comprises several streets bridged by light iron bridges, that look slight as spider-webs from the pavements.
A journey through the town of Malt and Hops is heavy work. The departments are many, and are all spacious. They follow in well-considered sequence. The mashing, the boiling, the cooling, the fermenting, the cleansing, the barrel-filling, the storing, the despatching, are so many departments of the government; with a sustaining aroma holding all in one atmosphere and which keeps the mind in an unbroken train of thought even when contemplating the stables where the famous horses are kept as daintily as in the Royal Mews. Perhaps the first startling scene in the round is the mash-tun.
Mashing is the elementary process of beer making, and the object …
St. Paul’s from the Brewery Bridge
… of these strange workers with wooden spades is to mix the malt thoroughly with the water. The result is an amber liquid, called wort, lakes of which we proceed to view, lying placidly in tanks. During its progression to perfect beer the sweet wort grows sour. On its way it is pumped up from the cool lakes into gigantic copper boilers, and boiled with great care, for here the experienced and learned brewer shows himself. The boiling satisfactorily done, the wort flows out into broad lakes, airily situated, where it can become …
The Great Vats
Brewer’s Men
… rapidly cool, without getting sour; and then it gradually subsides into these prodigious gyle tuns, about which staircases are ranged, and in which you would have to drag carefully for the body of an elephant. In these towers, against which men look like flies, the wort ferments and we have porter, or “entire.” I should explain that “entire” is a combination of the qualities of three beers, that, in primitive London brewing days, were made separately, and mixed from different barrels in the customer’s glass. Hence the “Barclay, Perkins and Co.’s Entire” that is all over England, and the painting of which upon gaudy signboards occupies a distinct department in the town of Malt.
Looking over London from one of the high-perched galleries that traverse the streets of these mighty brewers’ realm, with St. Paul’s dominating the view from the north, our guide gently interposes the figure of Mr. Thrale, and his illustrious friend, that Londoner among Londoners, Samuel Johnson. We are upon classic ground. Where the coopers are overhauling hundreds of damaged barrels, and giving them their proper adjustment of hoops; where the red-capped draymen are gossiping in groups; where the enormous butts are ranged; where the smiths are shoeing the colossal horses, and where the 300 feet of stables stretches; Samuel Johnson lounged and talked, -and worked at his dictionary, under the protecting friendship of Mr. Thrale, then owner of the brewery. The rough old Doctor was executor to the will under which Mr. Thrale’s property passed into the families of its present owners, who have realised his description of its capabilities by extending it until it has become one of the representative industries of the world. “We are not,” said executor Johnson “to sell a parcel of boilers and vats, but the potentiality of growing rich beyond the dream of avarice.” The boilers and vats of the city of Malt realised £135,000, even when Messrs. Barclay and Perkins bought it.
How much would the boilers and vats: the drays and barrels, realise to-day?
The potentiality of growing rich beyond the dream of avarice may not have been reached even now by the firm; but a good step along the doctor’s highway has been taken. If “he who drinks beer thinks beer,” this must be a beer-thinking age, for how many foaming tankards take their laughing rise in this town of Malt! How many hop-yards to feed these vats and lakes? A humorous speculator, who accompanied us, and sat in a little office where we finally tasted the various brews, suggested, …
The Brewer’s Dray
“Yes, and how many temperance advocates do these stupendous men and horses keep going, the ungrateful varlets!”
“There’s a good deal of ‘talkee’ yet to be done, sir,” a sensible drayman said to us, flirting a flower between his lips as he spoke, “before they teach English workmen that there’s sin and wickedness in a pint of honest beer.”
And with this he set his heavy dray in motion.
This week’s work of art is by Gerard de la Barthe, a 18th century French artist, as re-created by an English printmaker, painter and draughtsman named J.S. Barth. The painting/print is known as A View of the Genuine Beer Brewery Golden Lane, Established 1804.
One of the original prints is in the collection of the British Museum, which was completed in 1807. The scene depicts the brewery in a wide angle shot that also shows part of the city of London from the same year.
Unfortunately, there’s little information about the original artist, Gerard de la Barthe.
Our 82nd Guinness is a simple one, showing an anthropomorphized Guinness pint sitting, rather then his usual standing position. He’s got both his arms and legs folded/crossed although he is still smiling. The tagline reads “Have a Guinness when you’re tired.”
Friday’s ad is a third one for Schlitz, again from 1952, and it shows another housewife bringing a Schlitz to another husband, though this time instead of reading the newspaper, he’s doing his taxes. I’m sure that will help reduce the number of crumpled pieces of paper.
