Wednesday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from the early 19th century, I think. In this ad, there’s some pretty funny text, beginning with that it’s “First Choice Among Connoisseurs.” But “Cleanliness a certainty — the light bottle does it,” is pretty good, too.
Between 1951 and 1953, P. Ballantine and Sons Brewing Company, or simply Ballentine Beer, created a series of ads with at least thirteen different writers. They asked each one “How would you put a glass of Ballantine Ale into words?” Each author wrote a page that included reference to their beer, and in most cases not subtly. One of them was Henry Morton Robinson, who was reasonably well known in 1951, when his ad ran.
Today is the birthday of Henry Morton Robinson (September 7, 1898–January 13, 1961), who “was an American novelist, best known for A Skeleton Key to Finnegans Wake written with Joseph Campbell and his 1950 novel The Cardinal, which Time magazine reported was ‘The year’s most popular book, fiction or nonfiction.'”
His piece for Ballantine was done in the form of his reminiscences about how Ballantine Ale has helped him relax over the years:
If Ballantine Ale didn’t exist, it would be necessary to invent it.
The tensions generated by modern life begin to lessen for me whenever I pluck a dewy-cold bottle of Ballantine Ale from the refrigerator. Anticipation mounts as I snap off the cap with its familiar three rings. There’s a promissory gurgle in the neck of the green bottle, then a swirl of full-bodied amber ale into my tilted glass. I watch the creamy collar rise to the brim — and the ritual of pouring is complete.
A sip, a swallow, a draught — according to my mood. Deep speaks to deep, as thirst and tension vanish together. Relaxed, I savor the distinctive after-tang prized by everyone who has ever tasted this hefty brew.
I lift glass and bottle to gauge my remaining measure of enjoyment. I’m prolonging, not scanting, an experience that will be repeated when I open another bottle of Ballantine Ale to be my companion at lunch or dinner.
Tuesday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from 1939. In this ad, like yesterday’s ad, it’s all about the action! “Wherever there’s action — wherever people are doing things — you’ll find Miller High Life. There’s a blithe lift to this sparkling, amber brew that puts it in time with action and fun,” whatever that means.
Monday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from 1939. In this ad, it looks like a scene from the beginning of a traditional English fox hunt, shot from fox level. And naturally you’d need a beer before following your highly-trained dogs around on horseback as they do the actual work of hunting the fox. I didn’t know that fox hunting was even a thing in the U.S., but apparently it’s still legal here even today (unlike in England, which banned it in 2005). But I love this in the text. “Wherever there’s action — wherever people are doing things — you’ll find Miller High Life.” So anywhere anyone is moving? So pretty much anywhere outside cemeteries and maybe mortuaries?
Sunday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from 1966. In this ad, four manly men are playing cards in a den. There are snacks on the table, and plenty of Miller High Life. But three of them at least know enough to drink it out of a glass mug, while the fourth is leaning by the fireplace, can in hand. That must be while he’s out of the game.
Saturday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from 1952. The All American Favorites they’re referring to in the ad are “those palate-pleasing touchdown twins” — beer and cheese. It’s nice, and slightly surprising, to see cheese and beer being referred to as “All American Favorites” so early in the 1950s.
Friday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from 1952. What’s the “Recipe for Pleasure?” “Take golden, buttery popcorn — salty peanuts — crunchy pretzels … crisp potato chips or cheese-topped crackers … and top them off with refreshing delicious Miller High Life.” I guess Miller decided to ditch making high life a high-end beer.
Thursday’s ad is for Miller High Life, from 1966. Showing the then-modern Miller brewery, with a shadow of the original castle which Miller claimed was where Miller High Life began in Württemberg, along the Danube River in 1855. Ah, the modernity of the Sixties.
Wednesday’s ad is for Carlsberg, from the 1920s or 30s, I think. It was done by Alfred Schmidt, a well-know Danish illustrator, caricaturist and painter. He did four paneled ads, each one with the tagline “Min Deglige Drik,” which means “My Daily Drink.” In this ad, number four of four, our intrepid man finally gets to taste his bottle of Carlsberg Pilsner. I don’t need to translate his response. “A-A-AH!” is fairly universal.
Tuesday’s ad is for Carlsberg, from the 1920s or 30s, I think. It was done by Alfred Schmidt, a well-know Danish illustrator, caricaturist and painter. He did four paneled ads, each one with the tagline “Min Deglige Drik,” which means “My Daily Drink.” In this ad, number three of four, after having poured his bottle of Carlsberg Pilsner into a glass and holding it up to the sunlight, our intrepid man says “Sikken en Farve Saa Sumk,” or essentially “what a beautiful color.”
