David Gessner has an interesting essay on the word "gusto," specifically how its use by Schlitz in '60s-era advertising campaigns devalued it. Unlike "intensity," Gessner writes, "gusto is undeniably round and unforgivably bouncy." But then Schlitz came along and took the gusto out of gusto, making it a mere euphemism for mass-produced beer. "Grab for all the gusto you can get," their ads told beer drinkers. Many grabbed for too much gusto, and the word, like the drinkers, decayed.
But so did the beer. Schlitz's demise is far more interesting than the demise of the word associated with it and far less predictable than the demise of the drinkers devoted to it. Just a few decades ago, Schlitz was America's number one beer. Tell someone under thirty this and they will laugh at you. Schlitz is now considered a beer that even cash-strapped college students wouldn't drink, somewhere beneath Natural Light and above Keystone on the beer chain. But Schlitz actually doesn't taste bad. It just suffers from a poor reputation. But why? Schlitz is a traditional, working-class beer, and its old, rip-top cans were about the coolest thing going. Along with Bud, Schlitz was the first beer I illegally purchased; I don't remember much of a stigma to it then (although as the buyer I tellingly laid claim to a share of the Bud case). But even in the late 1980s Schlitz was well on the path away from the respectable neighborhood of Bud, Coors, and Michelob and toward the alcoholic ghetto of Schaefer, Black Label, and Meisterbrau--beers drunk only by urchins who lurk outside of package stores to make beer runs for the underage (and perhaps to scoop up used scratch tickets in hopes of finding an overlooked winner).
What happened? A workers' strike in the 1950s hurt Schlitz's market share, but it wasn't fatal. Indeed, the company rebounded to joust with Anheuser-Busch over beer supremacy. The death blow was self-inflicted, coming in the late 1960s. It was called accelerated batch fermentation. This "advance" cut costs, sped up the brewing process, and allowed the production of a higher volume of beer. It also, crucually, changed the taste of a familiar product. In effect, Schlitz was no longer Schlitz. Rumors persist of longtime Schlitz drinkers vomiting upon the new beer making contact with the stomach. Who knows if that's true; what's undeniable is the public revolt against the alteration. The bottom fell out on Schlitz's market share. Other indignities, including federal indictments, a strike, and the public relations nightmare of having to dump ten million bottles and cans of "bad" Schlitzes, compounded the company's problems. Finally, in 1981, "the beer that made Milwaukee famous," closed its Milwaukee plant. A year later, Strohs bought Schlitz. Today, Pabst owns it.
Less than one percent--about twenty beers--of American breweries in operation in 1900 brew today. A century or so ago, Pabst was America's number one beer. A half century ago, Schlitz was America's number one beer. Twenty-five years ago, Budweiser reigned as king of beers. Today, Bud Light holds the crown. Tomorrow it will certainly be some other beer. For as the history of Schlitz shows us, the mighty do fall.
Bud's the first beer I ever tasted, out of a can right around the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve 1984 on an Amtrak train stuck in Kingston NY (one stop south of Albany) after the engine died. Everyone missed their party plans in the Big Apple, so the conductor gave the bar away for free. I rang in the new year, age 13, with one Derrick Ontbean of Manitoba, Canada and a Peter Paine, USMC (ROTC).
When I was a kid the old folks drank Ballantine (green can), Rheingold (red&white?), and Schaffer (little brown glass bottles).
"Re-mem-ber when (do-do-do do-do-do)
Re-mem-ber when (do-do-do do-do-do)
The El ran on Third A-ven-ue (do-do-do)
The guy at short played third base too (do-do-do)
Re-mem-ber when (Rhein-go-old)
Rheingold Extra Dry!!!"
A lite beer is the best selling beer in the U.S.? GASP!It just further proves that America is becoming wimp-ified. I, for one, refuse to consume anything with "lite" or "fat free" or "decaf" in the name.
When I was a kid the old man drank Old Style and Black Label. The first beer I bought when I turned 21 was a Gunniess. Been my favorite since.
Funny this has come up because I was discussing just yesterday the lost popularity of Schlitz as I sipped a Tangueray and Tonic.
In the 60’s and into the early 70’s Schlitz was THE beer. Everybody drank it and it was strange to see anybody with any other brand of brew. I even spent some time in Milwaukee and many establishments only carried one beer: Schlitz.
I drank it until sometime before it went south; I developed a taste for St. Louis Bud (when you could tell it was St. Louis Bud). My Dad drank it until the brewing formula changed and was not happy when he had to switch.
At the time, didn’t much care why it changed as beer drinkers typically are a fickle lot and move from one brew to another every two to five years or so.
But, it’s good to know the history and the lesson that no product is too big to loose market share if a company screws around.
Old Style, Mickey's Wide Mouth, Genesee Cream Ale, Heffenreffer - The beers of my youth tell a gripping tale of intestinal fortitude and courageous consumption.
Build me another pint, would ya please, Colin?
The puzzles inside the Heffenreffer caps were reason enough to buy those 16 oz. six-packs. The more you drank, the harder the puzzles got.
Schlitz had a bad marketing campaign in the 1970s, the gist of which was if you take away my Schlitz, you're taking my gusto away. It turned people off, and those spots were called the "drink Schlitz or I'll kill you campaign."
In the early 1980s, the brewer introduced the "Schlitz Rocks America" campaign, featuring The Who. Just a few years earlier, Who drummer Keith Moon died of an alcholism related overdose, Townshend at the time was battling the bottle, and Schlitz, as noted in the initial post, was even then suffering from the image of Schlitz being a bargain-bin beer.
Not smart.
Oh, two more. Harry Caray was the announcer for the St. Louis Cardinals before he came to Chicago. The team of course was owned by the Busch family (Bud, Busch beer etc.) Harry got canned for an understandable reason. Sleeping with Augie Busch's (the owner) wife.
After his dismissal, he walked away from the gaggle of reporters, holding a six-pack of Schlitz.
Pre-prohibition, breweries were allowed to operate bars, and Schlitz become a strong seller in the Chicago area because they built and operated 57 Schlitz taverns in Chicago. About 10 are left.
They're definitely part of Chicago's proud architectural heritage. Here's stuff on Schuba's, a night club now, but once a Schlitz bar.
http://www.chicagobarproject.com/Reviews/Schuba's/Schuba's.htm
To add to John's comments about Schlitz and Chicago, one of the reasons Schlitz became so popular was that after Chicago's great fire, Schlitz distributed free beer in the city. After that gesture of good will, which incidently turned drinkers on to the beer, Schlitz took off.
Unbelievably, this was a topic of discussion amongst some of the members of my golf group last week, and now I know the answer to what happened to Schlitz! This web page is not only highly entertaining, but educational as well! Thanks Dan!
I used to love Piels as well, out of Detroit I believe. They can now only be found in select cities in 40 oz bottles (I have seen them only in Philly).
