The Story of Hamm's Waldech Beer

Hamm’s beer collectibles are some of the most popular pieces of breweriana, but there’s one aspect of Hamm’s that doesn’t get much attention, a largely forgotten brand called Waldech. The brand always kind of interested me, with the black and gold labels on green bottles and the gothic images of castles in the advertising, not to mention it sounded like it would have been a good beer.

Waldech was a super-premium, all-malt and naturally-carbonated beer, much different from the flagship Hamm’s brand, although the name “Hamm’s” was prominent on the label. Introduced in 1963, it came out at a time when bland, yellow, fizzy beers dominated US beer sales. The name was said to be taken from the ancestral home of then-Hamm's president William C. Figge in North Germany. Early advertising claimed it was “The new third taste in beer,” not like a domestic and not like an import, but with its own unique character. It was slow brewed in fairly small batches, so the availability was limited compared to something more mass-produced such as Hamm’s.

It was especially popular among a certain crowd in California, where Hamm’s operated two breweries at the time. San Francisco Chronicle columnist Charlie McCabe said of Waldech, “The best American beer I have tasted since before World War II.”  Bob Balzer of the Los Angeles Times said it had “long-lasting flavor. Our choice among many for its real beer taste, fine head and substantial body.” The Auburn (CA) Journal commented, “”A few glasses of Waldech will make you forget about taking tranquilizers.”

This full-bodied beer had lots of critical acclaim but was never a big seller, and was discontinued in 1975 (along with Hamm's Preferred Stock and a few other brands from the former Heublein ownership) when Olympia Brewing Company took over Hamm's. Perhaps it was ahead of its time.

Hamm’s Waldech was promoted in national magazines in the 1960s with full-color, full-page advertisements. Examples here are from 1964 and 1969. As the brand competed with Anheuser-Busch’s Michelob, they switched to a bottle that was more similar to Michelob, complete with a wrap-around gold label.

Hamm's Waldech napkins.

"Waldech on draught" neon sign.

Waldech was never sold in cans, however several prototype Waldech cans were made for the Theo. Hamm Brewing Company and were pictured in color on the cover of North Star Chapter Breweriana Club’s 1982 book, “Beer Cans of Minnesota.”

 

Marijuana In Your Supermarket

In October 2018, Canada stunned the world by legalizing recreational marijuana. The move was controversial to say the least, but in some quarters, people wonder what took so long. Meanwhile, the controversy continues to rage in the United States and is far from being ironed out. The day when one will be able to buy commercially produced marijuana packaged and sold in everyday retail stores like tobacco is still presumably a long way away, but almost five decades ago, a stodgy grocery industry trade magazine contemplated that very possibility – and the marketing opportunities that would come with pot legalization.

The January 1970 issue of Supermarketing (page 86), in a piece attached to an article about tobacco sales, suggested that legalization “no longer seems so remote as it once was.” It pointed out that the Nixon Administration had moved to differentiate the penalties between dealing and mere possession, as well as the penalties between marijuana offences and those of “harder” drugs. 

The “underground” press, Supermarketing reported, was claiming that “major tobacco companies already have acreages laid out and marketing plans on tap against the time when ‘grass’ becomes legal. But at least one marketing executive snorted, ‘That’s the biggest damn lie I ever heard.’”

Still, a tobacco magnate who chose to remain anonymous admitted, “Let’s face it – marijuana is already an American phenomenon spearheaded by youth and the middle classes. It’s growing day by day. I think that once we get away from the emotionalism that surrounds the subject now, the Government will in time realize it’s missing a good tax bet.” 

An ad agency creative exec (think Mad Men), who also chose to remain anonymous, speculated, “In the absence of any conclusive scientific evidence one way or the other as to whether ‘pot’ is harmful, I think it’ll eventually become legal. Prohibition demonstrated that you’re not going to make something disappear by making it illegal – and that’s part of the problem. Drugs today are what alcohol was in the 1920s, namely sin. And what legislator wants to go on record as being in favor of sin? But if everyone does it, it becomes less sinful.”

The ad exec went on to speculate, “Even with legalization, there’s every probability of an advertising ban – which would make ‘grass’ the first ‘new’ product with mass-market potential to emerge unaccompanied by advertising. Which will be very interesting to watch.”

The 1970 Supermarketing article concluded, “All of this may be so much conjectural blue haze. The opposition to marijuana remains strong among legislators, educators and parents. Its delights and dangers are still largely uncharted and it may indeed, in some cases, lead to an urge for stronger and more harmful drugs. Nevertheless, it may one day be sold across supermarket counters.”

If one were to travel back in time to 1970, and tell the people from then about "the future," would they really believe that the United States some fifty years later is still battling over the issue of marijuana legalization?

Fred is Dead: Recalling Flintstones Bedrock City

You've seen them on TV and in comic books. Now -- visit the Flintstones in their own Bedrock City at Custer, South Dakota, on highways U.S. 16 and 385.

You'll see Fred and Wilma - Barney and Betty and, of course, Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm. Visit the firehouse, the Bedrock bank, city jail, oodles of stores and The Bedrock Theatre, where you'll enjoy Flintstone films showing continuously. Dino is twenty feet high, perched on one of the many rocky ledges that add to the fabulous beauty of the sixty acres that comprise Bedrock City and camping area. Modern bath houses and rest rooms add to the comfort of campers and travelers and a drive-in and souvenir shop add to the enchantment of Bedrock. The cool dry nights and balmy days assure you a delightful vacation in the heart of the beautiful Black Hills, just a short distance from Mt. Rushmore and the buffalo herds. Remember!! There is only one Bedrock City in America!

--1967 Flintstones Bedrock City brochure

Soon there would be another Bedrock City, in Arizona, plus two in Canada, making a total of four Bedrock City theme parks in North America. All of them are gone now, victims of changing times, licensing issues and new generations of kids disinterested in such schmaltz.

I never did make it out to Flintstones Bedrock City. It's a shame too. The original Flintstones-themed park in Custer, South Dakota was in a state that bordered my home state of Minnesota. But when my family went on a trip, at least when I was in tow, we either went up north or out to Wisconsin. Never west. Come to think of it, I never saw nearby Mount Rushmore in person either.

Being enamored with Fred and Barney from age five on, I'm sure I would have enjoyed it as a kid, and would have still gotten a kick out of seeing it as an adult. I heard about it when I was a kid. I knew some kids who had been there, some telling me it was pretty neat, others saying it wasn't all that good and I wasn't missing anything. Certainly it was no Disneyland. It was a roadside attraction, not a destination. It had cement "Stone Age" buildings and cement statues of Flintstones characters that weren't exactly to Hanna-Barbera's specs. Postcards feature employees posing in character costumes that look rather hideous, or shall we say, primitive.

The first Bedrock City park in Custer, SD opened in 1966, the year the Flintstones left prime time network television after six seasons. But the show became even more popular in syndicated reruns, usually running in late weekday afternoons to the delight of millions of children coming home from school. Myself included. In my home town of Minneapolis, for a time in the early 1970s, it was shown twice a day by independent station WTCN-TV Channel 11, mornings and afternoons, plus two back-to-back episodes on Sunday mornings. I wanted to hang out with Fred and Barney, and be their pal. In a way, I was kind of able to do that when I watched the show. But if I had been able to go to the Bedrock City theme park, I'd be able to walk into their homes, stroll down their main street and ride in their cars. I could have acquired inexpensive Flintstones merchandise at the souvenir shop, and I could have enjoyed the local cuisine, Bronto Burgers and Dino Dogs. Truly a three dimensional version of a one dimensional cartoon.

Here's a few postcards from the park in South Dakota, circa 1969.

"In front of a skyscraper under construction stand Barney and Fred waiting for their families to take a ride in their sports job (sic). They stand on the main street of Bedrock City, Custer, South Dakota."

"Stopping in front of the Souvenir Shop, Fred and Barney chat awhile before leaving for work."

"Pebbles rides the saber-toothed tiger to visit Bamm-Bamm at Barney Rubble's home."

A second Flintstones park opened in Arizona in 1972. It was smaller, but some say it was better. Two more eventually popped up in Canada, but they were fairly short lived. Over time, the parks were updated, but not too much. The twenty-foot Dino statue at the South Dakota park was repainted in different colors over the years. The cement character statues were replaced with fiberglass ones that were more to specifications, at the demand of the current owners of the Flintstones intellectual properties of the time.  The franchise had changed corporate hands a number of times over the years, eventually ending up under the auspices of Warner Bros, originator of the Looney Tunes cartoons.

The Flintstones continued to be seen in perpetual reruns on local stations, including WGN in Chicago and its vast cable network, well into the 1990s. Eventually, the show would become an exclusive of Turner Broadcasting's Cartoon Network, later being shuffled over to the Boomerang channel, which is seen on far fewer cable and satellite outlets. As this happened, the Flintstones began to fade from the public consciousness. Recent generations of kids have little clue and no curiosity about the Flintstones. There are still Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles cereals featuring Fred and Barney on the box, and Flintstones Vitamins remain the best-selling children's chewable, but that has more to do with the buying decisions of the parents than the demand of the kids, as had been the case when those products came out decades ago.

The Bedrock City parks in South Dakota and Arizona finally closed in 2015, and perhaps it's amazing they lasted that long. People lost interest, kids no longer care, and the current owner of the Flintstones intellectual properties, Warner Bros, had no interest in renewing the licenses to use the characters. The Stepford Children of today don't give a damn about such things. Same reason why Toys R Us and most other toy stores went out of business. If it's not an app they are completely lost and clueless. They're not even kids anymore, they are mutants.

An interesting and in depth history of the Flintstones theme parks can be found here:  https://www.theawl.com/2016/03/amidst-of-the-rubble-of-bedrock-city/

Mysterious 1960s Korean Pop LP

I found this unusual foreign gem in the $2 bin at a record collectors' show in Minneapolis a few years ago, and had to snatch it up, even though I couldn't read a word on it except for "Oasis Records," "Seoul, South Korea," "High Fidelity," "Side 1," and "Side 2." Fine print on the back cover also references RCA and "Telefunken U-47," a type of microphone that Frank Zappa referenced on one of his records with sexual innuendo. ("You'll love it.")

On the front cover, a color photo of an attractive young Asian woman singer looking rather Westernized, wearing a halter top, bracelet and necklace with a flower in her hair above her left ear, a lit cigarette in her right hand, while standing at a microphone caressed by her left hand. A cloud of exhaled tobacco smoke hovers over her. That in itself seemed unusual, as I have heard that South Korean culture is quite conservative, and even now, women who smoke publicly are looked down on. The Oasis Records logo appears in the lower left corner, and a Shin Films logo in the lower right, suggesting it might be a movie soundtrack.

Listening to the record, the style was kind of early 1960s nightclub Asian jazz-pop, full orchestration, with kind of torch singer vocals, sung in Korean, sounding sweet and melodic. Not really a throaty smoker's voice.

After posting an image of the album cover on Flickr, someone commented, tipping me off that the singer's name is Jaeran Park (or Park Jae-ran), and the album title translated into "My Darling Has Passed Away, but His Song Still Remains." Upon further research, I found that she was born in 1938, and that this album came out in 1964, so she would have been about 26 years old at the time. She is actually well known in South Korea, putting out albums from the late 1950s until at least the early 1980s, and making numerous appearances on Korean television, some of which can be found on YouTube. The musical genre is called "K-Pop" in the trade, or Korean Popular. Apparently she also did some acting, which might help explain the Shin Pictures logo (wonder if the cover picture is from a movie). She looks a lot more conservative/traditional in most of the other images I have been able to find of her. The label, Oasis Records, in now an EMI subsidiary.

The other mystery would be, how did this copy end up in the United States, and ultimately in a $2 bin at a record collectors' show in Minneapolis?

A track from the album can be found here:

Another track from the album can be found here:

The Squirt Soft Drink Subjective Color Acid Test

On July 25, 1967, television viewers with black-and-white TV sets were startled to see flashes of color on their monochrome screens for about ten seconds during a 60-second soda-pop commercial. A letter to a columnist in the September 14, 1967 Detroit Free Press asked, "Before I see an eye doctor, let me ask Action Line: Is it possible to pick up color TV on a black and white set? I SWEAR I saw a Squirt soft-drink commercial in color. Not pink elephants Green Squirt!" The image was described in the newspaper column as a red, green and blue sign that had flashed on the screen.

A viewer in Chicago told Popular Photography magazine (July 1968), "I saw pink! It knocked me for a loop...the letters S-Q-U-I-R-T looked greenish or light turquoise...and it kept up for maybe 10 seconds." (Meanwhile a viewer in San Francisco claimed he didn't see anything colorful.)

   

It was the national debut of an experimental television commercial using a special production process that would give the optical illusion of color. The commercial first aired a few months earlier locally on KNXT, the CBS-owned television station in Los Angeles, and viewers there were just as stunned. Squirt and its advertising partner Color-Tel Corporation of Los Angeles, at the time decided to make no prior announcement of this experimental commercial, preferring to see just how viewers would respond. And respond they did. Within hours, thousands of viewers were asking if they really saw what they thought they did, color on their black-and-white TV screens, according to Popular Electronics magazine (October 1968).

The burst of color was not "living color" (as NBC frequently touted in the 1960s), but something called "subjective color." The process was developed by James F. Butterfield of Color-Tel, a corporation founded in Los Angeles in early 1966. It gave the illusion of color by pulsating white light in a particular sequence for each color with a rotating device attached to a regular black and white TV camera lens. Butterfield had found in his many years of research that the human brain perceives colors through complex electronic codes. Butterfield was able to figure out the individual codes for the colors red, green and blue, and by pulsating white light in predetermined patterns with the device on the camera lens, could induce the brain of the television viewer to perceive color. Beyond that, ordinary monochrome equipment could be used in filming or taping, broadcasting and viewing.

There were a few drawbacks. The images were nothing at all like true color TV. It didn't have the intensity or range of colors. As the technology currently stood, the effect could only be used on still images. The "subjective color" could only be seen in about one-fourth of the TV screen area, and, because it relied on flickering light, there was a lot of flickering. It was also found that some people could not perceive the colors at all, yet some people diagnosed as color-blind could see the colors.

Nonetheless, Popular Science, in its August 1968 issue, saw many possibilities for the technology, particularly for special effects. "Color will appear in cartoons, commercials and special presentations. Polka-dots on a clown's suit will be seen as red flashing dots. You'll see the designs and lettering on a cereal box in pulsating green and blue. A girl will plant a kiss on a boy's cheek--and a red lipstick print will appear on your screen."

Popular Electronics (October 1968) went on to report, "Right now, Color-Tel engineers are checking into the possibility of using electronic color for such things as color radar displays, color computer readouts, and perhaps even color sonar pictures. It may be true that, in its present stage of development, Butterfield's process is nothing but a scientific curiosity — however, 25 years ago, so was television."

Popular Science predicted, "You can expect color on your black-and-white TV by this fall [1968]." But there was one giant flaw in that rosy prediction. By 1968, black-and-white TV was well on the way out. The vast majority of programming (outside of old movies and TV shows) were being broadcast in "living" color by then, and while most U.S. households still had black-and-white TV sets (color sets were big, bulky and expensive in those days), more and more homes were purchasing color television sets every year. Had James F. Butterfield perfected the process ten or fifteen years earlier, in the 1950s when 90 percent of television broadcasts were black and white, it might have had more of a serious impact.

Although James F. Butterfield had many patents to his credit before his death in 2013, it appears this experiment didn't go as far as the press of the time might have suggested it could. Color-Tel last renewed as a corporation in 1972, and we can not find any evidence of other "subjective color" broadcasts beyond the Squirt commercial.

Fresh-killed chicken.

Fifty years ago, Mobil Oil Corporation ran a series of rather graphic, sharply-worded advocacy ads in newspapers about unsafe driving and young people, with the slogan, "We want you to live." Many decades before anyone conceived of the current problem of texting while driving. Nonetheless, the ads are very much worth taking another look at.

This one, titled "Fresh-killed chicken," featured a depiction of a deceased young man, face-down on the pavement, wearing a "Jets" jacket. It ran in the Minneapolis Star and other newspapers across the United States on October 10, 1966.

Bravo.

Let's hear it for the winner.

That's him lying there--the dead one.

Or is he the loser?

You can't tell. Not that it matters very much. Because in the in the idiot game of "chicken," two cars speed straight for each other. Head on.

With luck, one car steers clear in the nick of time. Without luck, neither car steers clear. And the winner and the loser are equally dead.

Some "game."

It took God Almighty to stop Abraham from making a blood sacrifice on his son. What do you suppose it will take to make us stop sacrificing our children?

We who bear them in sterilized hospitals, stuff them with vitamins, educate them expensively, and then hand over the keys to the car and wait with our hearts in our mouths.

Too bad we educate them only to make a living and not to stay alive.

Because right now--this year--car accidents kill more young people than anything else. Including war. Including cancer. Including anything.

Yet we allow it.

Incredibly enough, fewer than half the young people who get drivers' licenses every year have passed a training course.

Which leaves well over 2 million (!) youngsters who get licenses every year without passing such a course.

And this is the price we pay: 13,200 young people between 15 and 24 died in automobile accidents in 1965. (The exact number for 1966 isn't in yet; it will probably be higher.) It's a gruesome answer to the population explosion. And if we all sit still about it, we ourselves are "chickening out."

Yet we mustn't frighten out youngsters; they're frightened enough. We must teach them.

Does your school system have a driver training course? Are there books in your school library or public library on driving? (did you know such books exist? Do they know?)

Are requirements for getting a driver's license in your state tough enough? Are your radio and TV stations paying any attention to the problem? Your newspapers?

Does anyone in your community give awards for good driving? The PTA? Or the Boy Scouts? The Chamber of Commerce? the churches or synagogues?

What kind of a driver are you yourself? Do you set a good example or a poor one?

Would your company insist on a driver training course before they'd hire someone?

Would your schools insist on a training course before they'd turn a youngster loose?

Would it help?

Yes it would. Education works. Drivers in large truck fleets are trained to drive safely. And some of them have dropped accident rates to only about half that of the general public.

It would cost little or nothing to get these things going. And we haven't a minute to spare. It's blood that we have on our hands, not time.

We at Mobil sell gasoline and oil for our living to the living. Naturally, we'd like young people to grow up into customers. But for now we'd be happy if they'd simply grow up.

Mobil. We want you to live.

The Destruction of the Hopkins Theater

Thirty years ago, a landmark streamline-style movie theater in Hopkins, MN (a suburb west of Minneapolis) came crashing down on the corner of Fifth and Excelsior Avenues after forty-four years of operation, to make way for an automobile dealership--a dealership that itself wouldn't last much more than a decade. The demise and demolition of the old Hopkins Theater happened in almost a blink of an eye, and came as a shock to many.

Just days before it came down, I was able to walk through the theater one last time and pick up a few souvenirs including old tickets, movie press packets, a theater catalog from the 1970s, an actual piece of film in the projectionist booth, lots of other paper items, even the sign on the door announcing the theater was closed. In 2008, I had the opprotunity to meet former owner Harold Engler, who showed me some of his own pictures and souvenirs of the old theater, and gave me insight on its history, and why he ultimately closed it down.

The Hopkins Theater in 1942

The Hopkins Theater, built by brothers Abraham and Louis Engler, opened with great fanfare on the evening of Saturday, August 20, 1941. The mayor of Hopkins and the city councilmen were there along with some special guests, while the Hopkins municipal band played in the lobby. People came from all over to see the new, modern theater. When it opened, the theater seated 1,200 and had amenities that included staggered seating, so that no one would be seated directly in front of someone else, love seats at the end of every other row, a spacious balcony, a state-of-the-art sound system, an acoustic board celing, air conditioning in the summer (when almost no homes and few businesses had it), smoking loges, and a smart, ultra-modern design. The theater building was topped with a 40 foot tall, eight-sided metal tower displaying over 5,000 feet of neon, with the word HOPKINS spelled out vertically on four alternating sides. The full 40-ft display lit up at night in multiple colors and could be seen from blocks away. It served as an unofficial gateway to the city, letting you know exactly where you were.

Newspaper ad for the grand opening
of the Hopkins Theater on August 20, 1941.

The movie shown on that first night was, appropriately, "Sis Hopkins," a comedy starring Judy Canova, Bob Crosby and Jerry Colonna.

In the early years of the Hopkins Theater there was no television, so "going to the movies" once or twice a week was a way of life for much of the population, no matter what town they lived in. Harold Engler recalls that in the early days, theater patrons were treated to a full two-hour evening program. It would begin at seven p.m. with coming attractions, a newsreel (the closest thing anyone had to television news then) and cartoons such as Tom & Jerry, Bugs Bunny and Woody Woodpecker. At 7:30 the movie would start, and in those days the feature would change every Wednesday and Sunday, to keep people coming back to the theater. During the Second World War, which the United States entered just months after the Hopkins Theater opened, a big booth in the lobby sold war bonds, and posters throughout the theater encouraged patrons to buy more bonds.

As a boy, Harold Engler grew up in the theater. By junior high he was doing many of the jobs there, including working behind the candy counter and selling tickets. At age 17, before he graduated from high school, his father Abraham fell seriously ill and the decision was made to make Harold part owner of the theater. The teenager took over his dad’s duties, which included buying the movies, bookkeeping and advertising. “All those [newspaper] ads were handmade,” he says. “We didn’t have fax machines or copy machines then. I thought carbon paper was the greatest thing on earth.”

In 1948, the first television station went on the air in the Twin Cities and that changed the habits of moviegoers. “It hurt the theater business a lot for a while,” Harold says. “There was nothing we could do but wait it out. Thousands of theaters froze throughout the country. Then Cinemascope came in, in 1953, and that was the resurgence of the industry. Big, big screen and stereophonic sound. We had surround sound all the way around. We were one of the first theaters to put it in. Any innovation that came along, we had it right away. Then people started to come back to the movies.

“Prior to that, movies were really bad. When TV hit, they just weren’t making good movies. So the timing was really disastrous. People could stay home and could watch all this junk for free instead of coming to the theater to see it for fifty cents. So it woke up the moviemakers, and they started to make bigger and better movies. After that, theater attendance just soared.”    

Harold Engler takes pride in the innovations that his father, and later himself, came up with at the Hopkins. From the beginning, the theater had features such as black lighting hidden in the isle seats that reflected off the carpeting in the auditorium, so people could find their way down the isles without the lighting distracting the patrons watching the movies. There was a crying room for parents to take their crying babies. Decades before restaurants had smoking sections the Hopkins Theater had its own smoking loges in the back four rows, where patrons paid an extra nickel for the privilege of smoking while watching the movie. (The nickel fee was later dropped.)  In addition to the nightly features, the theater was famous for its weekend kiddie matinees. There would be traffic jams leading into the city of Hopkins every Saturday as parents from all over dropped off and picked up large groups of children at the theater.

“I liked doing innovative things,” Harold says. “I would look at what our competitors were doing and I’d try to figure out what we could do different. We were the first theater to run all day long outside of downtown Minneapolis. The Uptown [a similar-style neighborhood theater in Minneapolis] used to, but we were the first suburban theater to run all day for bargain matinees ‘til 6 o’clock. We put in Tuesday movie specials. It cost a buck to get in. I loved to do stuff like that, just trying to get people interested in coming to our theater.”

Other promotions he had included a Wednesday two-for-one night sponsored by Dayton’s department stores where with a special Dayton’s card a moviegoer could bring a friend and get two admissions for the price of one. For senior citizens there was a Golden Age Club where seniors could get in for a reduced price with their Golden Age cards. This promotion brought a letter of commendation from Mayor Charles Stenvig of Minneapolis. But probably the most popular promotion was the Birthday Club. “We used to give prizes to all the kids that came in for birthday parties. And then we gave the Birthday Girl or Birthday Boy a bigger prize or nicer prize. We seated them all in one area together so they’d always be together,” Harold recalls.

By the 1960s, the movie theater business had changed greatly since the forties when the Hopkins first opened, and Harold Engler and his partners, who included a brother and two cousins, stayed on top of the trends and innovation. Retail space was built around the theater building and the Englers brought in new businesses that they either owned outright or leased to others, including a liquor store, a convenience store, a florist, an appliance shop and a small café.

The features no longer changed every Wednesday and Sunday. The era of the blockbuster had begun and a particularly successful movie could be on the marquee for weeks. The average run for a really good movie at the Hopkins in the early sixties was three weeks or less, but in 1965, the James Bond feature “Goldfinger” broke the records. On its Friday premiere it drew the biggest house in the theater’s history and the next night the crowds were even bigger, according to an article in the Hopkins Sun, a local newspaper. “Goldfinger” ran for almost two months, which was almost unprecedented then. After that, however, bigger movies had longer runs. There were also fewer movies being made than there were in the forties, which meant the features were more expensive for the theater operators to buy, so they had to run longer to recoup the costs.

As the trend toward box office blockbusters with longer theater runs continued, the Hopkins was one of the first theaters in the country to become a multiplex; several screens under one roof. Just about all theaters are like that now but in the late sixties when the idea first came to Harold Engler, the concept was radical.

“I heard about a theater in Kansas City that had four screens. There happened to be a theater convention down there and I went down to see it [the four-screen theater] but I couldn’t get anybody to come with me. They thought it was just nuts. It wasn’t accepted. So I took a cab and went to this theater [owned by the company that later became the AMC Theaters chain] and took a look at it. I was enthralled. They had automated equipment in the projectionist booth, one candy counter, one box office and four screens. I thought, this is it! I came back, and I talked my partners into converting the upstairs balcony of the theater.”

In 1971, the Hopkins Theater became the Hopkins 1-2. The balcony was converted into a second smaller theater by suspending a screen and floor over the main theater with steel girders. Some thought there had to be some funny business going on with that second theater in the balcony. “Everyone seems to think we’re going to start running dirty films upstairs. We aren’t,” Harold Engler explained to Minneapolis Tribune columnist Will Jones as the new theater was getting ready to open. “But I think it would be a good idea to have a film with adult appeal playing in one theater and, say, a Disney in the other one.”

Downstairs, where the smoking loges were, a new automated projection booth was built, making the Hopkins the first theater in the area to be fully automated. Instead of having a projectionist in the booth threading a reel into a projector and having to manually switch to a second and third reel every twenty minutes or so, all the reels could be spliced together onto one huge reel on a projector positioned horizontally on the floor of the booth and it would run automatically. At the push of a button, the lights would go down, the movie would start and run by itself until the end when the lights would automatically go back up and the film would rewind automatically. No projectionist needed except to watch over things.

“The union was not very happy with us,” Harold says. “We eliminated the projectionist. What we actually did was take our projectionist and made him the theater manager and operator, and paid him more money. He was still union, but we only paid one person instead of having multiple projectionists. We became multiple choice. You didn’t see just a Betty Grable movie, you could see a Betty Grable movie and an Edward G. Robinson movie.” (Not that the Hopkins was exactly showing those kinds of movies in 1971.) “You could see a murder mystery and a musical. It was unheard of to have more than one screen. And then everybody started doing it.”

In 1973 a third theater was built in some of the former retail space that was connected to the building. The numbers 1-2-3 were painted in bold black and white squares on the sides of the big neon tower, alternating with the word HOPKINS.

In 1981 yet a fourth theater was put in, in the old liquor store that was located in another part of the building. It was a tiny one with just 150 seats that would be good for showing independent and niche films. But there was resistance from the City of Hopkins.

Harold recalls, “The architect came back and said, yeah, we can put a theater in there, and I said ‘well go to the city and get a building permit. I’d like to have it open by Labor Day.’ He came back and said the city won’t give you a building permit. They said you don’t have enough parking spaces. They had a ratio of so many seats to parking spots. It was so stupid.”

The son of one of Harold’s business partners volunteered to go down and talk to the city administrators. He offered to remove some 300 seats from the main auditorium in exchange for allowing the fourth theater but the city still objected on the grounds that there would be parking problems. So Harold went to some of the neighboring businesses, many of which weren’t open on weekends or evenings when the theater traffic would be heaviest, and got them to agree to allow use of their lots for overflow parking. Finally the city relented and allowed the fourth theater to be built, with the stipulation that seats be removed from the main auditorium.

“About two, three months later we were ready to open the theater, the seats were out, we had them taken out, and I called the seat man and said I want them back in by Friday,” Harold says. “‘They’ll be there,’ I was assured.  So we had them reinstalled. I came to the office the next day [and] my partner’s son called me and said, ‘What are you doing?’ I said ‘We’re putting the seats back.’ He says, ‘You can’t do that! I promised the city that I’d take them out.’ And I said, ‘But I didn’t promise the city I’d take them out. So if they call you, you have them call me.’ They never said a word.”

Over the years, Harold and his partners purchased or built dozens of neighborhood theaters in the Twin Cities area and Engler Theaters became a well-known and successful chain in the region. The crown jewel was the Hopkins, so naturally when an automobile dealer named Rudy Luther asked Harold if he’d be interested in selling his prime location on Fifth and Excelsior Avenue to him, the answer was a definite no. Absolutely not. Harold tells the story.

“The theater was doing very well. We had no thought of ever selling it. Then I got a phone call one day from Rudy Luther, and he wanted to buy the theater [property] and I said it’s not for sale. It’s been in the family, my father built it and it’s doing very well. But it got us thinking, and we sat down with the family and decided ‘Let’s go to our accountants and see what they think it would be worth.’ So we decided to come up with a figure and we called him back.

“I’ll never forget, he looked at me and he said, ‘Do you think you’re in Hollywood?’ I said, ‘Well, this isn’t just a piece of property. It’s a growing business that’s been in our family for umpteen years, it makes a profit. If you sold one of your car agencies with a big building on it and you were making money on it wouldn’t you ask a lot?’ He accepted our offer and he bought the theater from us and that was the end of it. I never got one phone call from the city, the chamber of commerce, another businessman, nobody saying ‘What can we do to keep you in Hopkins? Can we find you another location?’ I would have built again. Nobody showed any interest whatsoever.

“Then I get this call, this is how the city operated. I got a call from Rudy Luther’s general manager. ‘Would you come to a city planning meeting? They’re giving us a real hard time about giving us a license to run the car lot.’ So I sit in the back, the place is packed, and Luther’s people are making presentations. They showed pictures of this beautiful building and the shrubbery and the trees, the whole thing, and the city is saying ‘Oh, we don’t want another agency up there.’ Finally I raised my hand. A lady looked down and said, ‘I think Mr. Engler is in attendance. That’s him back there.’ So I stood up and I said, ‘Do you know, folks, you ought to be proud and excited to have a merchant like Rudy Luther, successful automobile agency, to want to build this beautiful building on the corner of Fifth and Excelsior Avenue. Because, the theater’s not going to be there anymore. It’s all over with.”

Leaflet from the ill-fated
"Save the Tower" campaign.

The last stand for the Hopkins Theater was on July 16, 1985. “GOODBYE HOPKINS. THE END IS TONIGHT” read the marquee. All 1,320 seats in the four theaters were packed with patrons who came from all over to see the grand cinema for the last time. The features shown that night were “The Gods Must Be Crazy,” “Emerald Forest,” “Fiddler On the Roof” and “Beverly Hills Cop.” When the night was over and the lights were shut off for good, a sign taped to the door informed passersby that the theater was closed and suggested they can see “The Gods Must Be Crazy” at Studio 97, another Engler theater.

Before the bulldozers came there was a frantic effort on the part of some area residents to “save the tower.” The idea behind the Save the Tower campaign was to raise enough money to dismantle the big Hopkins tower before the building was demolished, and then re-erect it somewhere in Hopkins as a local landmark. The group collected over 3,800 signatures on petitions during the 1985 Raspberry Festival (the town's big summer event) to convince the city this was a worthy endeavor and even Rudy Luther made a token contribution to the effort. The group tried to raise $7,000 by Monday, August 19, 1985.

The whole thing was an exercise in futility. Not only were they unable to raise the money, but, “we offered the City of Hopkins the tower for free,” Harold Engler says. “But the city wasn’t interested. They weren’t interested in keeping the theater either, by the way.”

It was around August 30, 1985 that a crowd gathered in the back parking lot of the theater and other strategic viewing locations around the block as a backhoe, starting on the east end where the auditorium was, smashed the building scoop by scoop, turning 44 years of memories into dust. The big tower continued to stand stoically on the other end as the backhoe slowly bulldozed its way toward it.



Souvenirs picked up inside the
Hopkins Theater days before it was demolished.

To prevent the 40-foot tower from falling into the street and on adjacent buildings, long cables were wrapped around it and attached to the bulldozer. The bulldozer pulled forward in the other direction and the mighty tower buckled, doubled over and came crashing down into the rubble.

Harold Engler was not among the crowd that came to watch the demolition. “I left town. I left town," he says. "I was gone for a week. I couldn’t be around. I couldn’t go past that corner for several years. I couldn’t go by until long after the new building was built.” Shortly thereafter, Harold sold off the rest of the theaters he owned and got out of the business.

Rudy Luther’s Hopkins Honda opened for business at the former theater location in early 1986, but it only operated until the mid 1990s. Meanwhile, for more than a decade the city of Hopkins had no movie theater. Then in 1997, in something of a turnabout, the historic Suburban Chevrolet dealership further down the main street was demolished so the city could build a new Hopkins Cinema 6, a six-screen second-run movie theater. Harold Engler had nothing to do with the building or operating of this newer theater.

Read a more in-depth version of the Hopkins Theater story in the Chronicles from the Analog Age book, published by Studio Z-7 Publishing.

BEER PARTY/USA

"BEER PARTY/USA is a unique entertainment idea that is traditional, patriotic Americana, yet new and fresh. In concept, it captures the spirit of America--the big parade down Main Street, U.S.A., the carnival highlights of national holidays, the band concert on the village green. In essence, it connotes good fellowship, fun, gaiety, and the supurb quality of American beers." So reads a 36-page booklet published around 1966 by the United States Brewers Association called "BEER PARTY/USA."

Click photo for greater detail.

The booklet continues. "Everything about your BEER PARTY/USA should be American. Appropriate music can set the stage, from the lilting melodies of Victor Herbert and the homespun tunes of the "Gay Nineties" to the orchestrations of Cole Porter and selections from the latest Broadway hits. The basic decor should be red, white and blue--the nation's colors, but you may add a shade or two of your own to fit the occasion."

"BEER PARTY/USA" is an interesting bit of ephemera from what a lot of people these days would call the "Mad Men" era, reflecting the optimistic side of the Kennedy-Johnson years of the early 1960s, a time of leisure, suburbia, unbridled patriotism in the face of a percieved communist menace, lounge music, dreams of flying to the moon, and of course, plastics. It might have also been the era of martinis and tiki drinks, but this booklet was from the Brewers Association, so it was all about defining and promoting beer as the true all-American party beverage for all occasions.

Although the vast majority of American beers at the time were virtually alike--the variety of brands, labels, packaging and advertising were far more interesting than the mild flavored, basic yellow brew they all represented--the booklet stresses the importance in putting much thought in choosing and serving the right beer for your party.
 

Click photo for greater detail.

"One of the first decisions--how to serve your beer. Will it be in bottles--and if so, the easy non-returnable or returnable? Will it be in cans--easy-open or regular? Or is this THE party for a keg of draught beer? Much depends on the particular occasion and how many people will attend...

"For those assisting at the party, whether family or friends or paid help, be sure to let them know in advance your plans and needs. Who will bring the ice to cool the beer?"

It even suggests having someone play the role of Mr. Beer Opener. "To get the party started and to keep it moving, the host or a friend might be MR. BEER OPENER for the evening--perhaps with appropriate dress and big tag identification. Not only does he open and serve the cans or bottles, or tap the keg of beer; he helps open the party, open the conversation, provide the informality, the spark, the conviviality which sets the pace for a happy occasion."




Click photo for greater detail.

The booklet goes on with ideas for entertainment and party decor. "Gather all your old (or new) magazines and newspapers. Cut out pictures and advertisements, paste them on shirt cardboards, and with a felt marker print underneath and alongside funny quotations or sayings pertaining to the BEER PARTY/USA occasion. Hang or tape the pictures around the house or apartment; put lots in the area where the beer is being served...


"Everyone agrees that music sets any BEER PARTY/USA in full swing. It can be any type of presentation. The phonograph generally proves most practical. Before guests arrive, select a variety of records. You can then relax and enjoy the evening. If you are lucky enough to have 'home' musicians on the guest list, ask them to 'bring-a-long' their insturments and you've got ready-made festivity for the affair! Have song sheets available. Choose some old and some new 'favorite' tunes. Type the words on paper for each guest. It's great to have a piano, but if you don't, there's usually one good voice to start the singing. Then just watch and listen--they'll never stop!"

 

For party decorations, the booklet suggests using old beer bottles for flowers and as candle holders, and for the dinnertable centerpiece, "Include beer bottles, beer drawings or some allusion to beer in the display." It also suggests spray painting artichokes and lemons in a red, white and blue color scheme, and suggestions for a "patio candlerama."

 

"Beer bottles are more attractive than ever before. You can achieve many unique designs by decorating beer bottles with paint, ribbons, jewels and other decorative ornaments. They can be used for flower vases, candle holders or favors for your guests...Small artificial flowers around the base of the bottle can be most attractive."

 

There's a section on tips for serving beer, tips on properly displaying the flag and bunting, seasonal "BEER PARTIES/USA," birthday and anniversary "BEER PARTIES/USA," and beer recipies including "Brewmaster's Steak," "Beer-Glazed Ham," "Beer-Becued Spareribs," "Beer Cheese Wafers," and even "Birthday Beer Cake."

 

There's also a section on Social Hints. "Nowadays there are less rigid party rules than in the past," the booklet acknowleges. "The hour for your party and the placing of your table and your silverware may be to your choosing--provided it is done tastefully and thoughtfully."

 

But even in the 1960s, there were still some rigid (and some might say sexist) rules regarding introductions. "It's difficult for many of us to remember proper form on introductions. Here's a good tip: with two important exceptions, gentlemen are always introduced TO ladies. The proper form goes like this: 'Mr. Jones, this is Mrs. Smith.' Or, 'Mrs. Smith, may I present Mr. Jones.' The two exceptions are clergymen and important public officials. In these instances, reverse it, as follows: 'Mrs. Smith, this is Reverend Jones.' Or, 'Mayor Jones, may I present Mrs. Smith.'"

 

Throughout the booklet, the word "gay" is used a lot--presumably the archaic old meaning of the word. "Use color, a gay tablecloth, bright napkins," it suggests in setting up a buffet table. Another suggestion: "if you're not good at names, or it's a large party, use name tags--the simple stick-on kind, which come in gay colors." It all adds up to a very gay BEER PARTY/USA.



 



Who Was the Man on the Gablinger's Can? Or: The Real 'Father' of Light Beer

Perplexing as it is to those of us who actually enjoy beer, the most popular brews in the United States, hands-down, are so-called light beers made by massive, big corporations. Consumed primarily by young doofuses who have a complete inability to think beyond the scope of commercials they see on ESPN. Decades ago, "light" beer was simply a distinction from "dark" or "heavy" beer. The first "light" beer as currently defined was not Miller Lite (nor did Miller even originate Lite), but it was a product introduced in 1967 called Gablinger's Beer, distributed by a subsidiary of Rheingold Breweries, Inc. of New York called Forrest Brewing Company. (And in spite of errorneous information in several Web articles, Gablinger's was never specifically marketed as "diet beer.")


1967 ad for Gablinger's beer.



The slogan, appearing on cartons and point-of-purchase displays in strong typeography was "GABLINGER'S BEER DOESN'T FILL YOU UP." Ad copy boasted that it had no carbohydrates, no fat, and 0.25% protein, making it sound downright healthy. The beer was pale in color, and undoubtedly pale in taste, but advertising claimed it tasted just as good as any other beer.

Labels on cans and bottles featured a drawing of a rather plain-looking middle-aged man in a suit, who looked like he could have been your high school shop or business teacher.

The man was a real person named Hersch Gablinger, a Swiss researcher who developed the technique for eliminating carbohydrates from beer, according to a piece in the May 1967 issue of the trade magazine Modern Packaging. He gave his permission to allow his image to be used on the packages. The process he had developed, according to Modern Packaging, "is claimed to enable consumers to quaff the brew without getting a 'filled-up' feeling."

Gablinger's was sold mostly in Rheingold's marketing area in the eastern US. Meanwhile, Chicago-based Meister Brau came up with its own low carb, low cal beer called Meister Brau Lite, introduced in 1968. While Gablinger's had a distinctly masculine-looking package, Meister Brau tried to appeal to women with its Lite packaging, and even attempted to launch a whole line of dietetic food products with the Lite name, similar to the Weight Watchers product line.

Neither Gablinger's nor Meister Brau Lite really caught on, however. Meister Brau in particular saw hard times and in 1972 sold its brands including Lite to Miller Brewing Company of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. To make a long story short, Miller redesigned the packaging and relaunched Lite under its own name, came up with an ingenious marketing strategy using macho ex-jocks and others in humorous commercials, and soon the brand took off, forcing competing brewers to come up with their own light (but not Lite) beers. Soon, light beers would overtake sales of so-called regular beers.

Meanwhile, Gablinger's beer continued to struggle in spite of the new popularity of light beers. In 1976 the packaging was changed, in attempt to broaden appeal and make the packages stand out more on retailer's shelves. The dark brown background color was replaced with bright orange. The portrait of Hersch Gablinger was dropped, replaced by a depiction of a man and woman raising mugs of surprisingly dark-looking beers (the complete opposite of Gablinger's) while seated at a table in what looks like a fast food restaurant. Though most likely unintended, the image looked strikingly similar to one used by Farrell's Ice Cream Parlour Restaurants. In fact, the cans looked more like diet soda pop cans than beer cans.

By the 1980s, Gablingr's beer was no more, the trademark registration canceled in 1984, and Hersch Gablinger, whose discovery would launch an astronomically successful product category for the brewing industry, would be completely forgotten about.

When the Grinch First Stole Christmas

On Sunday, December 18, 1966, the Dr. Seuss TV special "How the Grinch Stole Christmas" was shown for the first time on the CBS Television Network. The Grinch was so mean, he preempted "Lassie," although young fans of the beloved collie probably didn't mind. The half-hour animated special has been shown every year since and has been seen by countless millions, most of whom at this point in time were born decades after its original broadcast.

The issue of TV Guide from that week (December 17-23, 1966) featured a "close-up" of the special along with an ad for the soundtrack album in its local programming pages, plus a three-page article about it in the national section, with some interesting insights.

"How the Grinch Stole Christmas" had already been a best-selling children's book, first published in 1957. When Theodor Geisel (Dr. Seuss) teamed up with Chuck Jones, head of MGM's animation department to adapt it for television, a few details had to be worked out. For instance, what color is the Grinch, actually? In the book he was drawn in black and white with red eyes. It looked good on paper, but in the TV special, where things had to be in fuller color, it was decided the Grinch was green.

Also, according to the TV Guide article, "In studying the 'Who's,' whose village the Grinch invades on Christmas Eve, Jones discovered that 'Lady Who's don't have high-heeled shoes--they have high-heeled feet,' and the little girl, Cindy-Lou, 'is not a regular little girl--she has antennas.'"

Production of the special took nearly a year, was made up of more than 25,000 individual drawings, or cells, and according to TV Guide it was at the time "the most expensive half-hour animated cartoon ever created for television." Well-known monster movie actor Boris Karloff narrated the special, virsitle voice actor June Foray ("Rocky the Squirrel" among many others) voiced Cindy Lou, and Thurl Ravenscroft (voice of "Tony the Tiger" of Kellogg's Frosted Flakes fame) sang, "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch."

Theodor Geisel was 62 at the time, and although he had been married for 39 years, they had no children. "Kids frighten him," an unnamed friend is quoted in the TV Guide article. The article went on to tell an interesting story about Geisel and his relations with kids. "Once, in Cleveland, autographing his books at a department store, Ted found himself facing a hostile group of children, who finally told him that one of their number could draw better than he could. Geisel invited the boy to join him at the blackboard.

"'By God, he could draw better!' Geisel recalls."

Theodor Geisel died in 1991 at the age of 87. But it was predicted, even back in 1966, that Dr. Seuss would live on. "I predict that Dr. Seuss will emerge as one of the great classics of this era. In 2059, children will hoot for joy when they come across Seuss books," said Rudolph Flesch, author of "Why Johnny Can't Read" in TV Guide. Added Bennet Cerf, head of Random House, which published the Dr. Seuss books, "We have some great names on our list--Faulkner, O'Hara, Capote. But Ted Geisel is the only real genius among them."

Barry ZeVan, Tom Ryther and JFK

Anyone who was at least five years old on November 22, 1963 remembers where they were when they first heard the news that President John F. Kennedy had been shot in Dallas and later died. Those who were children then most likely heard about it while in school. Adults heard about it in all different ways, likely either from a television or radio report or through word of mouth.

Whenever I interview someone who was around then, especially people who had careers in media, I like to ask them where they were on that fateful day. I've had the pleasure of talking many times to a couple of talents I grew up watching on television in the Minneapolis-St. Paul area, Barry ZeVan and Tom Ryther. The two of them were colleagues and friends who worked together in the Twin Cities market in the 1970s and 1980s, and separately in various other cities. They didn't meet until about seven years after the JFK assassination, but when it happened both of them were young broadcasters, 26 years old at the time, and they both have their own unique stories of where they were when they first heard the news.




KSTP-TV ad promoting Barry ZeVan
 the Weatherman from 1971.

Recalls Barry ZeVan:

I had been attending one of the first BPA (Broadcast Promotion Association) conventions at the Jack Tar Hotel in San Francisco from the 16th to 19th of November, 1963. I had friends in Yuma, Arizona, who asked if I could drive there to visit for a day, and since I had the time, I decided to do so. I arrived in Yuma the night of the 20th, spent the day of the 21st there, then started to drive back home (which was Idaho Falls, Idaho, at the time) the morning of the 22nd. For some reason, I chose to not have the radio on while driving, but decided to turn it on around Noon, Pacific Time. I had just crossed the Colorado River into Needles, California, to get on the highway that would lead me to Las Vegas and northward to Idaho. Just north of Needles, after a commercial had played, I heard Fulton Lewis, Jr., a highly-respected newscaster and commentator, talking about Presidential succession. I thought to myself, "Why?'. Then he stated, for those just tuning in, President Kennedy had been killed. I screamed and nearly went of the road, just south of Searchlight, Nevada (Harry Reid's hometown).

Because there were no cell phones then, I had to wait until I got to Boulder City, Nevada, to call my wife to assure her I'd be driving all night to get home, and for her to not worry about the survival of this country. When I got to Las Vegas about a half-hour later, I heard on the radio all lights on The Strip and downtown, on Fremont Street, would not be lighted until Midnight that night. It was raining and snowing, mixed, that late afternoon and evening, and very chilly for Las Vegas that time of year. The skies were crying, too. I drove through blizzard-like weather all the way to Idaho Falls, which I reached about 7 the next morning. I never turned the radio off. At about 4 a.m., I heard the comforting words of then Senator Hubert Humphrey and Rhode Island's Senator John Pastore, reassuring the nation that all would be well, regardless of the horror we all endured the preceding day. I didn't know at that time Senator Humphrey would become a very good friend to me in later years.

The night I emceed Vice President Mondale's pre-inaugural banquet at the Washington Hilton in January, 1977, former Vice President Humphrey was in the audience and I got to introduce him to come to the podium for his remarks that evening. I told the preceding story (regarding my memories of him that early November 23rd on the snow-swept highway in Southern Idaho), and how he'd inspired me and the rest of the nation, I'm certain, to know we would survive the event of that terrible preceding day.



Tom Ryther became the KSTP-TV sports director in 1971.

Tom Ryther was on the air on radio station WIBV in Belleville, IL, a suburb of St. Louis, when the news broke. His story appeared in my web article, The RYTHER Factor.

It was high noon on that day in 1963, and we had an old newspaper guy who was our news director and all he did was rip and hand us the news copy [off the news wire]. He hands me this thing, ‘There have been shots fired in Dallas. It is believed that President Kennedy has been wounded.’ I was on the air reading a newscast, and I said, ‘We’ll bring you further details as they develop.’ Al [the news director] goes to lunch. When he came back I said "Al, what the…the President of the United States has been shot!"

In the hour after the first bulletin had cleared the wire, while the news director was out to lunch, Tom ran back and forth between the newsroom and the studio, getting reports from the Associated Press and United Press International wires and getting the information on the air as quickly as possible while playing records and taped commercials in the interim. Finally came the bulletin, which he read on the air:

“Word just in from the Associated Press, President John F. Kennedy has died of wounds suffered in Dallas during a motorcade. It is unknown at this time who did the shooting. Investigations are underway.”

Luckily I had gotten some training so I had some experience, [and] I had a cool head that day.

As a journalism student in 1958, Tom had actually met then-Senator Kennedy when he went to Washington with other journalism students as a guest of Sen. Stuart Symington of Missouri. The future President met with the students outside of Senate chambers and answered questions from the students, including Tom. He says:

I never wrote a story about it, but I was in on the interview. I sat there, asked him questions, talked to him. Great charisma.

(Find out about Tom Ryther's memoir, "The Hummelsheim Kid" here.)