What Goes Best With a Hot Dog?

"What goes best with a HOT DOG? Right...Beer or ale the way you like it...in those easy-to-open CAP-SEALED CANS!"

In the summer of 1940, a war was going on somewhere in Europe, and there was talk of some mad man taking over countries and slaughtering millions. But far away in the heartland of America, the main concern was rolling out those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer. Those days of soda and pretzels and especially beer. And Continental Can Company wanted to convince people that their Cap-Sealed (cone top) beer can fit best with summertime activity.

The year before, six and a half million of the 30 million cases of canned beer sold had been consumed in July and August alone. With a recovering economy, all indications were that 1940 would be the biggest season yet, and the brewing and beer can industries were gearing up to meet the expected demand. For Continental and the 83 breweries using cone tops, it was a matter of convincing consumers that theirs was the superior package.

Continental embarked on an aggressive print advertising campaign, paid for through a cooperative arrangement with those brewers and beer distributors using their Cap-Sealed cans. Lively two-page spreads ran in popular magazines such as Life, Collier's and Liberty, featuring people having fun and discovering for themselves the advantages of the Cap-Sealed can.

There were nine spreads in all, pointing out the convenience of taking the can along for picnics, outings, cook-outs, parties and other occasions, stressing that no special opener was needed, unlike other types of beer cans that required a "church-key" opener ("opens just like a bottle"). You could drink from a "clean, cap-protected surface," and there were no empties to return. No environmental regulations, either.Once you consumed the contents, you could simply throw the can into the outhouse pit, sink it in the lake, toss it into the campfire or add it to a pile somewhere, where excited collectors could find it decades later. One of the ads depicted a young man, with his sweetheart, letting his empty float away in a stream.

Continental put a considerable amount of market research into the campaign. They sent their men out to beer distributors and beer drinkers across the country to get their views on the package and how to market it. When asked, 2,032 distributors said they preferred the Cap-Sealed can to the flat top can. Only 102 chose the flat top, and 232 had no opinion. With flat tops, distributors had to handle the special openers, thus making the cone top more desirable. In addition, in nearly every survey taken, two out of three beer drinkers said they preferred the cone top.

The distributors and brewers were enthusiastic about the summer ad campaign and the local sales promotion that was given to them in their own territories, and they told Continental that the combination helped build package sales and volume.

The campaign paid off handsomely. In the first eight months of 1940, the distributors were reporting sales overwhelmingly ahead of those in all of 1939. The year 1941 also saw banner sales (until the U. S. entrance in the war put canned beer on hold). After the war, the Cap-Sealed can was eventually phased out, ending up being regulated mostly to automotive additives, and even those eventually went to plastic bottles. You can't buy anything in cone tops anymore, unfortunately.

But imagine for just one moment that it's the summer of 1940 once again. A beautiful day, kind of humid, but there's a nice breeze. The women are setting out food and talking, the men are playing a friendly game of baseball, the children are running abound. You get yourself an ice-cold cone-top can of beer, grab the opener and pry off the cap. Shhhhlock. A little bit of foam rises. You bring the metal surface to your lips and swallow down the wonderful liquid refreshment. Ahhh!.

Meanwhile, a war rages on in the rest of the world.

The Rise and Fall of the 40 ft. Inflatable Hamm's Bear--a photo essay

On July 9, 2016 in Cloquet, MN, a town just outside of Duluth, the historic Northeastern Hotel and Saloon hosted a brewery collectibles show called the Nordlager Show, named after an old local brew. Hotel and Saloon owner Bert Whittington took out of storage a massive inflatable Hamm's Bear, manufactured around 1980 for the Olympia Brewing Company, the makers of Hamm's beer at the time. Connected to two electric-powered air compressors, the huge vinyl blob lying on the ground came to life, and the familiar cartoon character Hamm's Bear stood tall and proud, greeting passersby for a triumphant but brief moment...until he started to lose air.

1. He came to life from a big blob of vinyl on the ground. Owner Bert Whittington helps him up as he fills with air.

 

2. "Hello, Folks!" The Bear stands triumphantly, greeting passersby with an awkward left arm.

 

3. Pete and Bert celebrate with a cool, refreshing Hamm's beer.

Note how much smaller the real can (in Bert's hand) is.

 

4. People came from all over to look at the thing.

 

5. Standing tall and proud, 40 feet high.

 

6. Uh-oh! He's sprung a leak!

 

7. Looking like he's about to hurl after consuming the contents of the giant beer can.

 

8. Another view of the sick, deflating bear, the beer can looking dented and forlorn.

 

9. Oh well. Better luck next year.

 

 

 

 

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.