Tasty yeast is tempting to your appetite (Revised and Updated)

There really was a chocolate-covered yeast candy bar called Tastyeast. 

When I was a kid in the 1970s, I got a cassette tape from the heavily advertised Radio Reruns series of old-time radio programs called "50 Radio Commercials--From the early days of radio to the present (1960)." It was probably the best of the series to introduce a young person of the '70s to the "golden age" of radio as it gave a nice cross section of the programs, personalities and sponsors of that era with catchy old jingles ("Pepsi-Cola hits the spot") and sales pitches by the likes of Arthur Godfrey (Chesterfield, Cremo cigars), Walter Winchell (Jergen's lotion), Jack Armstrong the All-American Boy (Wheaties), Tom Mix (Shredded Ralston), Superman (Kellogg's Pep), Frank Crumit (Roi-Tan cigars), etc. 

But there was one 1930s-era jingle that confused me. It sounded like they were singing about "Easter candy" which didn't really make sense, described as a candy bar that had vitamins "hiding" in it and that it was a "creamy food delight" that children would like.

Tasty yeast is tempting to your appetite

Creamy, wholesome candy, try a luscious bite

Vitamins are hiding in this candy bar

Pep, vim and vigor linger where they are

Children like this lovely creamy food delight

Let them eat it daily every morning, noon and night

You will see them growing stronger every day

Taking yeast this handy dandy candy way.

After years of vaguely wondering what they were advertising, I finally decided to do some research. It was not, as reported on some blogs (including this one originally) an ad for Fleischmann's yeast but for a candy bar called Tastyeast, which was essentially a lump of yeast coated in chocolate to make it more palatable. 

Tastyeast, Inc., based in Trenton, New Jersey, sponsored The Gloom Chasers, a comedy program on CBS Radio going back to 1931, where the jingle was apparently first used, and other advertising touted how eating yeast "this way" (with chocolate fudge) was "delicious."

But from a contemporary perspective, the question is, why in the hell would anyone want to eat yeast, chocolate covered or otherwise?

 "Eat Yeast for Health" was a popular slogan in the first half of the 20th Century that many Americans took to heart. As consumers, particularly in urban areas, were buying baked goods from bakeries rather than making their own, the makers of Fleischmann's Yeast, by far the largest marketers of the product, quite successfully boosted sales with an "Eat Yeast for Health" campaign, claiming it gave one's body much needed vitamins that built muscles and helped cure everything from constipation to bad breath to acne, and a whole lot more.Vitamins were a fairly new discovery then, unknown until around the turn of the century, and by the 1920s vitamins were the latest health craze. 

People were urged to eat two or three cakes of yeast (moist, fresh compressed yeast coming in small foil packets, not active dry yeast) a day, and for those who found the live fungus repulsive in taste, some of the ads suggested mashing a cake into a drinking glass and mixing it with tomato juice or milk, which still seemed disgusting to some. So why not chocolate covered yeast?

"Three bars of Tastyeast daily are sufficient to supply adults with a dependable and adequate amount of Vitamins B and G (later renamed B1) as contained in yeast," claimed an ad. "These are best taken between or after meals, not before them." Two bars a day were recommended for children. 

"Enjoy the benefits of yeast without the taste of yeast," other ads claimed. 

In the 1930s and '40s, the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) started cracking down on the more outlandish health claims being made in advertising for yeast products. As for Tastyeast, by the 1940s the company was sold to the Charms Candy Company and by the 1950s, the brand was phased out.

Make All America Sparkle City! Put Litter In Its Place!

In the early 1970s, environmentalism was becoming a popular cause, particularly with young people, as pollution and an increasing amount of trash from a throwaway consumer society was creating problems. Corporate America was blamed for much of the situation so in the interest of their own public relations and image, they too jumped on the environmental bandwagon.

In the spring of 1971, around Earth Day, two public service announcements (PSAs) produced by the Keep America Beautiful organization and the Advertising Council (now Ad Council) hit the TV airwaves. One was the well-remembered "crying Indian" spot featuring a supposed Native American named Iron Eyes Cody (who claimed to be a Cherokee but was later revealed to be a Sicilian-American actor born Espera Oscar de Corti in 1904, died 1999) who walks around modern-day America seeing all the filth and pollution, finally driven to tears when someone in a passing car throws a bag of trash at his feet. "People start pollution. People can stop it," intones actor William Conrad in the voiceover.

The other, mostly seen during network children's programming on Saturday mornings was an animated spot featuring a character called Captain Cleanup, who looked like a combination of Dick Tracy and Superman, and his young sidekick, Kid Coolit. 

Captain Cleanup and Kid Coolit are seen flying over Sparkle City, the cleanest metropolis in America, when they spot Louie the Litterer and his Sewer Rat Gang about to make a mess of things. The superheroes confront them, Captain Cleanup rolls up his sleeve but never lays a hand on them (apparently to avoid depicting violence). Instead the villains beat themselves up and fall into garbage cans. "That's where you belong. In the waste can!" Captain Cleanup proclaims.

He then breaks the fourth wall and says, "Kids, you too can be a pollution fighter. Never throw trash into the street. Remember--you have to set an example for your parents." Then he says, "Make all America Sparkle City! Put litter in its place!" The spot ends with "Keep America Beautiful" on screen along with the Advertising Council "rotary-a" logo used at the time. 

The cartoon characters also appeared in print ads that ran in newspapers nationwide in the summer of 1971. "Don't throw empty cans, bottles or even apple cores out of car windows. Don't toss used tissues on the street, or cigarette butts in the gutter. Put litter in its place," the ad admonished.

Keep America Beautiful and the Ad Council wanted to make it a real children's crusade. The organizations teamed with shoe retailer Thom McAn and its 1,000 or so stores across the country to distribute Captain Cleanup membership kits to youngsters who were interested in starting their own Captain Cleanup anti-littering clubs in their communities. The kits included a membership card and "a series of instructions on what Captain Cleanup recommends to help keep America beautiful," according to an article in the Desert Sun of Palm Springs, CA from September 23, 1971. The article went on to report that over two million kits had been requested and received by kids nationwide, and that they had also been distributed to civic youth groups. 

The campaign received heaps of praise from seemingly everyone all the way up to President Richard Nixon but some serious environmentalists took issue with the whole Keep America Beautiful organization. The organization was founded in 1953 by American Can Company and Owens-Illinois Glass Company, both manufacturers of non-returnable beverage containers, at a time when states such as Vermont were looking at banning such containers. Soon big breweries and soft drink makers became part of the organization but didn't publicize it, so the corporate interests weren't widely known by the general public. 

The serious environmental activists accused Keep America Beautiful of being a shill for corporate polluters, shifting the blame for pollution and environmental hazards from manufacturers to the general public, making them believe they're the ones making the mess and they're the ones responsible for cleaning it up. Peter Harnik of Environmental Action, Inc. commented to United Press International in an article published in newspapers around the US on May 5, 1971, "Keep America Beautiful is sort of a front for keeping America quiet."

The Captain Cleanup campaign was just a small part of Keep America Beautiful and there was little criticism about it specifically, while the "crying Indian" campaign received much more criticism (as well as praise), but that's a whole other story.

While the Captain Cleanup spot continued to run off and on through the 1970s (NBC continued to play a ten-second edit of it well into the 1980s on Saturday mornings), organized Captain Cleanup clubs soon faded away. A search of newspapers finds few if any mentions beyond 1974.

 

Rondo Thirst

In the summer of 1979, I started seeing commercials for a new soft drink called Rondo that strongly appealed to my adolescent male self. In the commercial, we'd see guys engaging in extreme sports or other vigorous activity as a macho-sounding voiceover said, "This man is working up a Rondo Thirst. And when he gets done, he's doesn't want a soda that he has to sip. He's gonna want a Rondo!"

Next we'd see one of the dudes swigging one down from an aluminum can, with sweat dripping off his face and droplets of soda-pop coming off the side of his mouth, while the voiceover continued, "Rondo is lightly carbonated so you can slam it down fast! Rondo has a clean citrus taste that's never sticky!" Finally, the dude in the commercial would crush the aluminum can he just slammed down in his fist and the voiceover said, "Rondo! The thirst crusher!" The label even looked like a beer can with the word "premium" and the slogan "blended from fine essences."

The commercial inspired lots of young guys like myself to drink Rondo, and even challenge our friends to Rondo-slamming contests, where we'd see who could slam one down the fastest, with the winner being determined by who would crush the emptied can first in his bare hand, just like in the commercial. (Try impressing the girls with THAT. "Hey babe, I'm a champion Rondo slammer!") In my area, Rondo was also available in 16 oz. returnable glass bottles, which would be a lot more difficult (not to mention dangerous) to crush in your bare hand. 

Rondo, marketed by Cadbury-Schweppes, originated in Australia as a soft drink called Solo, with a nearly identical label and commercials (with an Aussie-accented macho voiceover). The name was changed to Rondo in the U.S. because at the time, there was a brand of dog food called Solo. A Cadbury-Schweppes spokesman said in a July 1979 article for the Washington Post-LA Times wire service, "The word Rondo really has no meaning. It's just a computer name...but it sounds familiar and macho, doesn't it?" 

The product was test marketed in 1977 and 1978, rolled out nationally in 1979 and was "aimed at the 14-to-25-year-old active male segment because they are the single biggest consumers of soft drinks. And these heavy users are seeking a thirst-quenching, lower carbonated drink with less sugar," according to an industry spokesman in the Post-Times article. In 1980, sugar-free Rondo was introduced with a softer ad campaign.

By about 1981, the marketers decided those Rondo commercials were a little too macho, that they were actively turning off female consumers (who do most of the grocery buying). New commercials featured people relaxing in various outdoor settings while an adult contemporary-style jingle sang, "Sippin' a Rondo is laid-back and easy." (I can tell you, those commercials actively turned ME off. I didn't want something to sip, I wanted something to slam down fast! Whiskey is for sippin'.) 

Sales plummeted further, and the macho dude commercials made a brief comeback, but by 1984, Rondo was no longer available, at least in my area. 

The Husker Du Subliminal Scandal

In the Holiday Season of 1973, commercials were appearing on local TV stations across the US for a packaged family game called Husker Du (not related to the 1980s band by that name). According to advertising, "In Denmark and around the world, Husker Du means 'Do you remember?'" The game, which involved memorizing symbols on a playing board, was promoted as "a memory exerciser that's fun for children and adults alike" and "a great family game that increases your alertness." Nothing nefarious about that. However, it was discovered soon after the commercials hit the airwaves in late November that a single frame spliced in at four strategic points in the 60 second spot shot on 16 mm film flashed the message "Get It" for a fraction of a second, raising concerns about "subliminal advertising."

Recreation of the "subliminal message."

The idea behind so-called subliminal messaging was that viewers would be influenced by the message without actually noticing it. But viewers did notice and complained to the television stations airing the spot and the Federal Communications Commission (FCC). According to an article published in the New York Times on December 27, 1973 (and in other newspapers), "The commercial was carried by hundreds of stations across the country, most of which edited out the 'subliminal' frames after being alerted by the television code authority of the National Association of Broadcasters (NAB) that the advertisement violated its rules. The product's distributor, Premium Corporation of America, also alerted stations after receiving a number of complaints."

Sam McLeod, general manager of the marketing division of Premium Corporation of America claimed he hadn't noticed the "get it" frames when reviewing the commercial for approval, saying, "Unless you know it's there, you don't catch it," and that the subliminal messages were "an honest mistake, the result of deadline pressures to get the commercial into circulation in time for the Christmas season," according to the Times. He also blamed what he called "an exuberant young man" at the Minneapolis-based commercial production firm Lowe & Associates, saying, "The fellow thought he had invented something no one ever thought of before." 

When he got wind of it, McLeod said he sent telegrams to all the stations running the spot telling them to edit out the frames or simply paint them black. "We made every effort to clean it up, and I'd guess we were 99 percent successful," he told the Times, adding that the commercial was not "pitched at the little ones" and that it aired primarily during "adult" programs in daytime and late night. He said he was sure the problem had been cleared up within the first week.

However, according to the article, several stations continued to air the spot unedited, prompting a Washington-based consumer advocate named Robert B. Choate to file a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission (FTC) and the FCC. Choate claimed to have seen the "get it" version airing as late as December 19 at 11:32 a.m. on WPIX-TV in New York and that it was still airing on stations in Chicago, Detroit and Tucson. It was pointed out that the New York and Tuscon stations were not members of the NAB Code Authority.

The commercial was scheduled to end its run just before Christmas 1973, and after that, Husker Du continued to be sold, and advertised, without any major controversies. Several Husker Du commercials from the 1970s can be found on YouTube, but not the "get it" version (although a subtly awkward edit can be detected near the end of one of them). The above illustration is strictly a recreation. 

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.

The Grain Belt Guys--Where are they now?

     In the spring of 1975, Grain Belt Breweries, Inc., the Minneapolis-based regional brewer that had dominated beer sales in its upper-Midwest marketing area for decades, was facing some new and difficult challenges.

   Nationally advertised beers such as Budweiser, Schlitz, Pabst and Miller were getting more aggressive in their marketing, especially in parts of the country where there was a dominant regional brand with a loyal customer base. The big bad boys of the industry challenged those local loyalties with saturation advertising and deep discounts on their package and tap beers. 

   As Grain Belt struggled to remain relevant, let alone maintain and expand market share, a young businessman with a wheeler-dealer reputation named Irwin Jacobs was buying large quantities of Grain Belt stock and was making a pitch to other stockholders and the Board of Directors to sell the entire company to him.

   As the Board entertained thoughts of selling out to Jacobs in March 1975, the decision was made, as a means of brightening Grain Belt’s future, to embark on a whole new advertising and promotional campaign to be launched in time for the summer beer drinking season.

   The company hired New York-based advertising agency Batton, Barto, Durstine & Osborne, Inc. (BBD&O) and the campaign they came up with was called “Thirst Things First” featuring a trio of fun-loving beer drinking buddies known as the Grain Belt Guys.

   On May 1, 1975, Grain Belt shareholders voted to sell to Jacobs, a move that would prove to be a fatal mistake. As the 36-year-old businessman with no experience in the brewing industry took over as owner, chairman and CEO, the new Grain Belt Guys campaign was launched with seven television and seven radio commercials of varying lengths scheduled to run from May until December of 1975, billboards, posters and point-of-purchase displays featuring the Guys. It would be the company’s last ad campaign.

   Portraying the Grain Belt Guys were three California-based actors: Renny Roker (the black guy), Archie Hahn (the white guy) and Mark Giardino (the mustached guy). The three men had appeared separately in other TV commercials and had bit parts in a few TV shows and movies. Roker also had a recurring role in the CBS comedy series Gomer Pyle, USMC a few years earlier and before that worked for singer Nat King Cole, and Hahn made a few appearances as one of Oscar’s poker playing buddies on ABC’s The Odd Couple. The guys were flown in, and the commercials were shot in Minnesota.

   The roving Grain Belt Guys, wearing big red Grain Belt diamond logos on their T-shirts, would rescue other guys from uncomfortable situations in a series of humorous commercials by calling out “Pssst—Hey you! Let’s have a Grain Belt!”  In one of the commercials, for example, the Grain Belt Guys crash a wedding and call a nervous bridegroom away for a beer just as he’s about to tie the knot. In another, the Guys lure a bored young man, who is accompanying his snobbish rich boss and boss’s wife, away from his seat at the opera for a Grain Belt in the middle of an aria.

   Other commercials were filmed at various spots around the Twin Cities area, including the IDS Building (then the only modern skyscraper in Minneapolis), Naegele Outdoor Advertising Company (Grain Belt was one of that company’s biggest clients), a barber shop and at the beach. The Guys were happy non-conformist partiers who confounded the conformist snobs in the commercials, and as it would turn out, in real life as well.

   While the commercials undoubtedly played on youth appeal, at a time when states including Minnesota were lowering their drinking ages to 18, the actors portraying the Grain Belt Guys were all hovering around age 30, so they themselves weren’t all that young, but not all that old either. A perfect fit to attract the targeted 18-34 year old male beer drinker.

   In addition to commercials, the Guys were brought in for personal appearances around Minnesota in the summer of 1975, including the Minneapolis Aquatennial, where they rode the Grain Belt float and waved to enthusiastic spectators in the Torchlight Parade.

   According to an article in the October 1975 Grain Belt Diamond, a company newsletter, “Everywhere the Grain Belt Guys went they were recognized by thousands of fans…The three Grain Belt Guys enjoy their role and popularity in the Upper Midwest. Every place they would go they would hear “Psssst, hey you” from thousands of fans. They’re neat guys and are helping to sell Grain Belt Beer.”

   The Grain Belt Guys were even parodied in a Richard Guindon cartoon panel published in the July 2, 1975 Minneapolis Tribune. In it, the Guys are drunk, sick and in the gutter, while a young boy asks his mother as they pass by, “What’s the matter with the Grain Belt guys, Mom?”

   But not everyone was a fan of the Grain Belt Guys. The United Presbyterian Church filed an official complaint with the Federal Communications Commission as well as Grain Belt owner Irwin Jacobs over the wedding commercial, finding the church setting in which the Guys do their “Pssst—Hey you! Let’s have a Grain Belt” routine sacrilegious. The Presbyterian organization also complained that a Grain Belt radio spot featured religious music, but Grain Belt officials insisted it was “soul music.”

   The opera commercial also drew protest, this time from a culture lady from the Twin Cities Metropolitan Arts Alliance who complained that particular spot seemed to “reinforce the notion that only rich, society people can go and enjoy the arts” and that “there could have been a lot of other ways to make the commercial without putting down not only the opera but the people who attend it,” she was quoted in the Minneapolis Star. Others complained the commercials promoted youth drinking.

   Then, as 1975 came to a close, owner Irwin Jacobs, who hoodwinked a majority of Grain Belt shareholders into selling the company to him just eight months earlier, announced he would be closing down the brewery and selling off its assets. The Grain Belt brands would be sold to the competing G. Heileman Brewing Company of La Crosse, Wisconsin, and the Grain Belt Guys died with the Grain Belt brewery.

   The guys portraying the Grain Belt Guys went their own separate ways continuing their acting careers. Renny Roker went on to have the most impressive accomplishments of any of the former Grain Belt Guys. He served as the International Sports Youth Representative for the Coca-Cola Company from 1978 to 1984, he produced BMX Racing on ESPN and America’s Paradise Triathlon for NBC Sports, he founded Teens On the Green, described as a multi-ethnic program that motivates inner city youth to excel in their academics through an appreciation of golf, and he appeared as a semi-regular on NBC’s Hill Street Blues in the 1980s. His last acting credit, according to the Internet Movie Data Base (imdb.com) was a 1999 TV movie, “Kidnapped In Paradise.”

   In August 1975, at the height of the Grain Belt Guys campaign, Archie Hahn was a regular on a four-week summer variety show on CBS fronted by recording group Manhattan Transfer, doing comedy relief as a character called Doughie Duck (he had been renowned for his ability to talk like Donald Duck).  In his later career, he continued to act in numerous TV shows and commercials. He appeared in the theatrical movie “Meatballs Part II” (1984) and got into a relationship with co-star Misty Rowe, a former “Hee Haw Honey.” He was the first American to appear in the original British version of Who’s Line Is It Anyway, and most recently played the agent in “Alvin & the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel” (2009).

   Information on the post-Grain Belt Guys career of Mark Giardino is a little harder to come by. According to imdb.com, his most recent acting credits were an episode of NBC’s Knight Rider in 1985 and the movie “Invaders From Mars” (1986).

   Postscript: the old Grain Belt brewery building in Minneapolis remained standing and boarded up for more than two decades after Irwin Jacobs shut it down. The building was long rumored to be “haunted” and indeed, the spirit of the Grain Belt Guys was discovered in the early 2000s when renovations began to convert the giant building into offices for RSP Architects. A full-size outdoor type billboard featuring the Guys and the slogan “This is our kind of place” remained installed on a wall of the old engine room. Instead of preserving it, however, it was removed and trashed by the construction firm responsible for the building renovations, to the relief no doubt of Presbyterians and opera lovers everywhere.