In New Ulm, however, kinder sentiments about the Sioux had prevailed, at least at the Schell’s brewery, where Theresa Schell was generous with food when the tribe visited. Schell’s own account credits this with sparing the brewery when, led by a warrior named Mankato, the Santee Sioux attacked New Ulm on August 23, inflicting more than 100 casualties and burning 190 buildings—but not any at Schell’s. The survival of the brewery doubtless hastened New Ulm’s recovery, and the civic-minded reputation of the Schell’s family was made.
Surviving a frontal assault by well-armed Santee warriors doesn’t necessarily make one equal to a contest with the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. Fifty-eight years after the Sioux uprising, the 18th Amendment confronted Schell’s with the same hardships that led Minneapolis Brewing to void their president’s paycheck. Like other breweries, Schell’s tried to survive on the soft drink trade, candy, and near beers, offering labels like “Schell’s Vacuum Tonic” (“Anchor of Perfect Health”). Minneapolis Brewing tried its luck with “Golden Grain Juice” and “Minnehaha Pale” near beer. Brewers who survived Prohibition staggered into the Great Depression greatly diminished, if not dissipated. Schell’s and Minneapolis Brewing were two of the soldiers left standing, both with a surplus of extracted alcohol locked in storage, the forbidden by-product of near beer production.
In 1890, Jeff Lonto estimates, there were more than 100 breweries in Minnesota. Schell’s is now the only 19th century brewery in Minnesota still producing. Today’s consumer is less likely to associate Schell’s with pivotal events in Minnesota history than with great deals on returnable cases in the 70s and 80s. Many a southern Minnesota college bacchanal was fueled with 24 bottles of Deer Brand at $4.99. Wisconsin predator Heileman was the thin end of the wedge that pried open the Minnesota market to bargain beers. Anheuser-Busch and Miller soon followed and everyone dropped their shorts to compete. But Ted Marti says Schell’s knew the future would never be in underpricing the macros.
“If you’re losing a nickel a case, you’re not going to make it up in volume,” he quipped. To keep a profitable niche, Schell’s went upmarket and now offers up no fewer than eight specialties for the yuppie palate. Even Deer Brand has seen its boat lift in the rising tide of designer beer; 12-packs of cans now fetch $9.25 in upscale shops, though it remains unimproved since 1985. That’s part of the marketing angle that made Grain Belt a natural choice for Schell’s, said Marti.
“It was a strong brand. Lots of loyalty. Although it took its lumps over the years, they never really—pardon the phrase—but they never really bastardized the brand. When someone bastardizes the brand, you know, sells it dirt cheap, there’s no bringing that brand back.”
While the current price of Deer Brand may argue that case against Marti, something about the Schell’s estate seems right for Grain Belt, a formal adoption into a kindly family, after nearly three decades as an abused and neglected foster child. And with the demand for Grain Belt outstripping that for any other Schell’s product, the Martis aren’t about to let it go to seed. Grain Belt not only has its own tanks, but its own marketing plan as well. The “Local Legends” campaign enlists Grain Belt Premium enthusiasts to nominate cultural icons for the honor of a Grain Belt endorsement. Promotional materials leave it unclear just who’s endorsing whom, but a year of free beer is at stake in the current contest. The previous election saw nominees like Wally the Beer Man, the Jucy Lucy, and pro wrestler Baron Von Raschke. Von Raschke (aka The Claw) won the distinction. At this writing, Irwin Jacobs has yet to be nominated in any category.
More beer history and other fun facts can be found at www.studioz-7.com