[Life; October 25, 1937]
A hodgepodge, from Life‘s issue of August 30, 1937:
(Another Norman Rockwell ad. I keep meaning to do a specific post on Schenley’s history. Another time.)
(Burnett’s is still around; the brand, today, is owned by Heaven Hill.)
(If you need me to tell you that Myers is still around, you don’t drink enough.)
I’m unlikely to post links for every bourbon-related story that emerges about the midwest drought, but I’ll follow it until I convince the rest of you to pay attention.
An important question in our line of work.
From the June 28, 1937, issue of Life comes this one rule for staying cool in the hot, hot summer:
Add a sea lion to your bath.
The text on this bizarre ad isn’t interesting, but if you want to read it, click through and read it.
Two whiskey ads from the June 14, 1937, issue of Life magazine.
First up, Schenley’s Cream of Kentucky bourbon. I’ll have more to say about the history of Schenley’s at a later time. Apparently, the Cream of Kentucky brand has been defunct since the 1980s.
And, oh, take note of the artist’s name. Perhaps you’ll recognize him.
The second ad, I have to admit, is a repeat, but there’s a reason for that. The ad itself is a repeat; it ran more than once in Life, first in December 1936. I featured it here a couple of months ago. Here it is again:
As noted previously, Kentucky Tavern still exists as a brand. Here’s a fairly recent image of its bottle lineup:
Earlier this week, Chuck Cowdery posted news that this venerable brand has gotten a facelift. His post is worth a read, and if you click through, you’ll see the new label.
These ten suggestions cover an impressive range and really demonstrate the complexity and depth of great bourbon whiskey.
Tis said that the gods on Olympus of old
(And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?)
One night, ’mid their revels, by Bacchus were told
That his last butt of nectar had somehow run out!
But determined to send round the goblet once more,
They sued to the fairer immortals for aid
In composing a draught which, till drinking were o’er,
Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.
Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn,
And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain,
And which first had its birth from the dew of the morn,
Was taught to steal out in bright dewdrops again.
Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board
Were scattered profusely in every one’s reach,
When called on a tribute to cull from the hoard,
Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach.
The liquids were mingled while Venus looked on
With glances so fraught with sweet magical power,
That the honey of Hybla, e’en when they were gone,
Has never been missed in the draught from that hour.
Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrancy, shook,
And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl,
All dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,
The herb whose aroma should flavor the whole.
The draught was delicious, and loud the acclaim,
Though something seemed wanting for all to bewail,
But Juleps the drink of immortals became,
When Jove himself added a handful of hail.