Bitter Brew: The Rise and Fall of Anheuser-Busch and America's Kings of Beer (28 page)

Norm London, who'd begun his career as an attorney for the St. Louis Police Department, was considered the best criminal defense trial lawyer in town. No one was better versed in police procedures. And since the prosecution's case was based almost entirely on the arrest report—what the detectives said happened that morning—his defense narrative cast them as rogue cops who terrorized a young man into thinking he was about to be kidnapped or killed. He asked jurors to put themselves in August IV's shoes, to imagine if their son or daughter were caught in the same circumstances while driving home one night.

Most of the three-day trial was taken up with the testimony of the detectives, as London tried to trip them up, catch them in inconsistencies between what they said in the arrest report and what was on the recording of the chase.

“You claimed you were assaulted,” he said to Fredericksen, “and yet you did not broadcast that?”

“I did not broadcast that because I didn't want the other officers taking an action more extreme than the situation warranted,” Fredericksen responded.

Detective Mike Wilhite testified that near the end of the chase, his partner, Junius Ranciville, pulled their car up alongside the Mercedes, and he leaned out the right side window, displaying his badge and shouting at the driver, “Police officer.” He said that August responded by swerving toward them, forcing them to swerve as well to avoid a collision. When London asked why he had not broadcast that information on the radio, Wilhite replied, “I was worried about our own safety. I was worried about the location where we were, and trying to stop the car.”

Throughout the trial, August III sat in the back row of the courtroom with his wife, Ginny, and August IV's mother, Susie. His demeanor rarely varied from extremely pissed off. He glared at the prosecutor. He glared at the reporters who were scribbling down what was said. Most of all, he glared at the prosecution witnesses, his face at times reddening, the veins in his face and neck bulging. Nick Fredericksen would not have been surprised to see smoke coming out of his ears. During breaks in the proceedings, August III could be seen huddled with his legal team and his son in the corridor, talking and gesticulating animatedly as if giving orders: the man in charge. When reporters asked him for a comment, he responded with a baleful look. About the only time he smiled during the trial was when Norm London asked a defense witness, a waitress at a local restaurant, what August IV's favorite drink was, and she replied, “Bud Light.”

As one of his key witnesses, London put Jim Sprick on the stand. Sprick identified himself as a friend of August IV's and testified that they were driving in separate cars to Jimmy's Cabaret at 4915 Delmar when he saw the Mercedes pulled over on Highway 40, but noticed no red lights flashing and heard no sirens.

Sprick had known August IV since high school and was the most devoted member of his bar-hopping entourage, the one usually sent ahead to prepare for August's arrival at the next stop. People who knew Sprick believed there was nothing he wouldn't do for August IV. The narcotics detectives recognized him as the individual who had approached them on Delmar Avenue as they were taking August IV into custody that morning and asked why they were arresting his friend. They wondered why—if he'd driven by the brief stop on Highway 40, as he testified—he hadn't pulled over and approached them at that point. And where was he during the subsequent fifteen-minute pursuit? How could he have followed them at the speed they were traveling? Did August call him? Without the phone records they would never know.

The detectives would have liked the prosecutor to press Sprick a lot harder than he did, and to raise the question of why August had pulled over in the first place. Something made him stop. If it wasn't their lights and sirens, then what was it? And why in the world would three teams of plainclothes police officers choose to chase down a suspect in a speeding car without establishing their authority by using their lights, sirens, or badges? Did that make any logical sense at all?

August IV did not take the stand in his own defense. In closing arguments, the young prosecutor called him “a man who plays by his own rules” and urged the jury to “send a signal that this type of reckless behavior will not be tolerated.” In his summation, Norm London told jurors, “What you have seen in this courtroom is lies, perjury, and a police cover-up.”

It took the jury less than two hours to return a verdict of not guilty. One juror told reporters that he was impressed by London's comment about putting themselves in August IV's shoes. “You have to walk in someone else's shoes,” he said, “and sometimes those shoes are a little tight.” Several said they were swayed to vote for acquittal by the fact that sirens could not be heard on the police recording of the pursuit.

Immediately after the verdict was read, August IV shook hands with the jurors and thanked them. “I am very, very happy,” he told reporters. “Justice has been done.” His father, too, thanked the jury, but had no comment for reporters. Several days later, however, he hand-delivered a statement to police headquarters demanding an investigation of the narcotics detectives:

“St. Louis Police Department officials should carefully review policies and management control over the undercover narcotics squad who disgrace the vast majority of good law abiding professional officers in the St. Louis Police Department by their unprofessional conduct and gross misstatement of facts, as documented in testimony in my son's trial.”

Noting that he could afford good lawyers for his son, he said he was troubled by “the question of how persons of moderate to low income could defend themselves against a police unit that takes great liberties with citizens' rights and that obviously by their own testimony have taken liberty with the truth—which is what our whole system of justice is built upon. Therefore, I call upon the department to fully investigate the incident not only because it involved the safety of my son but because it brought to light action and attitudes that undermine the credibility of all police officers, and most important because such actions pose a threat to every resident of this community.”

A police spokesman responded that neither the department nor the circuit attorney's office had any problem with the detectives' conduct the night of the arrest or their testimony at the trial. “We examined both the shooting and the pursuit and didn't find any violations of department rules or any other improprieties,” said the commander of internal affairs, adding, “If he, Busch, wants to come forward and make [an official] complaint, we will be happy to entertain it.”

If nothing else, the episode proved there was a limit to August III's power. Despite his wealth and connections, he was not able to get the charges dropped and prevent an embarrassing public trial. Perhaps that's what angered him the most as he listened to police officers testifying against his son. After all his family and company had paid to St. Louis police personnel for private security over the years, he didn't get his way when it really mattered.

To their surprise, the six narcotics officers never suffered any repercussions. There were no unwanted transfers, missed promotions, or derailed careers. Several years after the trial, in fact, Nick Fredericksen was given departmental approval for “secondary duty” working security at an Anheuser-Busch stockholders' dinner. The extra-pay, off-duty service apparently caused him to get a Christmas card that year from Anheuser-Busch, embossed with a picture of the Clydesdales and personally signed by August III.

Four months after the trial, August IV pleaded guilty to driving his Porsche at 65 miles an hour in a 35 mph zone, and was put on a year's probation. He'd gotten the ticket while he was awaiting trial, but his attorneys had managed to put off his traffic court appearance five times, until after the trial verdict was in. For all his vehicular transgressions, August IV never lost his driver's license.

Along with the Tucson crash, the high-speed chase would become a public relations burden August IV would carry for the rest of his life, an obligatory paragraph in any newspaper or magazine profile of him. But he at least got the last laugh on city attorney George Peach, the only man who ever put him through a trial. In 1993, after earning a reputation for being particularly zealous in prosecuting pornography and prostitution cases, Peach was convicted of using city funds to pay for the services of prostitutes. August IV, then being heralded as a rising star and heir apparent at Anheuser-Busch, sent him a life-size blow-up sex doll.

America's seemingly unquenchable thirst for beer finally began to slacken in the 1980s. Per capita consumption hit a historic high of 23.8 gallons in 1981, then sales went flat.

Experts blamed an aging population—baby boomers approaching forty—and rising public concern over alcohol abuse. Whatever the cause, the drop in demand left some formerly robust brewers—most notably Pabst—awash in red ink, and others—including Miller—saddled with excess production capacity.

August III had foreseen the development, which he termed a “growth gap.” Beginning in the late 1970s, he moved to fill the gap. Leaving the day-to-day business of the brewing division to his two gregarious Irishmen, Denny Long and Mike Roarty, August turned his attention to expanding operations into related businesses to offset an expected slowing in beer sales. In 1981 A-B launched Eagle Snacks, distributing its own line of salty, thirst-inducing munchies—peanuts, pretzels, and potato chips—to bars, taverns, and convenience stores, placing itself in competition with junk food giant Frito-Lay and Planter's Peanuts.

A year later, in 1982, August acquired the second largest baking company in the United States, Dallas-based Campbell Taggart, Inc., which specialized in refrigerated-dough and frozen food products. The expansion wasn't as big a stretch as it seemed, considering that A-B was the country's No. 1 producer of baker's yeast and No. 2 producer of corn syrup. As with Eagle Snacks, the plan was to distribute Campbell Taggart products through A-B's existing beer wholesaler network, having the distributors warehouse and deliver the baked goods right alongside the beer. On paper, it made synergistic sense—the trucks were already delivering to every grocery store in the country.

A-B paid a whopping $570 million for Campbell Taggart, which represented a 20 percent premium over its market value. But August believed the acquisition would establish A-B as a major player in the food industry, a serious competitor to the big packaged goods firms he so admired—Procter & Gamble, Philip Morris, Nabisco, and General Mills. Among the new baked products A-B put on the beer trucks was a line of bread branded “Grant's Farm.”

After bread, August took the company into wine, buying a California winery called Master Cellars that marketed bulk wine—also called “keg wine” or “wine on tap”—to bars and restaurants. Again, the plan was to ride piggyback on A-B's distributor network. August had wanted to move the company into the wine business back in the early 1970s; he even sent a group from his corporate planning department to Europe for six weeks to find a winemaker partner. When they presented the board with a detailed marketing plan, however, Gussie said no, and that was that. This time, August made Master Cellars Winery the cornerstone of a new division within the company that reported directly to him, and the Anheuser-Busch Beverage Group soon introduced Baybry's Champagne Coolers and Dewey Stevens Premium Wine Coolers to compete with the popular Bartles and Jaymes wine coolers that were being marketed by the Gallo Winery.

From there, it was a short logical leap into the fastest-growing segment of the beverage industry—bottled water. In September 1984 Anheuser-Busch paid $900,000 for Saratoga Springs Mineral Water, a tiny, troubled 114-year-old company in Saratoga Springs, New York, with distribution on the East Coast from Washington, D.C., up through New England. A-B invested another $1.5 million in new equipment and renovations at the plant, making it capable of producing two million cases a year, and began marketing “Saratoga Naturally Sparkling Mineral Water.” In April 1985, August approved the purchase of Sante Mineral Water in Santa Rosa, California, and the A-B beverage group introduced two brands of flavored water, aSante (Italian for “to health”) and Zeltzer Seltzer. A-B also bought a controlling interest in Ireland's Ballygowan Spring Water Company (named for its source, an underground spring in County Limerick in southwestern Ireland). The plan was to distribute the Ballygowan brand of “pure Irish spring water” in the United States.

August III's timing could not have been better. Bottled water was exploding in popularity—sales more than tripled in the United States between 1980 and 1987, from $443 million to $1.5 billion—and A-B faced only one major competitor in the nation, Perrier, which controlled about 75 percent of the market. Despite Perrier's dominance, A-B management and beverage industry experts believed that the fearsome marketing and distributing machine that had vanquished Miller Brewing would have little trouble defeating the French. As one ad executive working on the Miller account told the
Los Angeles Times
, in grudging admiration, “Anheuser-Busch could drive the distribution of horse piss if they wanted to.”

But things didn't work out the way August III had planned. A-B's new beverage group fizzled, producing nothing but losses between 1984 and 1987. According to Denny Long, the problem wasn't the products: “Wine and bottled water appeared to fit us like a glove, but we tried to load too many industries into the existing beer distribution system, and it was too many different items for the distributors to handle.”