George C. Bloss: Pitchman for Land and Liquor

The May 1900 issue of Printers Ink, the “bible” of American advertising, published a lengthy article on the unorthodox but highly effective methods used byGeorge C. Bloss to sell housing lots in what hitherto had been farmland in northern Kentucky.  The publication hailed the pitchman’s “scheming and business ability.” An acknowledged driving force behind the founding of two new communities, Bloss subsequently applied his talent to selling “Eastern Ryes and Kentucky Bourbons.”  The results turned out significantly different.  

Born in Cincinnati in May 1855, George was the only child of Elizabeth and George Bloss, his father a newspaper editor transplanted from Vermont to Ohio.  Of George’s early life, education and occupations, the records are scant.  We can assume that eventually he was involved in real estate.  Bloss hove into public attention in a major way in 1888 when at age 33 he was named general manager of a syndicate controlling a large swath of farmland in Kentucky about six miles south of the Ohio River.  A housing development had been made possible by the construction of the Cincinnati Southern Railroad near the site, allowing easy transit to and from the Queen City.

Credited for “new ideas” of how to sell housing lots, Bloss capitalized on the laws that shut saloons on Sunday in Ohio but not in Kentucky.  He ran Sunday excursions to the site on trains hired for $120.  A round trip cost passengers only a dime.   At the pitchman’s behest hawkers roamed the cars selling beer.  Sales were brisk and helped defray the cost of the trains. Once landed at the tract other alcohol vendors greeted visitors. 

The excursions became highly popular among citizens of Northern Ohio as hundreds each weekend trekked to the land syndicate’s holdings.  Frequently as many as 20 carloads of people would arrive of a Sunday at the projected new suburbs.  Bloss saturated the Cincinnati Post with quarter and half page ads, including one shown here.  He emphasized the scenic and heath benefits of the location and the low cost of lots:  “50 cents down and 50 cents a week.”  

The development proved a huge success.  Shown below, a small business section sprang up as lots sold quickly.  In the end two adjacent towns were created, called Erlanger and Elsmere.  Both have been designated home rule cities and are continuing to grow.  Erlanger now has a population of just under 20,000 and Elsmere, 8,500.  Both are suburban municipalities of well-kept bungalows.  

Bloss was credited with making the syndicate the equivalent of more than $2 million above the purchase price of the farmland.  He subsequently was elected one of the first town trustees of Erlanger.   With Bloss’s star having risen high over the Cincinnati landscape, little wonder that when a syndicate formed to create a new liquor house in a city already chock full of distillers, wholesale liquor dealers, and whiskey brokers, the money men sought out Bloss as their chief operating officer.  With Erlinger-Elsmere developing briskly, the pitchman agreed.

In April 1903, according to State of Ohio records, the Consolidated Hopewell Company filed its incorporation papers in Columbus.  George G. Bloss was listed as “manager.”  Located at 30 Main Street in Cincinnati, the company billed itself as a distiller.  No evidence exists, however, that Consolidated Hopewell actually was producing liquor.  More likely it was acting as a “rectifier,” blending whiskeys obtained elsewhere, bottling it and selling it by mail order.  Company ads emphasized its proximity to Cincinnati’s recently opened East Side railroad depot, shown below.

In his efforts to replicate his success with the Erlinger-Elsmere Land Syndicate, Bloss found himself in a very different environment.  Instead of a large vacant “playing field” he found himself in a landscape filled with high-flying, nationally known competitors.  Only one whiskey is known under the Hopewell label, “Old Hunter Belle Rye.”  Bloss advertised his products, including wines, in newspapers and through trade cards.  Dogs and children seemed to be his favorite subject matter.

Since virtually all his competition was issuing advertising shot glasses to the saloons, restaurants and hotels carrying their alcohol, Bloss obliged with a fancy molded glass shot with no advertising on the surface.  A glance from the top, however reveals ”Consolidated Hopewell Co.” in the base.

The problems faced by Bloss’s liquor enterprise came to light in a New York circuit court case fled by the Lanahan Company of Baltimore [see post of Oct. 14, 2011].  This distiller of “Hunter Rye” sued a liquor dealer named Kissel from Brooklyn for trademark infringement for selling a brand called “White Label Hunter Whiskey.”  In the course of making his decision, District Judge Thomas researched other whiskeys then on the market that had “Hunter” in their name and found four others, including Bloss’s “Old Hunter Belle Rye.”  In making his decision, the judge noted:  “If a person inquired for “Hunter Whiskey,” he would not have received “Louis Hunter 1870 Pure Rye,” “Hunter’s Own,” “Hunter’s Game,” or “Old Hunter Belle Rye.”  He then ruled for the defendant, Kissel.  

In his opinion the judge highlighted Bloss’s problem in marketing his whiskey:  “There is evidence…that this whiskey has some sale in bottles wearing a dark label with a white medallion therein, showing a huntress on horseback, the label bearing the words ‘Old Hunter Belle Rye, 17 Years, etc.’  It is alleged  that it is bottled and sold by the  ‘Consolidated Hopewell Co.’ of Cincinnati; such company is of very recent formation and apparently is unknown to the trade.  There is no evidence that the complainants had knowledge of this brand until the evidence herein was taken.”

Judge Thomas was asserting what Bloss already must have known.  Fully two years after incorporating Consolidated Hopewell, his “Old Hunter Belle Rye” was still “apparently…unknown to the trade.”  His ads, the attractive trade cards, the fancy shot glasses, and the elaborate labels all apparently had missed their mark.  Consolidated Hopewell Co. was sliding into insolvency.  The end came about 1908 when the firm was declared bankrupt.  Although Bloss went to court to ask that the receiver in bankruptcy be directed to continue in business, by the following year according to Ohio records, Consolidated Hopewell was history.

Likely feeling the pain of the liquor house failure, Bloss retreated to his residence on Graves Street in Erlanger, above, to enjoy home life with his wife, Dorothea, and teenaged daughter, Bertha, and to look after his real estate interests.  He continued in high repute in the two towns he had fostered.  In 1915 the Cincinnati Commercial Tribune  reported Bloss successfully had negotiated the gift of an attractive woodland tract near Erlanger as public parkland and a “gathering place for all worthy organizations and nature lovers.”  He then was chosen by authorities to act as the initial park manager.  After many years continuing to be active in the towns he had been instrumental in creating,  Bloss died in 1950 while vacationing in Palm Beach, Florida.  He was 95 years old.

Note:  This article was the product of numerous internet sources, particularly the May 1900 Printer’s Ink article.

 

 

 

Mark Twain at Klapproths’ Saloon

While living summers in Elmira, New York, Mark Twain (aka Samuel Clemens), already a world famous author, frequently found occasion to visit a local saloon run by an immigrant German named August Klapproth, and his son, Charles.  Years later the National Distillers Product Co.,, the source of “Old Crow” bourbon, as part of a series of “history re-imagined” magazine ads featured Twain at Klapproth’s.  Factual accuracy, however, left at the saloon back door.

In his 1872 autobiographical book, “Roughing It,” Mark Twain had made plain his positive view of saloonkeepers, writing:  “The cheapest and easiest way to become an influential man and be looked up to by the community at large was to stand behind a bar, wear a cluster-diamond pin and sell whiskey.  I am not sure but that the saloon-keeper held a shade higher rank than any other member of society.  His opinion had weight.  It was his privilege to say how elections would go.  No great movement could succeed without the countenance and direction of the saloon-keepers.  It was a high favor when the chief saloon-keeper consented to serve in the legislature or the board of alderman.”

The Klapproths failed miserably when measured against Twain’s description.  They did not flash diamonds or pontificate about current politics or serve in political office.   From the little to be gleaned from the historical record, they were stolid German publicans content with running a decent tavern.  August Klapproth had been born in Darmstadt, Germany, and immigrated to America as a youth.  His son Charles, born in America, never married and lived much of his life with his widowed mother and an unmarried sister.  Fame came when Twain chose their saloon as his favorite Elmira watering hole.

From his summer home at Quarry Farm, shown above, Twain of an evening would stroll into downtown Lake Street, one of Elmira’s main commercial avenues and stop in at Klapproths.  A legend, perpetuated by the “Old Crow” “ad-meisters,” was that Twain kept 25 kegs of his favorite whiskey in storage at the tavern for his personal use and for treating friends.  An early advertisement, below, depicted Twain at Klaproth’s (misspelled) inquiring of the bartender: “Lou, which barrel are we using now?”

Another Old Crow ad featured the author at the saloon regaling a group of amused companions.  It is entitled:  “Mark Twain holds forth at Klaproth’s Tavern.”  Note that Old Crow’s adverting geniuses still do not have the family’s name spelled right.  This panorama occasioned a parody by “Mad Magazine.” The spoof depicts Carrie Nation, famous for attacking saloons with a hatchet, joining Twain’s party.   The “Mad” text reads:  “Yes, in the past, a few women like Carrie Nation disapproved of Old Crow.  But today more and more women are singing its praise.  Of course, they still may hack up the place, but only because they get loaded on this famous Kentucky bourbon.” 

It was not until the early 1980s that Old Crow’s representations of Twain finally approached reality.  The ad shown below not only spells “Klapproth” correctly but also recreates the tavern interior as it actually looked, including the wood paneling, the fireplace and the metal bas relief sculpture above it.  This ad has Twain telling his rapt audience:  “Thunder is good, thunder is impressive; but it is lightening that does the work.”   The ad continues:  When Mark Twain held forth at Klapproth’s cafe, cigar in one hand, a glass of Old Crow in the other, one expected this kind of wit-filled conversation.

Was Mark Twain really a fan of Old Crow?  The  author was not merely a man of words about whiskey,  but of deeds as well.  While not given to over-indulging,  his fondness for bourbon was well known.  During his brief career as a journalist in Washington about 1868,  Twain agreed to share expenses with a roommate with a similar taste for whiskey.   Their total joint income per week was $24.   In his autobiography he recounts:  “Twenty four dollars a week would really have been riches to us if hadn’t had to support that jug;  because of the jug we were always sailing pretty close to the wind....”

When a friend sent him a case of whiskey, Twain’s thank-you note ran this way:   “The whiskey arrived in due course….Last week one bottle of it was extracted from the wood and inserted in me, on the installment plan, with this result: that I believe it to be the best, smoothest whiskey now on the planet.”  Twain unfortunately failed to mention the brand name. 

Later, while in England on a lecture tour, Twain remarked to companions that despite enjoying their company he badly missed the taste of Kentucky bourbon.  To accommodate him, friends imported six cases and even switched from scotch to help him drink it.   When he left England two cases remained. “I will be back very soon,” said he.  “Save them for me.”  Though Twain never returned, the bourbon was left untouched until World War Two when the supply was destroyed during a German bombing raid on London.

Twain’s visits to Klapproth’s can be roughly dated from 1871 when his family first adopted Elmira as their summer home and for the ensuing twenty years.  August Klapproth died in 1875 and was immediately succeeded by his son Charles, who is reputed to have become a close friend of the author.  Charles apparently continued to run the drinking establishment at 162 Lake Street until closed by prohibitionary forces.  He died in 1922.   The Klapproths are buried in adjacent graves in Elmira’s Woodlawn Cemetery, a plot that features a tall monument.  Twain, who died in 1910, also is buried in Woodlawn.

The story does not end there.  When the saloon was being torn down, the paneled wall, fireplace and decorative metal casting were saved and now are the centerpiece of the Mark Twain Archive at the Gannett-Tripp Library of Elmira College.  Shown below, note the similarity to the Old Crow ad above. Perpetuating the story is an Elmira stage production in which local actors representing Twain relatives and friends present monologues.  Among those speaking is “Charles Klapproth.”  

I See White Elephants at Saloons

 

No, the doctor replies, “If you have been drinking,  you are supposed to see PINK elephants.  A WHITE elephant is a thing that is useless or troublesome.” “But Doc,” I protest, “saloons named ‘White Elephant’ are all over the pre-Prohibition landscape.  Why?”

Apparently no one really knows.  For example, in the late 1800s White Elephant saloons proliferated in Texas.  They could be found in Austin, San Antonio, Denison, Mobeetie, Panhandle, Fredericksburg, El Paso, and Lampasas — with the most infamous one in Fort Worth, represented here by its logo. 

The history of the White Elephant Saloon in Ft. Worth spans from 1884 to about 1914. It was located at two different spots on Main Street during that time, first at 308-310 Main Street and later at 606-608 Main.  After a series of owners, circa 1886 it fell into the hands of Bill Ward, a man who knew the saloon could prosper by expanding into gambling and hiring as his concessionaire a gunslinger named Luke Short.  One night Short was confronted by “Longhaired Jim” Courtright.  They dueled it out in front of the White Elephant where Short got five shots off before Courtright could fire and killed him.  Short was put in jail overnight, then released and never brought to trial.

While the White Elephant Saloon of San Antonio has no dramatic shoot on premises, it has been described as a “rough and rowdy” premier drinking establishment in town.  It was located on San Antonio’s main plaza, close to city hall and the stockyards.  Popular at night, the saloon was adjacent to the north side of the plaza where “scuffles, skirmishes and shootings were commonplace.” Only several years after it opened, this White Elephant was forced to close by a  crackdown on gambling in San Antonio.  The local newspaper commented: “When the boys come to San Antone, they can not milk the elephant any more.”

The White Elephant in Bryan, Texas, has not been as prominent as the other two Texas saloons.  Represented here by a jug that indicates it sold whiskey — “pure liquor” — at retail as well as over the bar.  Part of a land grant by the Spanish to Stephen A. Austin and named for his nephew, Bryan was the seat of Brazos County in west central Texas.   Its history seems less identified with violence and thus not as elaborately recorded.

As noted here on an ad, the White Elephant Saloon of Dennison regarded itself as “The largest and most elegant resort in North Texas.”  Founded in 1884 this “watering hole” was in business under a series of owners.  The saloon, billiards and a restaurant were on the first floor of the building on Dennison’s West Main Street.  Gambling and sleeping rooms were on the second floor.  In 1884 the establishment harbored a man named Jim McIntire, wanted for murdering two French squatters on ranch land in New Mexico.  When the law came to get McIntire, he was tipped off and hired a horse from the White Elephant livery stables and escaped to New Orleans.

Not only Texas harbored saloons under the sign of the white elephant.  They could be found throughout the West and South.  W. R. Monroe owned one in Kansas City, Missouri.   As many saloonkeepers of the times did, Monroe issued bar tokens good for drinks at his bar.  The one shown here for his White Elephant Saloon was worth five cents in trade.  This token is distinguished among representations of the pachyderm by the predominance given to one (otherwise unmentionable) physical attribute.

I am still puzzling over why Wickman’s of Knoxville, Tennessee, would name a saloon White Elephant and then represent it with a ceramic pig big bottle.  As it turns out Wickman in addition to selling whiskey over the bar also was retailing liquor to customers in glass and ceramic containers.   Obviously a figural elephant likely would have held more booze than the proprietor might have wanted to give away, so Wickman chose a pig to convey a slug or two of his whiskey.

Another Tennessee White Elephant saloon artifact is a stoneware jug covered in dark Albany slip glaze into which has been scratched a rather primitive elephant.  The crudeness of the design indicates that it was created relatively early in the 1800s.  The saloon apparently belonged to Querna Clerk, about whom I can find nothing. Nor does the jug given any clue as to the city or town in which the White Elephant was located.

Two cities named Richmond, one in Virginia and one in Kentucky each harbored White Elephant saloons.  The Kentucky example is unusual since this establishment was owned and operated by a woman, Mrs. Mary Enright.  Directories show her in business at 420 Louisiana Street during the early 1900s.  In addition to serving drinks at the bar she was blending her own whiskeys and selling them at both wholesale and retail.  Like the prior jug, this one too is scratched into brown Albany slip, but is legible. 

Called a “scratch jug” when it was offered at auction, the Albany slip covered beehive-shaped container shown here from Richmond, Kentucky in reality was covered by a stencil that masked the glaze from the body to create the letters.  It appears to be quart size.  Details about this White Elephant are lost in the mists of history.

In Tuscaloosa, Alabama, the White Elephant  was selling whiskey in a wide variety of ceramic jugs.  The one shown here offered a discount of ten cents on a refill of the jug when brought back to the saloon.  This was a popular Tuscaloosa watering hole.  Locals are said to have ridden horseback up to the place at Sixth Street and 24th Avenue of a morning to get cold glasses of beer.  In 1932, workmen excavating at a construction site unearthed 75 brown and white jugs that bore the name of the White Elephant.

Several explanations have emerged as possibilities for the prevalence of the name.  Post Civil War, a common saying referred to a returning soldier bragging about having seen something that was very common to experienced travelers. Such talk was termed “seeing the elephant.”  It also has been suggested that white paint was readily available and a pachyderm painted on a portico would have been an eye-catching graphic.  

The name might also have had a racial connotation.  In states with “Jim Crow”  laws the word “white” could warn blacks away from the establishment.  That would include Alabama, Kentucky, Tennessee, Texas and Virginia.  Notably, Ft. Worth and Brenham, Texas, both had Black Elephant Saloons whose clientele reputedly was limited to those of African origin.

Fred Wilhelm: Florida’s Veteran Saloonkeeper

Foreword:   As regular patrons of this website know, from time to time I feature the work of other writers on whiskey-related subjects.  The following guest post is by David Rakes of Belleview, Florida, with Corey Lee, from the new book,  “Florida Advertising Jugs: The Proprietors and their Jugs,” to which I contributed a foreword.  An impressive example of historical research, the volume contains 53 articles on the producers of  Florida’s 19th and early 20th Century whiskey jugs and other ceramics.

Saloonkeeper Fred

Frederick G. Wilhelm was first a career postal clerk for the railroad in Columbus, Ga. and then later a saloon keeper in Apalachicola, Fla. He was a literate Civil War veteran who was very active in veterans affairs and wrote numerous obituaries for veterans of the war.

Fred was born June 10, 1839 in Columbus, Muscogee County, Georgia, the son of Frederick George Wilhelm and Esther Wiseman Wilhelm.  Fred’s parents were from Pennsylvania and had moved to Columbus sometime before Fred was born, his father having been employed as a tailor.

In 1862, Fred enlisted as a private in the 3^rd Georgia Cavalry in the Confederates States Army. He was said to have gained the rank of sergeant in Colonel Joseph Wheeler’s army. However, he may have been mustered out as a captain since several Confederate Veteran articles addressed him as captain. Colonel Joseph Wheeler, also known as Fighting Joe, was a native of Augusta, Ga. Not only was he active as a cavalry leader in the Civil War, but he also fought during the Spanish-American War. The last war was where he got his nickname. He was only 5-foot-1 or 2, but you didn’t mess with Joe.

Postal Fred

After the war Fred stayed in Columbus and became a well-known postal clerk. He appears to have never married. Around 1883 he was a postal clerk on the Macon & Brunswick Railroad. He was a pretty good agent according to the newspapers that reported in 1885, “In an examination he handled 585 cards in forty minutes without a single error, making an average of 100. This record has never been reached by any other route in the state.” In 1889, his work required him to change his route, the newspapers announcing, “a former experienced and efficient postal clerk, has been reappointed to the Macon and Birmingham route.” 

 

Sometime after 1890 Fred moved to Apalachicola, Fla. and opened a saloon. According to the 1900 census of Apalachicola he was 60 years old employed as a saloon keeper and living with his younger brother George and his family. It’s no coincidence that Fred and his brother had moved to Apalachicola as the sleepy little town of Apalachicola was waking up.

In fact, one newspaper as far away in Bradford County said, “Captain Fred G. Wilhelm, a prominent citizen of the town, says Apalachicola is booming.” Fred was reported to have told the newspapers of how things were changing in town, like “laying cable and dredging the channel.” Mobile had a steamer that made two monthly trips that needed additional trips to handle the loads.  Fred said the two canning factories in town were extremely busy shipping oysters all over the country: “Shipping fish from Apalachicola to the west. Shipping catfish to Kansas City in great quantities. The fish are skinned, and their heads are cut off. Mr. Freer also ships great quantities of sturgeon.”

Fire Damage

In 1900, a big fire destroyed much of downtown Apalachicola. The fire broke out in the residence of Mrs. Broughton, spread to the Methodist Church and “from there to the business portion of the town. In less than three hours three blocks were entirely consumed, resulting in seventy-one buildings in the business section being burned.”

It is not known if Fred’s saloon was burned. If it was, he was not deterred because city directories show him with a saloon in 1903, 1907 and 1908. A rare whiskey jug of only four known was made for Fred. The one-gallon stoneware stenciled jug is off white in color with a dome top and says, “FRED G. WILHELM (arched) / APALACHICOLA / FLA.”

Fred does not show up on city directories with the saloon after 1908. It is unclear if he continued the saloon business or retired. The 1910 census for Apalachicola shows he is still a boarder and making his “own income.” Since he is still employed it is likely he is continuing to sell liquor.

However, Fred likely retired from the saloon business by 1915 when Franklin County had voted to go dry. The prohibition movement was gaining momentum and many saloon and liquor dealers were forced out of their jobs.

In 1920, Fred declares on a passport application that he is a “retired merchant,” and his age given is 81. The passport for Fred shows he was leaving the country for a trip to Cuba for “sightseeing and recreation.”   

After his trip to Cuba, Fred became very active in veterans affairs and as an adjutant of Camp Tom Moore, No.556, Apalachicola. Fred wrote many obituaries for the “Confederate Veteran” magazine. In 1923, in one issue of the magazine, he wrote about himself saying, “I am now in my eighty-fifth year, read and write without the aid of glasses, no corns or bunions, no bad teeth, steady nerves, as you will note by my writing, and I expect to continue my subscription probably till 1948, as I feel youthful enough for at least twenty-five more years.”

Old Veteran Fred

A picture was taken of Fred in 1923 in his United Confederate Veterans (UCV) uniform adorned with a couple of badges. UCV uniforms were not war time uniforms, they were uniforms made after the Civil War for reunions. The picture of Fred at age 85 shows he’s in good physical shape and health.

However, Fred’s prophecy of living to 1948, or the age of 109 came up short by some nineteen years. In 1929, Fred died in Apalachicola and was buried in Linwood Cemetery in Columbus, Ga. 

 

Note:  David Rake’s 174-page large format book from Peachridge Collections publishing is lavishly and professionally illustrated, and well referenced.  The price is $50 plus $4 for shipping.  Check or money orders can be sent to David Kyle Rakes, P.O. Box 2706, Belleview, Florida 34421.   Questions may be addressed to his email: Barakes123@gmail.com.  Phone:  352-817-5136.