We went down to the Edgewater Hotel to drink Maker’s Mark with the son of the Kentuckian who invented the smooth and dark bourbon way back in 1958. That’s all I wanted: to drink my favorite bourbon with this Bill Samuels Jr. And what does Dominic do? He tells this known Republican (and known fan of horse racing and college basketball) that I’m a Marxist, and that I have been in the habit of calling my brand of Marxism “Maker’s Marxism”: a political program seeking to end capitalist exploitation, strengthen social safety nets, liberate knowledge, and make higher learning accessible to all—and yet a program that’s not unaware of the humanness of humans, of the fact that the pursuit of truth sometimes gets boring and tiresome, and of the fact that a few strong drinks can do a world of good.
I did not expect Samuels to grasp these and other subtleties of my program. And besides, I didn’t want to talk politics. I just wanted to drink and hear yarns about the tradition of distilling this excellent stuff up in them there hills of Kentucky (Kentucky has hills, right?). I have always had a cosmopolitan weakness for pastorals. I had watched The Dukes of Hazzard as a boy and loved it—the corrupt cops, the car chases on dusty roads, the good old boys, the General Lee, and so on. I was happy to have these fantasies entertained as I sipped Maker’s Mark.
But right off the bat, Dominic makes sure the jig is up: Samuels knows I’m a Marxist. This is a man who grew up in the 1950s! The height of the red scare. Those dark “duck and cover” days. For him, the fall of the Berlin Wall probably meant the death of all that red stuff and a real victory of liberty and freedom. And after all that—after the Sputnik, the Bay of Pigs, the Tet Offensive—here he was sitting next to a fucking commie!
But to my surprise, Samuels was not upset. He started talking about a billboard in honor of the 50th anniversary of Maker’s Mark, and what the company put on that billboard to commemorate the golden anniversary: a picture of Groucho Marx, or his mustache or something, with a bottle of Maker’s Mark. Apparently, Groucho Marx’s estate was not happy about this billboard. Apparently, Samuels resolved the trifle by sending the estate bottles of bourbon. Apparently, Samuels thought I followed Groucho, not Karl—an odd but, for the sake of peace, fortunate mistake. I let the geezer believe that Groucho informed my politics and social theories, and the geezer let me enjoy the oodles and oodles of stories about how his ma and pa came up with Maker’s Mark. Ma designed the bottle. Pa invented the taste because his pa made bad whiskey. Soon, Junior is going to retire and turn the family business over to his son. It’s a regular Kentucky dynasty. Hee-haw! —CHARLES MUDEDE
Bill Samuels Jr. is a folksy man who tells folksy stories about his family’s seven generations of bourbon makers, about the distillery located in its original barn, about his father’s stash of Kentucky whiskey tucked away in ye old Samuels cellar, and about the bottle that hasn’t ever changed. That was old lady Samuels’s doing, the signature red wax—different on every bottle—dripping down the amber neck, with the company’s seal in relief on the glass. She took the whiskey’s name from her affinity for English pewter work of 18th-century England, when the soft metal was imprinted with the mark of the craftsman. (Not folksy enough for you? Samuels’s bio adds, “As a child, he played Lincoln Logs with an aged Col. Jim Beam.”)
If Samuels did know what Marxism was, or that I’m a pole-smoking ‘mo, he surely would have shot us both. He held the executive luncheon for the 2008 annual National Rifle Association meeting in his home.
But for all Samuels’s down-home storytelling, Maker’s Mark is a massive company, branded with the mark of a multinational corporation. Its quaint barn has been decked out with additions to become a factory cranking out 600,000 cases a year. It’s owned by the conglomerate Fortune Brands, which also owns Jim Beam, Canadian Club, and Courvoisier, and has plenty of holdings in golf equipment, hardware, and housewares. It used to be called American Tobacco Company. The spirits division of Fortune Brands has 3,452 employees, and the corporate division has 126; the company-wide total was 24,248 employees as of this time last year. It owns 20 spirits manufacturing plants and 22 spirits warehouses worldwide, and leases lots more warehouses and distribution centers. The company has a $10 billion annual market share, with $2.5 billion from its spirits business.
Samuels isn’t quite a good ol’ boy. He doesn’t drink with us. He does tell us about drinking the old bottles, from back before his daddy pioneered a better bourbon in 1958. “From time to time, we tap into it,” Samuels says. The results of those old bottles? He calls it “pedestrian,” the sort of pejorative deployed by the least pedestrian of folks. He’s a scientist and lawyer by trade. Which, come to think of it, means Samuels damn well knew I was a knob-polishing deviant and that Charles hates America. That Groucho stuff? A public relations distraction, as smooth as Maker’s Mark. —DOMINIC HOLDEN
bein he was a real red blooded american, he knew you were commie cocksuckers and he was fuckin with you. but bein a good capitalist he was on the job selling his product. if he ever offers to take you hunting, please go !
Maker’s Blue?
Apparently, Charles thought we’d believe that Samuel thought he followed Groucho, not Karl—an odd but, for the sake of the piece, convenient mistake.
Charles has me wantin’ to join him in having a sip of Maker’s Mark! Dominic would prefer “polishing” off some knob (creek), apparently. They’re both good choices — although have you tried Dickel? Not bad, cheap enough to keep a bottle in the desk in case of wild Frizzelle. That reads as a cheap shot, but I really would’ve spared some bourbon for the man if I knew him.
Weird article, but what the hell, it’s the holidays.
I’m Thirsty. Chugalug Chuck and Dom.
Terrible journalism. Hell, it’s even terrible as an anecdote. What, did you guys sit down with him for like 30 seconds to get such a great interview? I could have got all this info off of Wikipedia — which it sounds like Dominic did. And the whole “a Commie and a homo sit down in a bar with an NRA member” sounds like the start of a bad joke. C’mon, guys. Quit schlocking it. Put some fuckin’ effort into this writing, or we’re going to have to read the Weekly, for God’s sake.
Dido on the last comment. I kept skipping around looking for the juicey parts of what had the potential to be a fantastic interview and story. I felt that alot of this story was more politics based than whiskey facts. Comon stranger, you can do better.
Really? Instead of focusing on a really interesting man/product, the Stranger want to flaunt how gleefully “ignorant” we “coastal types” are of the topography of Kentucky?? Oh dear, I think I hear Garrison Keeler playing in my Volvo…wait I mean Prius. God we’re superior.
Wow, instead of focusing on a really interesting brand and man, you want to once again flaunt the willfull “ignorance” of we Coastal Types when it comes to Kentucky (or any of those middle states). Are you really so narcissistic that you believe he cares about your sexual or political preference? I would write more, but I believe I need to run out to my boxy Volvo (or perhaps the Prius) and listen to some Garisson Keeler (sarcasm is oozing in the last statement).
No, turnip2000, you have it wrong. Editing usually involves removing words.
OMG!! Here I am in the bluegrass sipping a Makers on the rocks and come upon this post.
I stopped reading at “Maker’s Marxism”. I knew it wasn’t going to get any better (but I did LOL)
Only in Seattle can such a pseudo-intellectual cunt have a job, with other cunts, writing for a pseudo-intellectual cunt populace.
“I did not expect Samuels to grasp these and other subtleties of my program.”
“If Samuels did know what Marxism was, or that I’m a pole-smoking ‘mo, he surely would have shot us both.”
“It’s a regular Kentucky dynasty. Hee-haw!”
What a bunch of smug, condescending bullshit. You made a bunch of assumptions about this man based on stereotypes – he’s a Republican from Kentucky, so he must be an uneducated rube, right? At least Dominic clued in afterwards, sort of (but only in light of the fact that he’s also a scientist and a lawyer). He grew up in Kentucky, not in a dark, windowless basement chained to the hot water pipe. OF COURSE he fucking knows you’re not talking about Groucho Marx. Jesus.
What you witnessed was an old-fashioned display of manners – you know, those things that allow us to get along despite our differences. I don’t think the Groucho Marx comment was a PR move so much as a way of saying “let’s not ruin a pleasant occasion by talking about politics” without having to actually say it.