Free Ambitious Brew: The Story of American Beer by Maureen Ogle

brewhouse.
    A quarter century later, Schlitz Brewing would be the third largest brewery in the world, and August and his brothers among the nation’s wealthiest citizens, so rich that they made money faster than they could give it away. Just after the turn of the century, Henry Uihlein attempted to shrug off his wealth, with the goal of living on $75,000 a year ($1.5 million in today’s dollars). He gave his stock to his children and set up a million-dollar trust fund for each. It was not enough. A few years later, his remaining holdings had so increased in value that he doled out another $2.5 million. The Uihleins earned such riches in part because, unlike the flamboyant and equally wealthy Adolphus Busch, they practiced a “deep seated . . . modesty” and disdained overt displays of wealth or success. They were also more reclusive than the gregarious Busch, preferring the company of but a few close friends and their own families, whose members numbered well into the dozens. As a result, we know less about them than about the other two major nineteenth-century beer barons—except for the salient fact of their astounding success.
    But the wealth came from more than just beer: The brothers believed in property, and August and Edward, the family’s chief land scouts, steered the company into hundreds of real-estate investments, especially in Chicago. August also profited from his foray into horse breeding, and at century’s end he would own one of the country’s largest, most respected, and most profitable stud farms. But all that lay in the future. For now, the brothers headed to Milwaukee to join their equally driven uncle Schlitz at the brewery on Walnut Street.
     
    T HE U IHLEINS arrived back in Milwaukee not long after Phillip Best launched his retirement by leaving for a long vacation in Germany. The years at the brewery had broken his health, and he lacked the energy to keep pace with his competition. But he was leaving his empire in the hands of his capable son-in-law: twenty-nine-year-old Frederick Pabst, former waiter, cabin boy, and sea captain, and as of early 1864, partner in Best and Company.
    Pabst, born in 1836, grew up in Saxony in what is now eastern Germany. His father, Gottlieb Pabst, managed a sizable estate near a small village. It’s not clear why he abandoned that position for the uncertainty of America, but in August of 1848, Gottlieb, wife Frederika, and twelve-year-old Frederick landed in New York. From there the family headed first to Milwaukee, where some friends lived, and then to Chicago. Pabst’s mother died the following year in the great mid-century cholera epidemic, and father and son found employment at the Mansion House hotel, the father as a cook and the son as a waiter.
    Young Frederick’s restless ambition drove him toward the water. He found work as a cabin boy on one of the many steamers that plied the waters of Lake Michigan; by 1857 he commanded and owned shares in his own vessel. At some point in the 1850s, he moved back to Milwaukee. There he made the acquaintance of August Uihlein, who described Pabst as an “open hearted, congenial man” who was “the most popular man sailing the west shore of Lake Michigan.” Another lifelong friend described the “Captain,” as he was known to all, as “a hale fellow well met, genial and popular among all his associates.” Albert Blatz, Valentin’s son, pronounced his competitor “one of nature’s noblemen. Generous, kind hearted, with a good word for every one he met.”
    Affable. Likable. Kind. Generous. Frederick Pabst routinely inspired such accolades. Just over six feet in height, he had heavy-lidded, lively eyes balanced by a prominent nose and full lips. Like Adolphus Busch, Pabst commanded any room he entered. But if Busch’s charisma issued from his flamboyant self-assurance, Pabst’s flowed from a quieter self-confidence, although he, like Busch, possessed a kind nature and generous warmth. Unlike Busch,