Getting your
Trinity Audioplayer ready...In the 1960s and ’70s, San Diego was considered the nation’s premier test market for new beer brands. The population was “Middle America,” and with the large concentration of military personnel, the city boasted a high per capita beer consumption rate.
King Snedley’s long-forgotten beer campaign in the early 1970s was either original and hilarious or disgusting and offensive, depending on whom you ask. Friedrich Nietzsche, the noted 19th-century German beer hater, stated “There are no facts, only interpretations.”
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Depending on your interpretation, the facts surrounding Snedley’s obsession with the brewing arts will either intoxicate or hasten delirium tremens.
If nothing else, the King’s brief reign was a spectacular, madcap flash in the pan. Once upon a time, San Diego’s thirsty young male population was regaled with tales of eccentric King Snedley, a dedicated (and completely fictional) brewmaster from the realm of Hopland. For 10 long years, the sovereign toiled in a 2-by-10-foot castle antechamber to create the perfect beer.
His neglected second wife, the lovely Queen Luclee, spent her time entertaining in the Royal Hussar’s barracks. Despite exaggerated news releases and extravagant receptions at the Royal Hopland Embassy — an impressive mansion overlooking Sunset Cliffs in Point Loma — it was common knowledge that the King would (blush) “rather brew … than screw.”
Some thought that claim should have been the beer’s slogan, but wiser, more mature decision-makers instead chose “Look for the royal family on the can.”
The ornate motif on the pewter-colored beer cans featured etchings of the King, the Queen and Snedley’s children, Princess Fatoona and, from his first marriage, the heir to the crown, Weakling Prince Stan.
Poor Fatoona struggled with serious weight issues and Stan was gay. Shocking by today’s standards, this was part of the sales pitch. Advertising consultant Charles Bird believed frat boys and swabbies would laugh at it. Promotional materials presented the royals as “an interesting, if variegated, family, to be sure.”
Through the modern lens, such mockery would be intolerable. Humor has been known to sell beer, but the definition of humor has changed greatly.
Knowing the history of the cutthroat beer wars of the past is required to understand King Snedley’s unexpected appearance.
Lucky Lager was introduced to California beer drinkers in 1934 by General Brewing Co. By the 1950s and ’60s, it had become the bestselling beer on the West Coast. It was a premium lager brewed with the finest ingredients and aged in the German tradition.
But the turmoil of the late 1960s took a toll on the Lucky brand. It was a time of revolutionary ideas. Young people were cautioned to never trust anyone over 30. That applied as well to beer labels over 30. “It’s Lucky when you live in America” lacked appeal to young men facing selective service.
RELATED: Californians (still) love their beer. (Burp.) The company’s new label, King Snedley, defied every marketing totem and tradition ever created by the beer industry. No trickling mountain streams or cascading waterfalls, no sky-blue lakes and rivers. The King proudly brewed his “swell beer” with straight tap water.
Chuck Buck handled publicity, event coordination and damage control for the Bird group. (Damage control would keep him very busy.)
“We were inspired by Mad magazine and National Lampoon. It was a spoof on the Augie Busch family [brewers of Budweiser],” Buck said. “The campaign, in today’s terms, was totally integrated … advertising, sales promotion, collateral materials, direct mail, costumes.”
“Our main target was fraternity row at San Diego State College [now San Diego State University],” Buck said. “San Diego State at the time was a dry campus. No alcohol. No beer. I heard there was a beer referendum on the school ballot, so I got King Snedley to actively campaign. I remember watching as Sir Lord Dudley-Phipps and his driver, Cato, took a victory lap around the campus when beer sales in the cafeteria was voted in.”
Promotional material announced that “Beer drinking at San Diego State ranks closely behind love for Aztec gridiron achievements — and well ahead of making the dean’s list.”
Buck even was able to get the Hopland Embassy’s number and address listed in the telephone book’s Yellow Pages under the heading “Consulates & Other Foreign Government Representatives.”
But there were unforeseen problems when the Hopland Embassy’s lease expired. Extensive damage was done to the mansion and surrounding landscape. A detailed inventory for cleaning, repairs and missing items totaled $1,832. The owner also complained about constant disturbances from “hippie-type and other persons” asking for free beer and souvenirs.
When the final marketing report was published, only 2% of San Diego beer drinkers identified King Snedley as their brand of choice. That was far behind Coors (40%), Olympia (13%) and Budweiser (10%).
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The advertising department had been given creative license and a huge budget — a flawed combination of sophomoric humor and too much of Daddy’s money.
On Nov. 16, 1971, San Diego Evening Tribune business writer Tom Gable wrote a sympathetic obituary for the Edsel of the beer industry.
”King Snedley, locally known brewer, and his royal family are dead. No services are planned, according to the survivor, Lucky Breweries. The operation was a success, as long as the advertising campaign lasted. When the media transfusion ended, the patient died.”