Publication: The College Hill Independent

Genre: Feature

ID, Please
Narragansett Beer harnesses nostalgia to redefine New England’s beer

From 1890 to 1973, Rhode Islanders loved their ‘Gansett. However, pressing
monetary concerns prompted the company to sell the rights to the Falstaff Brewing
Company, where they would continue to operate as a subsidiary under local management,
and in 1972, they moved operations to Indiana. The brand virtually disappeared. Twenty-
five years later, former president of Nantucket Nectars Mark Hellendrung B’90 found his
newest local business venture in Narragansett. He bought the rights to the company, and
in October 2005, Gansett reappeared in bottles, 12-ounce cans and on draught.
Cute, nostalgic stories became part of their marketing campaign. But like ‘puppy’
and ‘death’, the words ‘beer’ and ‘cute’ don’t traditionally go together. Just say it. Beer.
You utter it with a guttural roar, as you pound the table with your fist, establishing your
dominance and daring other patrons to threaten your drink, lest you hurl them over the
bar.
Narragansett Beer is a cheap beverage aimed at the everyman, so why choose
heartfelt tales over the equivalent of thundering Clydesdales? The company’s history
provides an answer, because this beer isn’t just about beer.*

Money Can’t Buy Memories

With $150,000 in capital raised from the production of Butterine, the predecessor
of margarine, six local colleagues started the Narragansett Brewing Company (NBC) in
1888. Cranston, RI became the brewing site, and minus the ice plant and 25 refrigerated
train cars, the campus looked like it could have been a functioning farm. Using “pure
artisan beer” and operating under the ideals of honesty and perfection, the first beer hit
the shelves in December 1890. “The quality of the new product is excellent,” declared the
Cranston newspaper.
In just twenty years, the operation that had started with a modest annual
production capacity of 27, 997 barrels had swelled to 400,000. Ninety percent of their
product went to the United States, while the other ten percent was exported to the West
Indies, Turkey, Egypt and Panama. By 1914, Little Rhody’s own was the largest beer
brewery in New England.
Although prohibition allowed breweries to supply malt liquors for medicinal
purposes, in the amount of one gallon per prescription, the NBC faltered financially
during the ‘20s. The NBC solicited management help from Rudolf Haffenreffer, Jr., who
had inherited the New England Brewing Company, the same brewery that now produces
Samuel Adams, just a few years prior.

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 Growing up in the brewing industry, Haffenreffer, Jr. had knowledge, vision and
connections necessary to turn the company around. As the NBC began to brew with
water from the Scituate Resevoir, considered premier water of the area with little to no
taste, Haffenreffer dreamed up a native American as the new mascot for the company,
one he hoped would reach the NBC’s demographic perfectly. His sons’ friend from
Dartmouth Theodore Geisel, also known as the future Dr. Seuss, brought his vision to
life.
As chain stores became standard, ‘Gansett wouldn’t let the public forget about the
local quality of their beer. Just after WWII, they launched an extensive advertising
campaign centered around the slogan “Hi, neighbor. Have a ‘Gansett.” It showed up
everywhere: newspapers, magazines, billboards, buses, trolley cars and baseball games,
with Red Sox announcer Curt Gowdy as the company’s spokesman.
This Narragansett understood that except for sad, isolated instances, people drink
together—during summer barbeques, vacations at the beach, Friday night poker games
and Saturday morning tailgates. The NBC hoped to conjure up these with their
advertising campaign, securing a spot for ‘Gansett in refrigerators all over New England.
By 1959, Naragansett owned the last operating brewery in Rhode Island and was
the number one brand in New England, supplying 65 percent of the area’s beer.
Production steadily increased, and by 1965, 850 employees produced over one million
barrels of beer per year. The company provided amazing benefits, including free beer on
the job, and employees promoted their brand outside of work, encouraging friends and
family to support the local brand over Heineken.
The Haffenreffers sold the rights to the Falstaff Brewing Company in 1965 for
$17 million, and after years of anti-trust law-suits against Falstaff, the company gained
full ownership rights in 1974. However, the Haffenreffers retained management, and
Narragansett was still promoted as New England’s beer.
Unfortunately, as large breweries such as Anheuser-Busch loomed from all sides,
Naragansett did not have the resources to keep up with demand for modernization. In
1980, the decaying brewery’s energy bill, for example, was $2.8 million, and 95% of that
went solely to the production of beer. The Rhode Island General Assembly tried to help
out their beloved brewery with a tax subsidy, but the company drowned in a sea of bills
and outdated brewing methods.
Falstaff moved production to Fort Wayne, Indiana in 1982, but without Scituate
water, the beer just tasted bad. In a scramble to save the brand, they reopened the
Cranston brewery in 1983 to produce keg beer. With just six brewers and nineteen
workers, it lasted a mere three months.
Over the years, the brewery was the victim of vandalism and fires, and the
government ordered the demolition of the decaying buildings in 1998. The trolley car
remained standing, but after a fire in 2005, Cranston flattened that building, too. No more
brewery, and, with annual earnings at only $200,000, essentially no more Narragansett.

‘And fourteen million New Englanders taking back our beer’ [Yes, it is a quote]
Imagine your best friend moves. Slowly, you realize that no one else will humor
you when you want to watch six hours straight of Entourage or go to Club Hell for Sin
Fest just because. The one you could count on for a laugh and a good time is gone. And,
damnit, you want him back.

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 Knowing that New Englanders would pounce at the chance to see their old beer
on the shelves again, former Nantucket Nectars president East Providence native Mark
Hellendrung decided to resurrect Narragansett. Pabst Brewing, who now owned Falstaff,
eagerly sold the rights to the brand, and he moved operations to High Falls, New York,
which boasted water far superior to Indiana’s.
Hellendrung tracked down Bill Anderson, a twenty-five year employee of the
original NBC, the last master brewer and owner of the original recipe. They tweaked the
recipe a bit and came out with a lager containing six row malt, seedless hops, corn from
Iowa and water from Lakes Ontario and Hemlock. The sleek, retro packaging hit the
shelves in October of 2005.
The brewery’s New York location is just a technicality. It is Rhode Island beer.
The headquarters sit downtown on Ship Street, and Hellendrung hopes to move brewing
operations to Rhode Island in the future. In 2006, the Narragansett Brewing Company
even began talks with Providence’s own Trinity Brewhouse concerning the production of
a Narragansett Porter. The Mom and Pop image is part of Narragansett’s appeal, and
Hellendrung has no plans for change. “Is it who we are?” asks the official website. “Not
really. It’s just a beer. But it’s our beer. And starting here, starting today, we’re bringing
it back.”
The beer’s return started with an aggressive marketing and distribution campaign
meant to remind consumers that Narragansett was both a quality beverage and their old
friend. The American lager is light, mild, crisp and, most importantly, uncomplicated. No
blueberries, cinnamon or oregano in this beer. The clean taste combined with the cheap
price secured the business of both the blue-collar worker and the cheap college student.
The second component of the beer’s successful campaign reminded people that
Narragansett Beer was Rhode Island’s beer. From Block Island to Warwick to Pawsox
games, the Goodwill Guys, a group of employees who travel to Narragansett events
around the area, appeared to promote their beverage and share a drink at beer tastings.
News spread by word of mouth and through nearly every local paper, each of which
inevitably referenced the familiar “Hi, Neighbor. Have a ‘Gansett” slogan. With every
glass poured from the tap, Narragansett reclaimed its place in the community.
Stories printed on the side of each can serve as the cornerstone of this campaign.
Reading one invokes a feeling of tenderness and nostalgia, and the NBC gives drinkers a
chance to participate in this campaign. Anyone can log onto the official website and share
their story.
Take Albert’s childhood adventure. “The year was 1954,” he writes, “Albert was
8 years old. Two families were going camping in New Hampshire. Everything was
packed. Off they went: Four adults and five kids under 12. They set up camp and at the
first meal discovered that, while the Gansett had been packed, they forgot the cups or
glasses. Solution: The grownups would drink the Narragansett, and let the kids use the
empty cans for their Kool-Aid, milk and juice. They got some very strange looks from
passers-by, but Narragansett saved the day!”
You can find tons of stories online. Amy’s dad drinking a cold one after a long
day mowing the lawn. Sean’s uncles telling each other to “Give me another ‘Gansett you
sad bastahd” during his sister’s graduation party. The NBC does not want people to
forget that Narragansett grew because people believed in the quality of the beer to make

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it a New England tradition. Whether it’s in the website or on the can, this is why the
stories, rather than Clydesdales thundering through fields, serve as its mascots.

Blair Hickman B’08 thinks the University should give us free beer to foster a sense
of community