Business in the Bush

There were two couples and the pilot on the small plane as it returned from sightseeing in the African countryside. They were heading for the “base camp” some 20 minutes away. Actually, base camp was a misnomer; it should have been referred to as the Ritz in the Jungle.

It was a very elaborate sales incentive trip that a spirits company decided to offer its distributors and outdo Seagram. From what I’m told this was indeed a spectacular trip.

No one really knows what caused the eruption and noises coming from one of the distributor’s stomach. It could have been the huge breakfast, maybe the elaborate dinner the night before, perhaps jetlag, or even the water. Possibly, it was all of the above.

Whatever the cause, the big guy in the back row was in distress. “Hey pilot, I got some stomach trouble…real bad…how long ‘til we land?”

The pilot’s answer was far from comforting. “About 20 minutes. Can’t go much faster.”

“You don’t understand son, I can’t last that long. Isn’t there any place closer where you can land?” howled the distributor.

“Not really” said the pilot.

By now, the other three people in the plane were also in distress worrying about his discomfort and the elevated sounds coming from the distributor. “Please,” said his wife, “isn’t there anything you can do.”

“Well…Okay, I have an idea,” the pilot offered. “There is a flat area without brush just ahead. I think I can land…it’ll be a bit choppy…not too bad…just hang on.”

Sure enough the pilot landed amidst a few bumps but surprisingly smooth for the middle of the jungle.

“Now what?” asked the distributor.

“As soon as I stop, leave the plane and head about 200 yards to that brush area and do what you got to do.”

The plane had barely come to a stop when he jumped out and did a combination crab-walk and jog for the foliage.

A few minutes later he walked out of the brush with a smile on his face. Ran to the plane, got in and the pilot immediately took off.

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Somewhere in eastern Africa there is a bushman who often tells the villagers the story of how he was tending his flock and, out of nowhere, an airplane lands. A big white man jumps out of the plane into the bush, makes awful body noises, jumps back into the plane and off they go.

To this day the bushman must be telling his friends that he has no idea about how or why this happened. But it was surely the strangest thing he had ever seen. It took hours to round up his flock.

*                                             *                                             *

If it were a Seagram trip, there would have been a bathroom on the plane.

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Roughing it — A Vodka Fable

The Chairman of a global spirits company decided that he wanted to build a distillery in the land of his ancestors in Eastern Europe. After all, he reasoned, the communist regimes had recently fallen and since most countries in the region were impoverished, it would be economically beneficial for all. The country was known for its Vodka capabilities (not to mention consumption) and had the manufacturing infrastructure. With some upgrading and reasonable investment, world class Vodka could be produced and sold by his company.

Perhaps the rudiments of manufacturing infrastructure existed but everything else in the country was in a state of economic disrepair.

Nevertheless, the wheels were set in motion. The executive in charge of the European business unit was given the assignment of making it happen.

Things moved along well. A plant with capacity for expanded growth was found, production experts were engaged, top-notch grain was somehow located, distillation and formulae were worked out and the plant began to produce Vodka.

Proud of the achievement his idea set into motion, the Chairman decided that he would come to the country to officially open the factory and visit with the leaders of the newly democratized country. He also thought it would be a good idea to meet with the leaders at a lakefront villa or dacha.

This was a major problem for the executive in charge. Even the most lavish dachas were shabby and dilapidated and the Chairman and his entourage were used to the very best.

What to do? His colleagues in New York told him to spare no expense. The Chairman was known for his anger and disappointing him would be a career ender.

So, the head of Europe found a dacha, engaged workmen from the country and flew in top-notch carpenters and plumbers from England to assist. Floors and ceilings were repaired, electricity was enhanced, plastering and painting took place and the rundown dacha was transformed. Furnishings were rented and flown in.

About a week before the scheduled arrival, the team realized that getting food the Chairman enjoys was an additional problem. No worries … a container of provisions was purchased in London and also flown in.

All was set for the arrival of the Chairman after much last minute scurrying and concerted effort.

His private plane was met and, since it was late at night, the entourage was driven right to the dacha and went to bed.

The next morning the executive arrived at the dacha and was asked by the Chairman to join him at breakfast, which was an elaborate meal.

The executive (holding his breath) said, “So, Chairman, how did you enjoy your first night?”

To which the Chairman replied, “Oh you know me, I’m used to roughing it in these third world countries.”

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Seagram and Vodka

Until the “acquisition” of Absolut, Seagram was not just a vodka-less company; it was an Ostrich hiding its head in whiskey pretending not to see the world of booze change.

Sam Bronfman’s aversion/reluctance to sell vodka is widely known. Perhaps for him, liquor needed to be aged or brown or have the word whiskey on the bottle. Whatever his reasons, the company was never a vodka player. In fact, when I was in market research, one of the older executives told me the story of how Mr. Sam reacted to a research project about changing consumer alcohol tastes. It may be apocryphal but it sure has the ring of truth.

One of the most notable researchers of the 50s and 60s, Alfred Politz, was an early leader in the techniques of polling and opinion analysis. He was commissioned to do a study of changing consumer alcohol tastes and attitudes. The presentation of the findings took place at an executive retreat and, in an unusual display of bonhomie, Mr. Sam suggested they review the results while sitting around the pool.

Page after page of the report pointed to the potential rise of vodka at the expense of whiskies. Politz was said to have been very clear that the evidence overwhelmingly leaned in this direction. It was also clear that Mr. Sam was getting angrier and angrier. Finally, he got up from his chaise, grabbed the report out of the researcher’s hands, threw it in the pool, muttered some obscenity and stormed off. Politz was said to have been relieved not to join his report.

So while competitors were developing Smirnoff, Popov, Stolichnaya and other brands, Seagram was struggling with entries like Wolfschmidt, Nikolai and Crown Russe.

Finally, someone decided to create a new vodka brand but, unlike most of those on the market at the time, it was to be imported vodka. In fact it was called Seagram Imported Vodka or SIV, as it was lovingly referred to. Imported all the way from Canada.

Management at the time knew that the “white goods” race was passing Seagram by and the pressure to succeed was very strong. So much so that when a presentation to a major California chain was set up to expand distribution, the “brass” decided to attend.

Picture this, a president, an owner, the head of marketing, the head of sales, brand managers…all fly off in the company plane to attend this meeting on SIV. They get to LA early with time to kill before the meeting. Since a few of them had never seen the inside of a chain store liquor department, they decide to visit a few stores.

Next thing you know there are 4 or 5 suits walking the aisles checking the shelves and watching consumers make decisions and purchases. They’re paying particular attention to the vodka section and spot a man looking at the brands and seemingly trying to make a decision.  A member of the entourage goes up to him, takes a bottle of SIV off the shelf, hands it to the man and says, “check this one…it’s imported.”

The man studies the bottle for a moment or two looks at the exec and, as he puts it back on the shelf says, “that’s not imported, it’s Seagram.

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