What’s in a Name? “Pop” Henderson, Author of Pop’s Master Mixer, Part One

I’ve always had a fascination for the origin and why of names, and for names that seem a bit quirky.  Here in Las Cruces, we had a pecan processing plant named New Aces.  I often wonder how many people, other than their owners and employees, realize it is a play on the Spanish word for nuts “nueces?”

Why is Bruce Upton Henderson’s nickname “Pop” and what is the story behind Pops Master Mixer being dedicated to “....my buddies from World War One and World War Two”?  His backstory is interesting if not entirely informative. Today’s blog is an attempt to create a brief biography about the man who wrote the book. In the future, I plan to address the book itself.

Bruce Upton Henderson stated in a passport application that he was born in Penn Station, Pennsylvania, 21 May 1894.  His work history starts early.  By the age of 16 he was a helper in a glass factory. At age 20, in 1914, he enlisted in the United States Marines and soon reported for duty at Pearl Harbor.

A model Marine, Private Henderson became Orderly to Commandant of Station, Pearl Harbor in 1917.  His enlistment lasted until September 1918, and he could definitely be considered lucky, having spent the Great War largely at Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii. 

Following the war, Henderson spent two years doing odd jobs, including pipefitting, in the Honolulu shipyard.  Henderson re-enlisted in the Marines in 1921.  That August, Corporal Henderson applied for a passport for the purpose of a “pleasure” trip to Japan, planning to return in “6 months.”  Anyone with military experience will find this unusual for newly enlisted Marine Corporal. In his passport application, he states he is a resident of Honolulu and describes his occupation as “Soldier.”  Bruce is 5’6” tall, black hair, dark brown eyes and has a scar on his right cheek.  Best of all, we have a passport photo. It shows a smiling young man with his curly hair cut “high and tight” looking very much like a Marine.  

Bruce Upton Henderson, Passport Photo 1921

On 29 August 1921 he departed on the S.S. Shinyo Maru to Yokohama, Japan. For WWII history buffs, this is not the hell ship of P.O.W.’s sunk off the Philippines in 1944, but rather an earlier Japanese ocean liner with a capacity of 275 first class, 75 second class and 800 steerage. What Henderson did in Japan and where he got the funds to do it, remains a mystery.

Muster reports show Corporal Bruce U. Henderson being transferred from Mare Island, California back to Marine Barracks, Pearl Harbor, Territory of Hawaii in July 1922, then being sent to Guam in December assigned to the 42nd Company, where he re-qualifies as Expert Rifleman and Expert Pistol and made rifle range instructor. While in Guam, an illness outbreak places Henderson and many other marines in quarantine.  Returning to Pearl Harbor in 1923 where he continues as rifle range instructor, now Sgt. Henderson is awarded the Good Conduct Medal and his character is described as “excellent.”  In 1924 Henderson re-enlists, becomes detached to the fleet rifle team at Ft. Shafter, Hawaii and travels, in August 1925, on the U.S.S. Seattle with the team to Melbourne, Australia and Wellington, New Zealand.

At this point in his career things start to get bumpy. Muster reports show that Henderson in October 1925 was AOL, Absent On Leave, and that he “self-surrendered” as straggler after missing the sailing of the U.S.S. Seattle. This landed him in the Navy brig in New York, NY awaiting trial. He was given a General Court Martial in January 1926.  The official findings were “Absence from station and duty after leave expired” and sentenced to be "reduced to rank of Private and to be confined for six months, and then to be discharged from the United States Naval Service with a bad-conduct discharge.”  Henderson’s previous good service soon got him an amended sentence. According to official records, “the department, on February 1 1926, remitted the Bad Conduct Discharge, provided that he during confinement for a period of six (6) months thereafter conducts himself as such a manner as, in the opinion of his Commanding Officer, warrants his retention in the service."

In May 1926, now Private Henderson was “Released from confinement and restored to duty” and granted 20 days furlough then report to Marine Barracks San Diego.  That October, he was assigned to the 28th MG & Howitzer Co., 2nd Bn, 4th Regiment Western Mail Guards, part of the Marine Corps famous U.S. Mail Guards whose duty was to protect the mail at a time when it was a target for gangsters. Per Secretary of the Navy Edwin Denby:

“When our Corps goes in as guards over the Mail, that Mail must be delivered or there must be a Marine dead at the post of duty."

Soon deciding to move on, Henderson was Honorably Discharged in December 1926 and spends the next several years doing a variety of jobs including pipe fitter in Hawaii, as a salesperson, a police officer and, by 1942, a shipyard worker in California.  In 1943, Henderson enlists once again, but in the U.S. Navy.  He is assigned to the U.S.S. Griffin, a submarine tender, as a Petty Officer 3rd class SK3C.  In modern Navy terms, a logistics specialist. Shortly thereafter, he became a Chief Specialist, Shore Patrol and Security, a Master-At-Arms.  With the end of WWII, Henderson returns to Hawaii and marries his wife, Ruby, a former Navy employee, in 1947 in Kaimuki.

It is easy to see why Bruce Upton Henderson dedicated Pop’s Master Mixer to his “buddies” of both World Wars.  He certainly spent most of his adult life with, and around, those who served.  As to the moniker “Pop,” that too is an easy one.  By the time he enlisted for the third time, Henderson was 49 years old. Easily the geezer in any gathering of war-time seamen. 

It is likely that Henderson had a comprehensive knowledge of bars in Honolulu between 1914 and 1950, and the libations offered, I could find no record of his actually working behind a bar, other than his stating so in Pop's Master Mixer and he was a member of the Reno, Nevada bartenders local. I did find that a fellow naval yard employee, Charles Rousseau, in whose home Henderson’s marriage was hosted, had in fact worked as a bartender in several Honolulu bars.  This certainly would have afforded Henderson a friend that may have provided him opportunity to work as a bartender during the period between military enlistments.

Charles Rousseau, Veteran's Club, Oahu

After writing Pops Master Mixer, Bruce Upton Henderson fades from the records. His final home was in Phoenix, Arizona where he passed away on 14 December 1965 at the age of 73. 

Head Barkeeper’s Drink List 1911 A Window into a Pre-Prohibition Hotel Bar

 

While looking for something to do around the house and not really wanting to do anything, I was sorting books and came across an envelope with a piece of pre-Prohibition mixology ephemera I had purchased on a whim and then forgotten. Thinking it would be better to mount it on an acid free board and mat rather than leaving it in a battered envelope, it became that day’s task, giving me a chance to use some of my left-over supplies from when photography had been a hobby. 

The roughly 11.25”x17.5” poster’s letterhead reads “Mack Latz, Hotel Alamac, Atlantic City, 1911”

 

 In the advertising of the day, the popular Hotel Alamac, in Atlantic City, was “Plumb on the Boardwalk” and claimed to be the only hotel with its own pier. The hotels name came from combining the first names of the couple who owned it, Mack and Allah Latz.  According to a ladies magazine article of the period Allah, Mack’s wife, managed the hotel. Since Mack was regarded as a respected businessman, it seems likely he would have been something equivalent to a CEO.

 Beneath the letterhead, the document is titled “Head Barkeeper’s Drink List” with the admonition “To be posted at back of bar.”  The poster is printed on a lightweight paper, showing its age with small tears, chips and staining.  Intended as an aid for hotel barkeeps, there are short, specific instructions for the preparation and serving of 88 libations listed in alphabetical order.  The drinks are all old standards with the exception of the “Alamac Special,” a drink seemingly absent from bar books I could consult.  A similar drink in cocktail form appears in Meier’s 1936 Artistry of Mixing Drinks as the Maple Leaf.  Today’s Apple Jack Sour is very similar to the original Almanac Special.

 Prices are absent and the print size small, making it unlikely bar patrons would be able to read it.  At the end of the list there are house rules including “Ladies may not stand at the Bar” and that “Drinks must not be given or sold to anyone on the Jag List”.

 While keeping ladies from standing at the bar is amusing, though not surprising considering the era, the “Jag list” is worthy of note. At first, I assumed it was the drunkard equivalent of the unofficial list we kept in the Emergency Room, many pre-politically correct years ago, of drug seeking “frequent flyers.”  Not so, it was much more complicated than that.

According to the American Dictionary and Cyclopedia of 1896,

 “To have a jag on” was slang for “being in a state of partial intoxication: the idea being that when a man is fully intoxicated he has a load, but that when he is only partly intoxicated he has on only a jag.”

By the early 1900’s there are mentions of mayors, judges and others having jag lists of  “those to whom liquor may not be sold.” These were not merely unofficial lists. They were required by laws responding to drunkenness. For example, a New York Times article of 1915, said that East Orange, New Jersey

 “…is going to have a jag list.  Men who are addicted to drink and are constantly giving their families and police trouble, are to have their names pasted up on all licensed liquor places, and the owners and their employees are to be instructed to refuse them drink of any kind.  In the event of their failure to comply with this command they will be subject to a fine.”

 Other jurisdictions went even further by pulling and refusing liquor licenses to establishments that failed to meet “jag list” laws.  In Hazelton, Pennsylvania it was reported that

“Liquor dealers asked that the city furnish them with photographs of those in the habit of “taking a wee drop too much,” on the “jag list” in other words, so that they may recognize them, and help in stopping the practice.”

The house rules in the Head Barkeeper’s Drink List also specify the bars operating hours, which must
have been regulated by Atlantic City codes. It states “Bar doors must be closed at 11:50 Saturday night.  Bar lights out at 12 sharp.  Bar opens Sunday night 12 o’clock for one hour.” That one hour between 2400 and 0100 must certainly have been interesting.

 I have searched for copies of this poster and cannot find any other examples.  Alas, it seems unique, leaving one other question, the date of actual publication. The printing information in the bottom right corner is chipped and reads

 “This list reprinted November 8, 19 (paper missing) by Milton Latz, Knife and Fork Inn, Atlantic and Pacific Aves., Atlantic City, N (paper missing) 25 Cents a Copy.

 
The Knife & Fork Inn, in addition to having been a popular restaurant, had also been a speak-easy during Prohibition. After being raided and its liquor supplies confiscated, it was taken over in 1927 by Milton Latz, Mack Latz’s brother. Since Latz ownership of the inn dates to 1927, this document would appear to be a Prohibition era souvenir tribute to the “Good Old Days” printed in the late 1920’s or early 1930’s.  In any case, it is still a window into a pre-Prohibition hotel bar.

Little Egypt - Legacy and Libation

Farheda Mazar Spyropoulos, danced as Fatima "the Seventh Daughter of the Seventh Daughter," or simply "Little Egypt" in the Streets of Cairo exhibit at the Worlds Columbian Exposition of 1893.  Farheda wriggled her way into American culture, introducing the shocking "hoochie-coochie," "shimmy dance," or "shiver dance."

An elderly gentleman in the 1970's who purportedly saw her 1893 performance, stated that "She was something."  "She wasn't beautiful, but she was attractive and her costume was revealing. She was accompanied by high pitched reed instruments.  I remember she put her hands over her eyes with her elbows extended outwards, then she wiggled and wiggled." He went on to say that he saw her perform four times.  While there is no detailed record of the authenticity of her dance, there was a song spoofing her, entitled She Never Saw the Streets of Cairo (1893).  This was not entirely correct as Farheda was indeed born in Cairo, Egypt.

The male public could not get enough of Little Egypt's' rendition of the "danse du ventre", or "belly dance."  In 1896, New York's Tammany Times announced that "Little Egypt will have a new dance she promises will be startling" to be performed at the Olympia Music Hall burlesque.  The Olympia was a first class venue.  With seating for 3800, it was later to become the original venue of the Ziegfeld Follies. 

Memories of Farheda's performance were slow to fade.  Forty years later, an article in a 1933 Time magazine, observed that "Yokels gaped and the nation's bustled churchwomen bawled righteous indignation when Little Egypt undulated her brown, pneumatic belly at Chicago in 1893."  Alas, our memories play us false.  Things are never quite as wonderful as we like to imagine them.  If the existing photo of Farheda is any indicator, the only skin exposed was forearms and ankles.  The torso was hidden under a light blouse, and the legs by a skirt that would have done a Flamenco dancer proud.



Hucksters and carnies knew a good thing when they saw it.  By 1903, performances by a "Little Egypt" could be found everywhere.  For the price one thin dime, or sometimes a quarter, rubes were able to ogle "hoochie-coochie" dancers using her stage name at many a county fair, traveling carnival, and "burly-q" in the U.S.  This was just the start of a long of line of dancers and strippers performing as "Little Egypt" well into the 1950's.

The "Little Egypt" moniker was also used in advertising.  Little Egypt and the Shimmy were found in a line of popular spinner and bacon rind fishing lures, and her image was used to sell cigarettes.

In 1901 there was a prize angus cow named "Little Egypt" and, in 1906, a registered Poland-China pig.  There were also at least three "Little Egypt" mining operations in the United States. 

A comedy, Little Egypt Malone, was filmed in 1915.  The plot sounds as if it was a 1930's "Our Gang" script.  A group of boys buy a tent and signage used by a performer billing herself as "Little Egypt" and  then, predictably, put on a show.  Money rolls in, neighborhood women become outraged at the lewd performance, followed by men getting angry when they find out the performer is a boy in drag and, like all good slapsticks, things end with everyone having a good laugh. 

This was followed later by the movie Little Egypt starring Rhonda Fleming in 1951, and the song "Little Egypt" performed by Elvis in Roustabout - almost 70 years after Mrs. Spyropoulos' landmark performance. 

Today, there is a craft beer named Little Egypt. From the logo, I imagine the brewers were thinking of Rhonda Fleming rather than the original performer.  Farheda would make a poor pin-up by modern standards. (I have not been able to sample the beer here in the desert southwest but, if someone would like to ship a case from Illinois, I will heartily thank them and treat them to a cerveza and free Mexican dinner at Andele, if they ever pass this way.)

What is remarkable, is to see the legacy of that performance in the "Gay Nineties" starting its second hundred years.

When Farheda died on April 5, 1937, the widely used boiler-plate newspaper obituary read:

"First Little Egypt of 1893 Fair Dies - Chicago - Little Egypt, first exponent of the muscle dance which shocked patrons of the Worlds Columbian Exposition in 1893 and gained her sensational publicity, died today.  The wife of a Greek restaurant owner, she died in the house to which she came as a bride 24 years ago.  Her married name was Mrs. Farheda Spyropoulos."

Like Farheda Spyropoulos, the original Little Egypt, there is a cocktail by that name that is largely forgotten.  Actually there are two, however the version I prefer comes from the German Lexicon der Getranke (1913) by Schonfeld.

Your Gift - Army Truck or Eskimo Village?

While I will offer up a few drinks at the end, with the holidays upon us and many looking to find just the "right" gift for spouses, family members, significant others and friends, I thought I would share a few gift memories.

Black Friday and Cyber Monday have passed and, in fits of conspicuous consumption, the American public has spent money it does not have, for gifts. These gifts will likely be forgotten in the next year or two, perhaps sooner.  For those giving gift cards or cash, the gesture so appreciated when received, will almost certainly forgotten as soon converted into goods.

Looking back at over 60 Christmases it is amazing how few gifts are easily remembered, still fewer that call forth memories, and costliness is not a factor.

I have received the requisite numbers of ties, robes, slippers, and sweaters, though I remember none specifically.  Predictably, there have been cash and gift cards though I cannot remember exactly what was purchased with them.  Wait!  As I write, I  recall that one Christmas, the monetary gift from my parents went to buy a new steering wheel for the jeep I wrote of in an earlier blog.  I really wanted that steering wheel as the old one was badly cracked and worn.  Of the gifts I do recall, almost all are from my childhood.

$9.95 in 1958, $900 today

The first, best, and probably longest played with, was a trio (that's right, not just one, but three!) Structo Army trucks. Typical of the 1950's, they were heavy, olive drab painted steel.  Sporting a star on the roof, one had a battery-operated searchlight, the other a missile launcher.  I played with them years after the searchlight lens, the missile launcher broken, and the transport cover gone AWOL.  In fact, they were still in my old G.I. footlocker/toy box that Dad disposed of when I was away in college.  I can purchase the set pictured, and relive my childhood, for a mere $900.

The spiritual low in Christmas gifts received had to be about Christmas of 1959 or 1960.  This was rock bottom disappointing.  Much more so than my getting a Daisy pump BB gun when my friends all had lever actions. 

Picture a time when the ultimate Christmas reference for toys was the Sears & Roebuck catalog, Westerns reigned supreme in the movies and on television, and children actually went out of doors to play Cowboys and Indians.

I wanted a Fort Apache by Marx - an opus in brightly colored injection molded plastic. A  timbered cavalry fort with soldiers, cowboys, Indians, horses...I can still see that catalog page today.  Come Christmas morn, gifts under the tree, the smell of cocoa, what was in store---toy soldiers, model planes, Fort Apache?  No. It was Eskimo Village, a predecessor of the Arctic Explorer play set pictured above.

At that time, I was all about shoot ‘em up military and cowboy stuff.  An Eskimo Village?   Dad must have lost his mind or waited until there was nothing left to buy, or grabbed the first toy that came to hand.  He was in the army.  Why in God’s green earth would he pick Eskimo Village?  The box held igloos, sleds, dogs, walrus, polar bear, Inuits etc.  All foreign to my interests and world view - and such a disappointment.  It snowed that Christmas and I had a go at playing desultorily with the Village outside.  Later, on occasion, playing with my electric train, I would drag out the Eskimo Village and its minions.  Somehow, the Eskimo Village just did not feel right alongside my Lionel, my green Army men and those beloved Army trucks. The icons of the frozen North were soon relegated to the bottom of that old footlocker.

The last memorable gift was the Christmas of 1965 in Camp Drum, New York.  I had moved on to fishing, spending time in the woods, and wanting to hunt.  My parents gave me a shotgun. Now this was not an extravagant gift.  Not a Winchester, or even a Remington, it was a well-used Mossberg 12 gauge bolt-action shotgun with an adjustable choke.  It was about as close to the "bottom of the line" as you can get without being indecent in quality.  Never mind that.  I took a good number of rabbits with it and enjoyed it immensely.

As parents, my wife and I have managed to be spectacular failures in gift giving. We have heard more than once from our children that they never got what they wanted. Oh well.  As they say, "Life sucks, then you die."

As we mature (though many never do) gift giving and receiving becomes secondary to spending time with loved ones or, in my case, seeking a quiet corner away from loved ones.  My wife and I seldom give each other gifts anymore, preferring to get what we want, when we want it.  Perhaps that is best since there is never disappointment.  Like all things in life, this also has a downside; you also lose the chance to cultivate those memories of gifts - good, bad, or indifferent.

Today’s drinks are from Holiday Drink Book, by the Peter Pauper Press, 1951.  This book can be found, in its original box, for under $10 today.  It would make a cute stocking-stuffer for someone enjoying 1950's tchotchke's and some simple drinks.

Like those Army trucks, the Falernum Cocktail is worth trotting out repeatedly.

This basic Hot Buttered Rum recipe, just as that "plain Jane" old Mossberg, does its job. A no frills, no fuss, way to warm up on a cold winter day or night.

This last drink, a picker upper for that morning after, has to be the "Eskimo Village" of cocktails.  While I would gladly take eggnog or almost any other drink utilizing raw egg, the Nose Dive Cocktail would be far from my thoughts - and yes, I made one and quaffed it.

What's In A Name - Cherchez la femme!

Today’s offering is a few mixed drinks named for women.   If you find one to your liking, pass on the story as well as the drink.

The first is named in honor of an African-American woman of note, Susie King Taylor.  Employed as a laundress, nurse, and educator, Susie Taylor wrote a book Reminiscences of My Life with the 33rd United States Colored Troops Late 1st S.C. Volunteers.  An easy read of about 80 pages (available free online) it starts with a brief history of her family, describes her experiences traveling with her husbands unit during its campaigns, then finishes with a brief description of her life in the post-war years.

No mere camp follower, Mrs. Taylor was hired by the regiment as a laundress, though she says she seldom had time to perform that task. There  was a myriad of more pressing needs that kept her busy such as nursing the sick and wounded, helping to clean muskets, packing knapsacks and cartridge boxes, searching for food, and teaching reading and writing to those soldiers interested.  She saw the war from Charleston to Jacksonville and her slim book is a good read for as it gives a uniquely female perspective of life in the "colored troops."

In a late chapter, Taylor writes a very thoughtful essay on issues of race and treatment of veterans in general.  One sentence, appropriate to our proximity to Veterans Day, serves to illustrate how times really do not change:

“I look around now and see the comforts that our younger generation enjoy, and think of the blood that was shed to make these comforts possible for them, and see how little some of them appreciate the old soldiers. My heart burns.”

The Susie Taylor comes from Straub's Manual of Mixed Drinks, 1913.  A simple, pleasant cooler, it is a Cuba Libre with ginger ale substituted for Coke.

Next, we have Elsie Ferguson, a blue-eyed blond star of stage and screen in the early 20th century. Starting as a chorus girl  in 1900, she made her last performance on Broadway in 1943.

In 1919, the women's magazine, Milady Beautiful, described her as "the greatest mistress of poise, grade and artistry."  She was a very private, and self-effacing person active in charity work and an "ardent" suffragette.  During WWI, Elsie Ferguson participated in Liberty Loan drives, the Red Cross and United War work.  Elsie was considered a difficult person, in part, for her dislike of interviews and parties.  A 1918 article in Photoplay described her as "rather cold, indifferent, almost unhappy, and sometimes rather unreal" when off-stage. She was not without humor.  When told a reporter wanted to do a story on how she spent her money, she stated, "I spend it with pleasure."

Today, only one of her silent movies Witness for the Defense, 1919, and one of her talkies Scarlet Pages, 1930, are known to exist.

The Elsie Ferguson Fizz is also from Straub's.

Finally, we have Phoebe Snow. Again we return to 1900.  Phoebe was a model Floradora girl, a shining example of feminine pulchritude and decorum, the "Girl in White,” and like most shining examples - imaginary.  Phoebe, a product of the mind of one W. P. Colton, advertising manager for the Lackawanna Railroad, was as real as Flo, the enthusiastic Progressive Insurance spokesperson.

Phoebe Snow was simply a name made up to fit the first of a series of advertising jingles:

Phoebe Snow about to go

Upon a trip to Buffalo

"My gown keeps white

Both day and night

Upon the Road of Anthracite"

Phoebe, dressed in white like Flo a la 1900, was the darling of the Lackawanna Railroad.  She was able to travel in white on the Lackawanna without fear of her clothes being soiled by soot because the Lackawanna locomotives burned more expensive anthracite coal, hence the moniker of  "The Road of Anthracite."  For those of you too young to remember coal fired furnaces and stoves, coal comes in three flavors - dirty (anthracite), dirtier (bituminous/sub-bituminous), and dirtiest (lignite), and was priced accordingly.

In in her day, Phoebe Snow, graced magazines, billboards, newspapers and streetcars. The ad copy featured rhymes extolling the virtues of the Lackawanna Railroad - courtesy, safety, comfort, and pleasure. While the rhymes seem juvenile today, in 1904 they were described as "tripping, lilting rhymes, associated with a form feminine equally dainty."

Phoebe fell on hard times about 1914, being eventually dropped by the railroad only to return briefly hawking cosmetics and underwear.  In the 1940's the Lackawanna gave her a facelift, and brought her back for another twenty years.

The Phoebe Snow Cocktail is from The How and When by Marco, 1940.

Some Like It Hot (Toddy)

Let me start by disabusing you of any thought that this blog post will have anything to do with a great Marilyn Monroe movie, or that sexy "ice cream blonde" of yesteryear - Thelma Todd aka "Hot Toddy." Rather, since the weather is turning chilly, we are going to talk about a couple of traditional hot drinks. Those pics are a great hook though, aren't they?

The first, and one of my favorites is Hot Gin, a drink with a considerable history dating to the 1700's (by 1825 "piss-quick" was established in English slang for gin and water). Medically, hot gin was was prescribed for dozens of ailments. Considered a stimulant during the day, a drink to "promote repose" in the evening, and a treatment for cholera.  Into the 1890's, a hot gin was considered appropriate for female "pelvic complaints" such as dysmenorrhea - used to such a degree that the medical journal Lancet expressed concern that hot gin was contributing to alcoholism amongst women.

Hot gin is also featured in English literature, making several appearances in works by authors as prominent as Charles Dickens.  In Oliver Twist, Fagin gives Oliver a hot gin after his  first meal with the artful Dodger, and the gang, to put him to sleep.  Later, Mr. Bumble, on seeing a newspaper item regarding Oliver, dashes off "...actually in his excitement" leaving his evening "glass of hot gin and water untasted."  Criminal waste!

Traditional recipes for Hot Gin vary only slightly and I enjoy them all.  If you have a favorite gin, use it.  If not, use whatever is handy.

The earliest recipe employs water, hot or cold - "Hot acts the quickest" per an early 1800’s writer, in a 2:1 ratio.  This was nicknamed “soap-suds” or, as previously mentioned, “piss-quick.” 

A more genteel and tasty drink is the Hot Gin Sling.  Put one spoon of sugar in a hot drink glass, or cup, fill half way (about 4 ounces) with hot water, add a jigger of gin, stir, add a piece of bruised lemon peel and dust with nutmeg.

Toss in a couple of cloves and a bit of allspice, and you now have a Hot Spiced Gin.

To make a Hot Gin Punch (my preferred variant) add the juice of 1/4 lemon, and a thin slice of lemon to the basic Hot Gin Sling recipe.

The gin drinks above are essentially a gin "toddy." Today a toddy, or "tottie", is nothing more than spirits mixed with hot water, sugar, and spices or flavoring to taste. Spirits, water (hot or cold), and sugar were the basic toddy of yore.

We primarily think of a toddy as using whiskey - bourbon, rye, scotch, or Canadian, will do.  Traditionally, after a hospitable dinner, a host would bring a kettle of hot water to the table, along with assorted spirits such as whiskey, brandy, rum, and port, allowing the guests to mix "toddies" to their taste.  Tumblers and wine glasses were the glassware of choice In the home.

Like hot gin, the hot toddy was considered to be of medicinal value.  It was recommended for the treatment of colds (including those of children), gout, and heat stroke.

A stanza from a "dramatic" poem penned by Irish dramatist John O'Keefe in 1790 seems more a limerick today - "cannon loud 'gainst cannon ranting; At his gun, poor Jack see panting; As to lip he lifts the Toddy; Off flies head and down drops body."

Widely appreciated, the toddy was enjoyed by notables as Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns, Ulysses S. Grant, Jefferson Davis, and Mark Twain.  A drink that wears its years well, continues to be popular today, and is perfect for that quiet evening at home.

Black Box Warning - In the 1790's for those preaching temperance, just as marijuana was regarded the gateway drug by do-goods of my generation, the toddy was regarded a the gateway drink to alcoholism in theirs.  The evening toddy was said to lead to "drams in the morning, and afterward (drinkers) have paid their lives as the price of their folly."

Having been warned, tempt fate and try a toddy this evening by substituting your favorite spirit, including flavored ones, for the gin in the recipes above and changing the name accordingly.  The Hot Gin Punch becomes a Hot Rum Punch or Hot Whiskey Punch. Too strong? Titrate the water to your taste. Too sweet, or not sweet enough---adjust your sugar.  If you like cinnamon sticks or vanilla beans, use them.

The Hot Gin and the Toddy are "old as the hills" and some of the easiest to personalize.

Book of Toasts, Autrim, 1902

Ghoulish Stories, Requiems, Corpse Revivers, and Zombies, Oh My!

With Halloween creeping upon us and with ghoulish movies and TV shows coming to the fore, I thought I would start with some real-life stories and finish with aptly named drinks.

Looking at the not so horrifying “horror” stories from my life, there were several candidates, and all appear wanting for various reasons.  I imagine that many of you, upon reflection, could do as well or better.

War stories were the low hanging fruit.  My father, a combat veteran of WWII and Vietnam, told many tales.  Once he spoke of being in charge of a detail in the Philippines, during the closing days of WWII, whose duty was to exhume soldiers, recently and hastily buried, for return to their families.  A grisly task.  Protective equipment consisted of gas masks – his worst wartime experience and too grim to expand upon.

Next I considered sharing something "scary" of my own – like a failed attempt at first aid at the scene of a stabbing - steak knife through the carotid, definitely DRT "Dead Right There" (not to be confused with CTD "Circling the Drain") – again too grim. 

Seeking a lighter side, I trod the murky corners of my brain for other experiences.

I once worked as a night security guard in a medical complex in San Antonio, Texas.  At twilight, in a dark and deserted medical building, I was checking locks on doors. Finding one unlocked, I entered to check the office.  Immediately in front of me was a skeleton.  I will admit to being briefly startled – story too short and too dull.

Then there are the cemeteries I have visited, a must wherever I travel.  I have always said that cemeteries are people at their best – everyone getting along without regard for race, color, creed, or politics.  There are great cemeteries, large and small, all over the north and south.  In the southwest, many appear a

bit plain, but often have a stark beauty of their own.  At one clinic, in a dusty, dreary community, I would occasionally go to the nearby cemetery and eat lunch under the trees.  Very peaceful and the permanent residents were excellent luncheon companions.  No ghosts, noises or other signs of haunting – so a poor story.

Alternatively, while employed in a hospital, I became adept at placing the deceased into body bags by myself.  If that sounds easy, try it with a large individual, whose body is all "loosey-goosey," not stiff as a post, laying on a stretcher.  After "bagging and tagging," I would take them to the "green room," our morgue, which was actually painted blue.  To move the body through the hospital without disturbing the sensibilities of patients and visitors, we had a special gurney.  It had a metal lower shelf to place the body upon and an upper frame that was flat.  A large white, form-fitted drape was put over the top, giving the gurney the appearance of a rolling banquet table.  While prepping the body, bagging, and transporting to the morgue, I kept up a monologue with the deceased.  I spoke of events precipitating demise, visitors if any, where we were going and how we would get there.  After placing the departed upon a shelf, with others, I extended my best wishes and left.  None of my charges ever replied, or called upon me later – so that is a story of that takes the "long way around the barn" to be mundane.

Then there was the Halloween party with the theme "come as your favorite doctor or patient."  The most memorable costume was that of a nurse who came dressed in a body bag as one of our "frequent flyers" who finally managed to buy the proverbial farm.  Stories like that are too tasteless for lay people, and unless you have worked in an ER, law enforcement, or similar field, you will not understand the need to laugh at otherwise grim affairs.

Having established that "real-life" death is unfit for human consumption (but O.K. for zombies?); let us have some fun with drinks with death themes.

The first drink is "The Requiem."  Now for you non-Catholics out there, a Requiem or Requiem Mass, is a prayer service for the dead.  Its name comes from the opening line of the mass “Requiem aeternam dona eis" or "grant them rest forever..."  From the Requiem we also get "Requiescant in pace,"  “May they rest in peace” – the familiar R.I.P. on tombstones. The Requiem we are interested in is from The Flowing Bowl, 1898, by Willie Schmidt. It is a tasty mixed drink, rather like eggnog. The only addition to the recipe that I would recommend is a dash of nutmeg on top.

Following the Requiem, it is only natural to use a "Corpse Reviver" to get those synapses firing and animate our burned out, lifeless bodies.

By 1861, the Corpse Reviver was deemed "a celebrated drink."  A creation of the London Haymarket district, it was billed as an American drink.  In fact, about 1878 the famous bartender/author Jerry Thomas mocked the purveyors of liquor around Charing Cross for selling English drinks as American drinks.  He went on to say that he was about to open an American bar in London "and show the Britishers what's what. Then there'll be no need to brew bogus Yankee drinks!"

Recipes courtesy Boothby's World Drinks, 1934

Now that we have had our Requiem, and our Corpse Reviver, it seems appropriate to follow with the “Zombie.”  I have no interest in the flesh-eating ghouls of modern television and cinema.  Everyone growing up in the 1950's knows that a "real" zombie is merely a person, living or dead, under the control of a voodoo priest or priestess.  No flesh eating, no rotting body parts, pretty much a boring minion of the possessor. 

My preferred zombie, that of the "classic" black and white movies of the 1930’s, is indeed the only genuine zombie, so a pox on the rest of you.  As proof, I offer a Life magazine article.  We are cognizant that anything printed in a major periodical by reputable authors must be true – why else would anyone read the Sun or the Mirror?  In December of 1937, Life magazine did an article entitled "Black Haiti: Where Old Africa and the New World Meet."  Included is a photo by to "Zora Neale Hurston, Negro author with a Guggenheim scholarship…" and described as "the only zombie ever photographed." According to the author, the person/zombie died (or was drugged into a coma) and buried in 1907, returning "naked and demented" to her fathers farm in 1916. From the photo, she is clearly not decomposing or shedding body parts.  Indeed, with her unkempt appearance and her blank stare, she looks like the zombies in those classic movies.  Prima facie evidence that the old zombies my generation knew are the only genuine zombies.

As to the drink, the “Zombie” was the invention of Donn "the Beachcomber" Beach, who created it in the 1930's. Originally, it was sold no more than two to a customer.  Its claim to fame lies in its potency.  I can testify to this.  In my youth, when so many of us have manure for brains, I ill advisedly downed a dozen in a chug-a-lug contest in Juarez, Mexico, after an evening of drinking.  Fortunately, I did not drive nor ended up in a hospital.  After trying to pick a fight with a group of soldiers, it was the sickest night of my life (the cabrito burritos probably did not help) and I gave up any sort of drinking for almost five years.

The "Zombie," like so many drinks, has metastasized into many versions over the years.  I have chosen a version "from the land down under" – Australia, courtesy of The Australian Bartender's Guide, Stebben & Corsar, 1990. While not the most elaborate of Zombies, it is one easily made in the home bar and I would suggest no more than one to a customer.  In addition, the Juarez Zombies were blue, so if you want a 1960’s South of the Border version, substitute blue curacao.

Enjoy your Halloween celebrations and, please, remember "If you drink, don't drive."

Cheesecake and Cocktails

One of the more interesting cocktail books in my library is Bottom's Up, compiled and edited by Ted Saucier.

Ted Saucier had a successful career as a "flack," or publicist for the Waldorf-Astoria hotel.  From the late 1930's through 1950's he was frequently mentioned in Billboard magazine for his publicity prowess in promoting entertainment at the Waldorf.  He also served as the technical advisor for hotel operations in the 1945 movie "Weekend at the Waldorf."

Published in 1951 and pre-dating Playboy magazine by two years, it seems Saucier used the passion for pin-up girls and cheesecake, that blossomed in World War II, as a marketing hook to set his book of drink recipes apart from other others of the period.

In the early 1900’s, “cheesecake” was news photographer slang for a photo whose chief merit was a view of a woman's "gams" or legs. By the 1940's it had become synonymous with images characteristic of famous "pin-up girls" like Betty Grable and Jane Russell. A 1951 ad for a program on improving business  marketing, featured a segment entitled "How the Magic of Cheesecake Builds the Gross." 

In the description of the book, Bottom's Up, much is made of the illustrations having been done by "distinguished artists." This seems to echo the old joke about buying Playboy for its articles.  Not that the articles are without merit, just that they are incidental to the intent of the magazine. 

The background of the artists contributing “cheesecake” to Bottom's Up supports the claim.  Al Dorne, provider of the cover/title art, had done considerable advertising art as diverse as Lifebuoy soap and the U.S. Coast Guard.  Born "in  the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge," leaving school at 13, he eventually became the president of the Society of Illustrators and founder of Famous Artists Art School - whose ads were featured in comic books and magazines in the 1950-60's.

The twelve full page, glossy, provocative images "by twelve of America's  most distinguished artists" in a style we see show up in Playboy by artists like Vargas, is not the only similarity to Playboy magazine.  

Patterson's margin sprite

Nieman's "femlin"

Bottom's Up margins feature decorative sprites, done by Russell Patterson. Leroy Neiman's "femlin" in Playboy appears to have been inspired by Patterson's work in Bottom's Up.  Patterson really was a distinguished artist.  He created seminal images of the "flappers" of the 1920's and influenced the artwork of others, around the world, with his "Patterson Girl,” a much sought after image in advertising and magazine covers.  The Patterson Girl was as well known to Americans of the time, as were the Ziegfeld Girls.  In 1931 he was described as an "illustrator, cartoonist, and protege of William Randolph Hearst," continuing in the same vein into the 1950's.

Amongst the other illustrators, we indeed have a distinguished cast. James Montgomery Flagg was the creator of the WWI poster of Uncle Sugar saying he wants you for the U.S. Army.  Arthur William Brown was known for pencil and ink illustrations in magazines such as Colliers, the Saturday Evening Post and for books.  Ben Stahl, in addition to being an illustrator, was also the author of Blackbeard’s Ghost, which became a Disney movie.  James Falter was an illustrator for the Saturday Evening Post and prolific creator or WWII posters – particularly for the WAVES.  

"Picadilly Circus" by Bundy
in Bottom's Up

The story of Gilbert Bundy who, after a brilliant career as an artist/illustrator, went to the Pacific theatre, with the Marines, as a combat artist for Hearst newspapers is perhaps the most poignant--particularly today when PTSD is so often in the news. Trapped for several hours under enemy fire in the wreckage of a landing craft on Tarawa, beneath the bodies of dead Marines, he escaped by swimming away at night.  He survived the ordeal only to take his own life on the five-year anniversary of the event.

For those that are fans of illustrators, others contributing to Bottom’s Up are John La Gatta, Phil Dormont, Earl Cordrey, Bradshaw Crandall, and Robert Bushnell.  Works, as well as biographies, of all of the artists are viewable online and quite interesting.

Bottom's Up does not need the risque artwork to justify its space in a collection of cocktail books.  It contains 780 recipes; many are signature drinks from high society hotels, individuals, and watering holes, and are not to be found elsewhere.  The credited drinks reflect an array of people and businesses with whom a “flack,” for a hotel as prominent as the Waldorf, would have had contact.

Two drinks excerpted from Bottom’s Up that I particularly enjoyed are featured below.

Enric Madriguera, to whom this drink is credited, is unknowingly familiar to many of you. While his specialty was music with a Latin tempo, his rendition of “Let’s Have Another Cup of Coffee” is featured on the soundtrack of the movie “Paper Moon.”

Recipe & Artwork courtesy Bottom's Up

 Another, is one of the “railroad” drinks in Bottom's Up served on the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe.  I did not have the pleasure of trying this drink as a passenger, but I had the opportunity to ride the Super Chief from Kansas City to Albuquerque in the 1960’s.

Recipe & Artwork courtesy Bottom's Up