(This article appeared in the October 2008 issue
of The American Spectator.)
PICKING A PRESIDENT based on his qualifications as a drinking
buddy seems like a quintessentially contemporary act, typical of
the false familiarity of 21st-century politics. Yet the linkage
of booze and ballots is as old as popular democracy itself. In
one of the most important elections in American history,
enfranchised citizens voted not on the promise of an imaginary
Budweiser with the candidate, but because of very real barrels of
crisp, refreshing hard cider.
If Americans are aware of the election of 1840, they remember it
because the victorious William Henry Harrison dropped dead 30
days into his first term. His opponent, Martin Van Buren, is
equally arcane, though this Kinderhook, New York native’s
nickname — “Old Kinderhook” — helped spawn the world’s most
popular expression: “O.K.” What many forget is the explosive
popularity of the campaign and the turnout of three-quarters of
eligible voters it engendered, all helped along by Harrison’s
association with fermented apple juice. Although big issues were
at stake in 1840, Harrison’s image as a simple soldier with a
taste for down-home, American cider truly excited voters. When
pundits mocked his love of the humble drink, joking, “give him a
barrel of cider and he will sit the remainder of his days in his
log cabin,” Harrison’s handlers pounced.
From then on Harrison frequently appeared in public clutching a
ceramic flagon of cider, flamboyantly swigging the bubbly apple
brew mid-speech, to prove his common nature in the face of his
opponent’s ostentatious love of Madeira and champagne.
Just as lattes and lagers are powerful cultural symbols today,
hard cider made a strong statement in 1840. Cider was probably
the most common beverage consumed by early Americans, but so
banal that few mentioned it. In a rural nation dotted with
orchards, many harvested their own apples and mashed, pressed,
and aged them into a fermented brew both sweet and richly
pungent. But by 1840 the nation was changing, and increasingly
sober, evangelical, and middle-class Americans no longer drank an
annual average of seven gallons of pure alcohol per adult. As
society commercialized, urbanized, and industrialized, backwoods
cider recalled a simpler world of New England settlers and
Midwestern pioneers.
At least as important as the actual cider was the statement made
by William Henry Harrison’s thirst. Though born to a wealthy
Virginia family, Harrison had remade himself as a poor frontier
soldier, and drinking cider — like clearing brush —
trumpeted his commonness. The culture war between cider and
champagne drinkers intertwined with genuine political issues,
pitting Harrison’s taste in alcohol against Van Buren’s extreme
fiscal conservatism. One Maryland newspaper declared a contest
between “the hard money office-holders of the Government and the
hard cider party of the people.”
The Harrison campaign did more than publicize its candidate’s
love of cider — it dispensed hundreds of gallons of the stuff to
thirsty voters. In a corrupt and unequal democracy, Americans
openly asked “what their country could do for them,” demanding
cushy post office jobs or massive oak barrels of free cider.
Though temperance types complained, “men get beastly drunk on
cider” at Harrison’s rowdy rallies, most voters were ecstatic. In
response to slurred complaints that Van Buren’s dry speeches were
“all talk and no cider,” his campaign distributed dark ale,
turning the election into a drinking contest between “hard cider
Whigs” and “porter-bottle” Democrats. Harrison-supporters joked
that “Old Kinderhook” might die of “apple-plexy.”
Come November, Harrison’s approach worked, winning him an
astounding 80 percent of the Electoral College and making him the
first candidate to earn more than one million votes. Though
economics, enslavement, and employment were all major issues, the
election was typified by cider. In the words of one newspaper:
“We have had almost eleven years experiment of a rum-and- whiskey
administration. It is time for a change. Let us try the hard
cider.”
CHANGE WAS SHORT-LIVED. Harrison caught a cold, which quickly
developed into pneumonia and blood-poisoning, killing him 30 days
into his presidency. Yet the campaign launched the popular
excitement and record voter turnouts — often helped along by
free drinks — that lasted until the start of the 20th century.
The inebriated election of 1840 also introduced the term “booze”
to the American lexicon, named for the Philadelphia distiller E.
G. Booz, who marketed his liquor in log-cabin-shaped glass
bottles.
In the years after 1840, cider’s star plummeted. A market flooded
with cheap grain and an influx of lager-loving German immigrants
helped beer eclipse the apple brew. Temperance and eventually
Prohibition finally put an end to candidates’ public exchange of
drinks for votes.
For decades hardly any Americans drank hard cider. Yet it has
enjoyed a comeback in the last few years, and not just the syrupy
concoctions marketed as easy-to-drink alternatives to beer.
Perhaps the best is Samuel Smith’s Organic Cider, made by the
British company known for its exceptional Oatmeal Stout. This
simple, clear, highly carbonated cider would have been perfect
for a mid-campaign fish-fry, and is dry enough to refresh on a
hot summer afternoon. Doc’s Draft Hard Apple Cider is a
smaller-batch, more complex brew from the Hudson Valley, which
elegantly combines the freshness of green apples with the funky
smoothness of sheep’s milk cheese.
Finally, Michigan’s J.K. Scrumpy’s Organic Hard Cider is a
classic fall cider, as sweet, cloudy, and thick as its
non-alcoholic cousin. Though far too sugary for most of the year,
Scrumpy’s is ideal for the crispness of high autumn, especially
paired with a sharp cheddar. It would have been perfect for
toasting William Henry Harrison’s November 7 victory.
(This article appeared in the October 2008 issue
of The American Spectator.)
