Barrel of Fun

The story was preposterous. To promote the brewing of its 100 millionth barrel of beer, Pabst flew a delegation back to the tiny German village of Mettenheim, birthplace and first malting grounds of Company Founder Jacob Best. The idea, chuckled a frank Pabstman last week, was "blatantly commercial."

Even so, Pabst had no trouble getting the press to go along with the story. In fact, 63 newsmen went all the way to Mettenheim and back on the trip. Resuit : a classic example of the big-business press junket that plys the newsmen with free food, drink, travel and entertainment in exchange for his weary-eyed presence at trumped-up events ranging from the re-enactment of the ride of Paul Revere (American Airlines) to a "bake out" in Paris (Pillsbury Mills). "Beverage of Peace." In U.S. journal ism the junket has become an institution ranking somewhere between the Christ mas office party and the free pass to the ball game. In earlier times, newsmen were expected to pay for the hospitality with stories on the sponsored event -the open ing of a new hotel or service, the dedication of this, the initiation of that. Lately, the sponsor is content if reporters go home thinking warmly of his product.

Right from the start, the Pabst junket was as hopped-up as enterprising public relations men could make it. In Milwaukee, before boarding the plane, newsmen walked on a red carpet into the Pabst plant to watch Wisconsin's Governor Vernon Thomson bung the golden 100 millionth barrel of beer. "We had to delay production two months to make sure the golden barrel did not get away from us," cracked a Pabst man. At lunch the party blinked at the deadpan declaration of Pabst President Harris Perlstein: "This golden barrel is the golden symbol of peace we can all cherish -beer has always been the beverage of peace."

The 27-hour plane trip to Frankfurt nearly finished the newsmen before the fun began. Grumbled City Editor John McMullan of the Miami Herald: "It's insane to go all this distance for a beer." But the newsmen rallied to go out on the town, happily gawked at bare-breasted stripteasers, encountered flocks of B-girls ("Darling, ees eet hokay eef I have anod-der veeskie?"), and learned to down the whisky bamby: a $5 wallop of orange and pineapple juice built around a big dollop of Scotch.

Down the Bunghole? The grind of pleasure never let up for the next two days. In Mettenheim for the presentation of the golden barrel, the newsmen blearily watched a maypole dance, listened to a glockenspiel band, and sipped beer. When the local burghers clapped at a speech by the U.S. consul general, one Pabst man said incredulously: "For God's sake, these people are taking us seriously."

When it was all over, only City Editor Harvey Schwandner of the Milwaukee Journal had bothered to send any copy out of Germany. But Pabst, which has dropped in sales from first to eighth among U.S. brewers since 1949 (TIME, April 14), was convinced that the junket's tab of $60,000 was not money down the bunghole. "It's less than we'd pay for a two-page ad in a big national magazine, and worth a helluva lot more," said one Pabstman. "Reporters are influential people regardless of how many stories they don't write. What the hell, they can dine out on this weekend all year."

Some junkets can serve a useful purpose. The armed forces fly reporters to see new installations or observe special tests and exercises. The recent junket organized by Belgium provided a firsthand look at Belgium and the Brussels World's Fair for a great many U.S. reporters who otherwise would have known only what they read in publicity handouts; it paid off legitimately, both for the sponsors and the newsmen, in stories on what the Fair had to offer.

But most junkets serve little purpose, produce no news, and leave many conscientious reporters feeling guilty of ingratitude if they do not file stories, and like bought men if they do.

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