In the autumn of 1982, Elmer T. Lee, the Plant Manager at Ancient Age Distillery, was contemplating retirement. The distillery he had faithfully served for over thirty years was a shell of what it once was, a reflection of the industry as a whole. Schenley Industries, owners of the distillery since 1929, had decided to sell the property to a group of investors led by alcohol industry executives Ferdie A. Falk and partner Robert C. Baranaskas. In the year’s closing months and with the sale imminent, Schenley laid off the Ancient Age workforce, and distilling ceased.
If there was a time for plant manager Elmer T. Lee to retire, this was it. In the scramble to close the deal and set up a new operation, new owners met with Lee and convinced him to stay on a little longer. They would rely on him to help rehire the workforce and ramp-up production once they took control of the distillery. Thankfully, Lee agreed for the immediate benefit of Falk and Baranaskas, and retrospectively, for the entire bourbon industry.
In the cold winter months of early 1983, Falk, Baranaskas, and Lee were focused on just trying to get their bourbon distillery operating again. Little did they know they were about to launch a new category of bourbon that would spark the rejuvenation of the entire industry.
“How the Hell Did You Get In Here?”
Peaks Mill, Kentucky, is a 15-minute drive from present-day Buffalo Trace Distillery. It is no more than a few dozen homes and small businesses nestled on a typical rural Kentucky road. Surrounded by rolling hills, it was on a nearby tobacco farm where Elmer Tandy Lee was born on August 5, 1919. The son of Earnest Lee and Ann Shields Lee, he was raised in a modest Christian household, something he later attributed to providing him with a solid foundation in life. His father died from typhoid fever in 1931, when Lee was only 12 years old. Soon after his death, Ann moved Elmer and his older brother, Henry, to nearby Frankfort, Kentucky, where she found employment as a waitress. Growing up in Frankfort, Lee spent his youth much as any other at the time, “swimming, hiking, playing with friends... baseball, that sort of thing,” recalled Lee in an interview later in life.
After graduating from Frankfort High School in 1936, he began working at the Jarman Shoe Company, overseeing the production of men’s dress shoes. In 1938 Lee enrolled at the University of Kentucky in nearby Lexington, unsure of his intended area of study but seriously considering veterinary medicine.
Everything changed shortly after that when, in 1941, the United States was suddenly thrust into World War II with the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Along with many of his contemporaries, Lee felt the duty to serve his country and promptly withdrew from the university within weeks of the attack and enlisted in the United States Army. Lee later recalled, “I just went before I was drafted. That way, I got to select the service that I wanted to go in, which was the Air Force. At the time, they called it the Army Air Corps.”
Lee was stationed on the island of Guam in the South Pacific and spent his time as a radar bombardier on B-29 aircraft, where he rose to the rank of lieutenant. Lee’s service included multiple missions supporting the Pacific front of the war, including bombing excursions over Japan. Later in his life, Lee visited Japan, which was once his wartime enemy. This time his mission was different: an ambassador for Buffalo Trace Distillery. When asked if he had ever been to Japan, Lee, recalling his time aboard the B-29 bombers in WWII, replied, “Yes, but not by land.”
After the war, Lee returned home. His duty to his country was finished, and he was intent on completing his education. He re-enrolled at the University of Kentucky, still undecided on what degree he would seek. While he maintained his love for animals, mainly horses, he ultimately settled on chemical engineering over veterinary medicine. In an interview during his later years, Lee reflected on the decision: “I always thought I’d like to be a veterinarian ... and I’ve often wondered how things would have been if I’d have turned out to be a vet.” Thankfully for Kentucky’s bourbon industry and connoisseurs everywhere, Lee chose to study engineering instead.
While attending college, Lee sought employment during his spring and summer breaks. This led him to the George T. Stagg Distillery near his home in Frankfort. Hired as a laborer, it was there that he first met Stagg plant manager Orville Schupp. After graduating in the fall of 1949 with his freshly minted chemical engineering degree, he returned to Schupp seeking full-time employment. Schupp was already convinced of Lee’s abilities from his spring break and summer work and knew he would be a solid hire. The distillery was amid a post-war increase in bourbon demand and needed help.
While Schupp was impressed with young Lee, there was just one hurdle to overcome. He needed to convince distillery President Colonel Albert Blanton that Lee was worthy of employment. Later in life, in a 2008 interview with the Kentucky Oral History Project, Lee recalled Schupp bringing him into Colonel Blanton’s office, stating: “This is the young man I’ve been telling you about. I wanted him to come to work down here. I wanted you to meet him.” Colonel Blanton, briefly looking up from his desk, replied, “Son, we’re not hiring any hands today.” It was a relatively short conversation, and there was no mincing of words. Outside, Lee prepared to depart. Schupp pulled him aside. “Don’t worry about it; I’ll take care of it. You come to work Monday morning,” he told Lee.
Lee showed up on Monday morning just as Schupp instructed, still unsure of his actual employment status. Schupp had either convinced Blanton that Lee was worthy of employment, or simply had enough clout to ignore a direct order from the colonel. Either way, Lee was hired, later reflecting, “Every time I’d pass the colonel, he’d look at me kind of cross. I could see what he was thinking: how the hell did you get in here?”
Lee’s first role at Stagg was as a maintenance engineer, performing various jobs servicing equipment and working closely with Schupp. The steady income benefited Lee who, in 1950, married Elizabeth “Libby” Dean. Shortly after, Lee and his wife saw their small family grow, welcoming Peggy, their only child.
Lee was a hard worker, and by 1955, he was promoted to Project and Production Engineer, responsible for all plant maintenance and upkeep. By 1957 he had become supervising engineer for all of Schenley’s central Kentucky distilleries. This coincided with the departure of Orville Schupp, whom Schenley appointed operations manager over its distilleries in the region. Schupp, who would eventually rise to become Schenley’s president, was replaced by William Fairleigh, now Lee’s new boss.
In 1966, Lee was promoted again to plant superintendent. In 1968, Schenley Industries was sold to Meshulam Riklis, a wealthy financier known for using borrowed cash to fund corporate takeovers. Soon after that, in 1969, Lee was promoted, yet again, to plant manager, succeeding Fairleigh. Ironically, Elmer T. Lee’s ascension to plant manager occurred when the industry was about to face monumental challenges, and it paralleled Albert Blanton’s rise to distillery president just as the struggles of Prohibition began.
Now running the distillery, Lee focused on all aspects of the operation. While it is often assumed that Lee was a distiller, spending his days observing fermenting mash and sampling barrels, these were far from his regular duties. As plant manager, Lee oversaw the entire plant, including the unionized labor force. He was in charge of numerous painful layoffs throughout the 1970s as bourbon sales spiraled downward. It would be a pun to mention Lee was also just trying to keep the distillery afloat because, in 1978, it was literally underwater. Torrential rains created record-level flooding, tearing through the region and leaving several warehouses flooded to the second floor. According to a popular tour guide and third-generation Buffalo Trace employee, Freddie Johnson, who often tells the story during distillery tours, “Elmer would get out in a boat and go building to building, making sure the barrels were okay.”
Elmer T. Lee is remembered as a master distiller—someone who perfected the art and science of distilling and blending spirits. Indeed, master distillers today are primarily responsible for creating and overseeing the production of distilled spirits, from the selection of raw materials to the bottling of the finished product. They also oversee quality control and product development. Master distillers are highly trained professionals who often have years of experience in the industry as they work on perfecting their craft.
The title has undoubtedly evolved. When Lee was given the role, it was generally done for marketing purposes. Sources vary as to when the title was bestowed upon him. Lee gives a conflicting account in a 2008 interview for the Kentucky Oral History Project, stating it coincided with his 1969 promotion and then later alluding to it occurring in the early 1980s when the distillery was sold to new owners. Regardless of when he was given the title, Lee downplayed the role, which he also saw mainly as a marketing tactic. “In addition to the plant management job, they also named me as the master distiller. Now, of course, there was a distiller doing the job. I was just a figurehead to be responsible for what he was doing,” recalled Lee in the Oral History interview.
Gary Gayheart, longtime Buffalo Trace distiller who would eventually succeed Lee as master distiller, also alluded to the title being promotional in a separate interview by the Oral History Project. He even took it a step further, stating Lee “...was always the manager here. He never got down in the trenches like I had to do...if he had to do it, he’d run the distillery...but he just never did it.”
Gayheart’s comments indicate that Lee wasn’t intimately involved with the distillation process; instead, his time was focused on keeping the plant operational. Perhaps a little too much credit is given to Lee for his time hanging around the stills, brewing up batches of bourbon. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with the craft, but in the scope of his duties throughout the years, especially after becoming plant manager, it wasn’t a primary responsibility.
Lee would eventually retire from his daily duties in 1985, but not before the man who wasn’t even supposed to show up for a job, who successfully managed the distillery through floods, ownership changes, and an industry-wide slump, had one last act.
“We Will Either Be Successful, or We Will Be Out on the Streets.”
At the George T. Stagg Distillery in Frankfort, Kentucky, sales were down about 12% year over year in 1983, no surprise given the downward trend in sales, now in its second decade. Ferdie Falk and partner Robert Baranaskas saw an opportunity. Like savvy real estate investors, they recognized the time to buy was when the market was down. The market was certainly down when they decided to buy the distillery, lock, stock, and barrels.
Falk, then 54, and Baranaskas, 36, brought significant experience to their newfound adventure, having both worked for larger alcohol companies. Falk was the CEO of Julius Wile Sons & Company, part of Standard Brands, an extensive food and beverage conglomerate. Under Wile’s umbrella was Fleischmann’s Distilling Company, a producer of gin, vodka, rye, and bourbon, where Baranaskas served as president.
Ferdie Falk’s roots in the spirits industry stemmed from his time in the late 1940s when he left Louisiana State University after only two and a half years to drive a truck for his father’s beer distribution business in his native New Orleans. “There came a point where I really thought I could learn more and serve my needs better by going to work,” Falk said in a 1980 interview. After a few years with his father, he became a sales manager for a local whiskey distributor. Eventually, he rose through the executive ranks at Seagrams and Schenley before joining Standard Brands in 1973.
Robert Baranaskas, who grew up in Teaneck, New Jersey, thought he would follow in the footsteps of his father, an American Airlines pilot. He graduated from Fairleigh Dickinson University in Teaneck, majoring in accounting, which he claimed he chose “only because it seemed interesting to me at the time.” In 1973, soon after becoming a Certified Public Accountant, he joined Standard Brands. There, he teamed up with Falk “for a temporary period of about six months, that lasted about ten years,” Baranaskas recalled. Throughout his time at Standard, he held multiple roles, gained valuable experience in marketing and sales, and eventually became president of the Fleischmann’s Distilling division.
When Nabisco merged with Standard Brands in 1981, the Fleischmann’s subsidiary was put up for sale. Sensing possible negative implications for their careers, Falk and Baranaskas decided to set off and blaze their own trail, bringing their combined thirty-eight years of industry experience to the table. “I made a lot of money for three companies,” said Falk. “Now I want to make some money for myself.”
As seasoned industry leaders, Falk and Baranaskas were not naïve as they began their new venture. They were acutely aware of the decline in bourbon sales in the 1970s and the rise of white spirits, Scotch, and wine, which had directly impacted several of their Fleischmann’s products. They were also on the flip side of the downturn, taking advantage of the changing tastes and preferences of the public and introducing new brands and products that the American people wanted to drink when whiskey was out. In 1978, while still at Standard Brands, Falk helped lead the acquisition and growth of All Brands Importers and introduced many international beers to the US market, including Fosters, Moosehead, and Dos Equis, among others.
While Falk and Baranaskas were not bourbon industry purists hell-bent on revamping and saving the American spirit, they were entrepreneurs and opportunists. Owning a bourbon distillery, which could be combined with other import and distribution businesses, was a means to an end. Indeed, they wanted bourbon sales to increase and for the market to return, but this was only one element of how they saw an emerging partnership. Simply put, they wanted to make money. It didn’t matter what the customer was drinking, and it didn’t have to be bourbon. As long as they were drinking something, Ferdie and Bob wanted a piece of the action.
The Ancient Age Distillery wasn’t the first choice for their newfound partnership. Hearing that the merger of Standard Brands and Nabisco would lead to the sale of the wine and liquor businesses, they first tried to purchase the same division where they once worked. A British brewer, Whitbread & Co, outbid them. Undeterred, Falk and Baranaskas assembled a small group of investors and approached Schenley owner Meshulam Riklis about purchasing the Old Charter brand. Falk was quite familiar with Riklis, having worked for him in the early 1970s at Schenley. Talks progressed, and a deal began to form, but Riklis decided not to sell the brand. He offered up another Schenley asset, the Ancient Age Distillery. In one of our many conversations, Ferdie Falk’s son, Chris, informed me, “They didn’t even want the distillery. At first, they only wanted the brands. Riklis wouldn’t separate the two, and they decided to buy everything.”
According to a mid-1980s interview, Baranaskas stated that he and Falk put up nearly everything they owned as collateral to purchase the Ancient Age Distillery, but it wasn’t quite enough. They needed investors. To keep costs contained, they reached out to the extensive network they had built throughout their years in the industry. They assembled a group of professionals with sales, human resources, finance, and legal experience who would serve not as silent partners, but as part-time executives of their new company. Falk and Baranaskas asked investors for a 50-thousand-dollar investment. They would then pay them fees for special assignments as needed. Other investors included several notable athletes, such as tennis star Rod Laver.
On December 31, 1982, the deal was finalized for $70 million. “We had a real entrepreneurial spirit,” said Baranaskas. “We had the spirit of trying to buy something.” Chris Falk recalls his grandparents reacting to the deal, telling his father it was “crazy,” to which Ferdie replied, “We will either be successful, or we will be out on the streets.” Their newly formed venture was initially named Ancient Age Distilling Company after their flagship Ancient Age bourbon and the commonly used name for the distillery itself. Later, in 1987, it would be rebranded Age International, representing its growing international business. Together, Falk and Baranaskas held an 83% stake in their new venture, with Falk serving as chairman and principal shareholder and Baranaskas as president. Their acquisition included the Ancient Age brand name, all inventory, and the 152-acre Ancient Age Distillery property in Frankfort.
The labor needed to produce their bourbon wasn’t included in their acquisition. This task went to Howard Pines, an early investor and former coworker of Falk and Baranaskas at Fleischmann’s. Howard had human resources experience and had since left Fleischmann’s to form a consulting company called BeamPines. Just prior to the purchase, his firm was tasked with renegotiating the labor union contract for nearly 100 of the 225 unionized employees laid off during the waning days of Schenley ownership. In addition, another 50 office, administrative, and maintenance workers were to be hired. In his book The Case for Wasting Time and Other Management Heresies, Pines reflected, “...while the negotiations [with the union] were more difficult than I’d expected, we were successful, and the sale was finalized.”
While Pines focused on union contract negotiations, Elmer T. Lee, in his new role as vice president of operations, headed up the talent search, giving preferential treatment to those with industry experience and former Schenley employees impacted by the recent layoffs. When applications were accepted in January 1983, around 1,300 people applied for jobs, far exceeding the number of open positions.
As the labor question was being addressed, attention soon turned to cost reduction. Costs were cut by almost half to streamline operations and increase competitiveness. “We were dependent on having a very streamlined operation,” Falk said. “What we bought was a brand, the plant, and the whiskey inventory. We had to structure an organization.” The principal goal for Falk and Baranaskas was to seek a return for their investors and themselves. With bourbon sales steadily declining for over a decade, they looked beyond only distilling whiskey, investigating all potential opportunities that would generate a profit. “We had a decline [in sales] when we took over. We had to arrest the decline,” said Baranaskas.
Already fully leveraged with investors and banks, Howard Pines was called upon again to help offload two former warehouses Falk and Baranaskas deemed unneeded. They were sold to the Commonwealth of Kentucky and turned into offices, providing a much-needed cash infusion to their upstart operation.
Falk was an experienced marketer. In an early move, he reduced the price of their flagship Ancient Age bourbon, putting it in line with primary competitor Jim Beam. His son, Chris, who was later hired as a regional sales manager at his father’s company, remembers fondly, “My father would ask us to work with the liquor stores to place the Ancient Age bottles on the shelf to the right of the Beam bottles. His theory was that customers were more likely to reach with their right hand when selecting a product.” Falk also resurrected the former Ancient Age marketing slogan from the 1960s: “If you find a better bourbon, buy it.” Indeed, under their leadership, sales increased from $70 million to $75 million in their first year of ownership.
Falk and Baranaskas chose Roslyn, New York, as the location for Ancient Age Distilling Company’s headquarters. While it was conveniently close to their homes on Long Island, they recognized the need to connect with the local community in Frankfort and to oversee operations of their newly acquired distillery. Baranaskas began commuting to Kentucky nearly every week, while Falk largely remained in New York, making occasional visits to the distillery.
Activities were held to build teamwork and camaraderie, including a popular annual softball tournament for employees. Their visibility didn’t go unnoticed. Frankfort mayor, James C. Burch, observed that under previous owner Schenley, “I saw the chairman once. I saw the board of directors maybe two or three times.” Although their visibility was appreciated, it wasn’t without some mild controversy. A nativity scene built by distillery employees caused a few critical letters to the editor of the local newspaper. “Some people didn’t like the association [of a distillery hosting a biblical scene],” according to a newspaper interview with Baranaskas from 1985.
Distilling and distributing bourbon was only part of the business strategy. Unlike bourbon families, including the Noe family of Jim Beam or the Samuels family of Maker’s Mark, they didn’t have a pedigree steeped in bourbon tradition. What they did have was sharp marketing skills, significant sales and leadership experience, and now, a distillery of their own. Falk and Baranaskas looked at every opportunity possible to generate revenue.
One revenue stream was to begin contract distillation, producing whiskey for other companies who outsourced the operation to Ancient Age Distilling Company. Contract distilling occurred throughout the 1980s and 1990s, when the distillery continued production for former owner Schenley and their then-owned brands, Weller and Old Charter. When Schenley was sold to Guinness in 1987, forming United Distillers, contract distilling continued. The reason these brands were picked for distillation at Ancient Age? Under prior Schenley ownership, these products were often produced at the distillery. In a 2003 letter, former Buffalo Trace president Mark Brown explained to whiskey blogger Chuck Cowdery that “given that Schenley owned both Buffalo Trace Distillery and Bernheim [Distillery] at the same time [before 1983], there was/is a lot of shared knowledge and expertise between the two distilleries, hence our ability to distill Charter competently. In the case of Weller, we had quite a bit of practice when distilling for United Distillers.” Both brands would eventually be acquired by Buffalo Trace’s parent company, Sazerac, with production occurring at Buffalo Trace Distillery to this day.
As Falk and Baranaskas explored options beyond bourbon, several importing and exporting ventures were set up. Falk’s history at Standard Brands, mainly through their All Brands Imports business, inspired him and Baranaskas to create a similar import venture under the Age umbrella. They called their new venture Falbar Import Company, appropriately combining their names for the new business. Within their first year, they supplemented bourbon sales from their distillery by importing and distributing Scots Grey whisky, Lazzaroni amaretto, Paul Bocuse cognac, and Pancho Villa tequila, among others.
Center Cut
Almost immediately after acquiring the distillery, Falk and Baranaskas began brainstorming ideas for new products. While contract distillation and import businesses would produce supplemental revenue, they recognized that capitalizing on their primary business of bourbon was paramount to success. If there was one glimmer of hope in the bourbon world, it was with the growing popularity of Maker’s Mark, a brand first released in 1958 by Bill Samuels, Sr. Marketed as a premium bourbon, Maker’s Mark didn’t shy away from their higher price tag, famously advertising in 1965, “It tastes expensive...and is.” Seeing this and the rise of single malt Scotch, Falk and Baranaskas posed a question: Could it be possible to create a unique bourbon of exceptional quality that would command an even higher price?
Since their acquisition, Baranaskas had spent much time with his new VP of Operations, Elmer T. Lee. His appreciation for Lee’s knowledge and background grew. Falk and Baranaskas decided to leverage their asset, who was much more familiar with the intricacies of bourbon distillation than they were. Baranaskas approached Lee with a challenge to develop something new and unique that the bourbon world had never seen before. He emphasized that the new product needed to be exclusive and top-shelf, something distinctive to set it apart from everything else—including Maker’s Mark—something super premium.
Lee accepted Baranaskas’ challenge and thought through several ideas. He soon returned with one he felt would fit the bill. He recalled his early days working at the distillery during the time of the renowned Colonel Albert Blanton. Blanton often sought out barrels from the center cut or middle of the upper floors of Warehouse H, which was his favorite at the distillery. Lee recalled Blanton would have these exceptional barrels, which he called sugar or honey barrels, bottled for personal consumption, celebrations with friends, and even gifts. Noted whiskey author Fred Minnick has confirmed that occasionally these gifts would even make their way to liquor stores themselves.
At Lee’s suggestion, complete with a readily marketable backstory, Baranaskas immediately took the idea back to Falk. The concept of a single barrel resonated with them directly, reminding them of the single malt Scotch boom. They had found their new product, and the idea for a single-barrel super-premium bourbon was born.
Introducing a new product to the market that nobody was asking for was not a new concept in the industry by any means. As seasoned veterans, they saw 1972’s introduction of light whiskey and subsequent failure firsthand. That debacle didn’t deter them from forging a path of their own, and they embraced Lee’s concept.
While light whiskey was a vast departure from the traditional methods and results of distilling straight bourbon or rye, a single-barrel product wasn’t. On the contrary, it embraced tradition, not only in preserving the standards of bourbon distillation, but exploiting what many distillers, not just the famed Colonel Blanton or Elmer T. Lee, had known for years— that some barrels are better than others.
Falk and Baranaskas knew Lee’s idea had potential, even though bourbon was continuing to fade from the drinking habits of Americans. While consumers were not asking for something new in bourbon, Falk and Baranaskas were determined to give it to them anyway. As legendary automobile manufacturing pioneer Henry Ford famously said, “If I would have asked people what they wanted, they would have said faster horses.” The goal, according to Falk, was “not to give the people what they are asking for, but to make them ask for what you are giving them.”
Incidentally, while the popularity of single malt Scotch was one of the inspirations behind the launch of Blanton’s Single Barrel Bourbon, the definitions are slightly different. With Scotch, the single nature simply means the product originated from one distillery in Scotland. Often the single malts are made up of multiple barrels.
“Why This May Be The Finest Bottle of Whiskey Ever Produced.”
Falk and Baranaskas got to work developing a marketing strategy for their new bourbon. Initially, and somewhat unusually, the new bourbon was to be nameless, according to a June 1984 article in the Lexington Harold-Leader. In a way, this was true. The bottles wouldn’t carry the name Blanton’s until the early 1990s, with only the name Blanton Distilling Company, which was a registered trade name of Ancient Age Distilling Company, appearing on the neck label of the bottle. Blanton Distilling Company was one of several trade names considered. After first registering Sugar Barrel Bourbon Company, they settled on Blanton’s Distilling Company by the time the bourbon was launched. Likely challenging to sell something truly nameless, the name Blanton’s was used in marketing, liquor store advertisements, and newspaper articles upon product launch. Blanton Distilling Company was trademarked in January 1985, and it wasn’t until that March when bottles began carrying the T.M. designation.
Falk and Baranaskas had their bourbon, but now they needed a bottle to put it in. Falk knew it had to be tasteful but flashy and exude its Kentucky roots. Falk reached out to Thomas D’Addario, founder of Manhattan, New York-based D’Addario Design Associates, whom he had worked with on marketing and product package designs while at Fleischmann’s. “Finding the right bottle was important,” D’Addario’s son, Adam, informed me during one of our telephone conversations. Adam, who worked for his father at their firm, further explained, “It was too costly to design something new and have the molds created, which would have cost tens of thousands of dollars, so we had to find an existing bottle.” D’Addario Design Associates sourced the now-iconic grenade-shaped bottle from Glenshaw Glass Company in Glenshaw, Pennsylvania. It was selected from around ten options presented to Falk and Baranaskas by D’Addario.
Interestingly, Falk’s son, Chris, recalls his father drawing the design on a cocktail napkin while sitting in a midtown Manhattan restaurant, believing his father was the designer. Freddie Johnson, famed Buffalo Trace tour guide, often gives credit for the design to Elmer T. Lee. In truth, neither man designed the bottle. Glenshaw’s design was used as far back as 1968 by the American Distilling Company for Bourbon Supreme, and later by Glenmore Distilleries for Kentucky Tavern bourbon.
Because the bottle was not designed for a screw-top, a stopper was needed. Several concepts were considered, but the Kentucky-inspired horse and jockey stopper was designed based on a suggestion from Thomas D’Addario’s wife, who thought it added flair and evoked Kentucky roots. Her idea came from an antique wine stopper she owned, which is still in the possession of the D’Addario family.
D’Addario Design got to work on the label, which, at the direction of Falk and Baranaskas, had to be consistent with the upscale look they were seeking. Their design, with elegant, sweeping calligraphy, pays tribute to Falk’s marketing prowess as much as the bourbon in the bottle, boldly stating, “We believe this is the finest bottle of whiskey ever produced, affording you extra flavor, bouquet, and character.” To emphasize the uniqueness of the product, the individual barrel and bottle numbers, rick number (location in the warehouse), proof, warehouse (always H), and dump date are included. In the early years of production, Falk and Baranaskas outsourced the painstaking task of individualizing the labels with the relevant information to part-time workers, mostly retirees, who would pick up blank labels and complete the writing duties from home. It remained a manual task until late 2021, when Buffalo Trace moved to a fully printer-generated label for the original 93-proof Blanton’s bottle. This was no doubt an automation and cost-reducing effort. The font mimics actual handwriting, an attempt to produce the same look as the handwritten labels used for decades. Other varieties are still handwritten, for now.
To polish off the prestigious look of the bottle, a hang tag booklet was draped over the neck, exclaiming, “Why this may be the finest bottle of whiskey ever produced.” Inside was a brief description of the bottling process, where Falk’s aptitude for marketing-speak was on full display. Finally, the bottle was enclosed in a luxurious velvety bag of much higher quality than the cloth variety used since the mid-1990s.
Initially, Baranaskas wanted Blanton’s to be sold in a wooden box, an idea that was scrapped before release due to cost. Many years later, however, several South Korean and European releases briefly used wooden boxes. D’Addario’s final product design was striking. Soon it was nominated and won a Clio Award, the advertising and design industry equivalent of an Emmy, which was presented to the D’Addarios, Falk, and Baranaskas at a black-tie gala held in the grand ballroom of New York City’s Waldorf Astoria Hotel.
Blanton’s was officially born on August 30, 1984. Around 2,500 12-bottle cases (30,000 bottles) were dumped, bottled, and distributed within the last four months of the year. It is often written, even by notable whiskey authors, that Blanton’s was explicitly created for the Japanese market. This isn’t entirely true. “Dad was an all-American guy,” recalled Chris Falk in one of our conversations. “He wouldn’t even drive a foreign car for many years. Blanton’s was intended for the American market just as much as Japan’s. He wanted to introduce something that would compete with single malt Scotch here in the USA.”
The United States was the first to receive the newly released super-premium, super-pricey bourbon, with initial product launch markets in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and Atlanta, Georgia. Blanton’s was available in select markets nationwide by the end of 1984 and arrived in Japan in 1985. Ancient Age Distilling Company partnered with Japanese alcohol conglomerate Suntory to bring their new bourbon to the Japanese market. Age’s relationship with Suntory was well-established, as they were already the Japanese distributor of Ancient Age bourbon, a carryover from Schenley’s prior ownership.
Upon the launch of Blanton’s in Japan, it sold for the Japanese yen equivalent of $100. In the United States, initial pricing was around $25, making it the most expensive bourbon on liquor store shelves. Adjusting for inflation, this is around $72 in 2023, not far off from Blanton’s current standard retail pricing. Taking a page from Maker’s Mark’s past ads, Falk touted the price and alluded to its premium nature, calling Blanton’s “truly rare, expensive, and available in limited quantities.” Falk and Baranaskas aggressively marketed their new bourbon with ads in publications targeting wealthier segments of the population. Advertisements were strategically placed in The New Yorker magazine, the Wall Street Journal, and Ivy League alumni newsletters. Consider this: while Falk, Baranaskas, and Lee were launching their new product and identifying target audiences, the people who would go on to make it one of the most sought-after bourbons of all time were largely still in diapers.