The Prince of Beers by Alex Berenson Page B
Authors: Alex Berenson
Tags: True Crime, Biographies & Memoirs, Extratorrents, Kat, Leaders & Notable People, C429, Rich & Famous
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one had offered evidence to contradict the theory of accidental death.
Still, the story of the fallen heir and the dead waitress fascinated me. Of all the giant companies begun in the 19 th century — Standard Oil, Coca-Cola, Carnegie Steel — I could think of only one other whose family had held control so long (The Times, which was still run by the Sulzberger family). The first generation builds the business, the second enjoys it, the third wrecks it, the saying went. Or, as Andrew Carnegie himself had said, Three generations in America from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves.
But the Busches never went back to shirtsleeves. Control of Anheuser-Busch passed from Adolphus Busch to August Sr. to Adolphus III to August Jr. — known as Gussie — to The Third to The Fourth. Six Busches and five generations. They made Budweiser one of the world's best-known brands, earned tens of billions of dollars for themselves and their shareholders. When August Busch IV took over as chief executive in 2006, the company controlled nearly half the United States beer market. That year, A-B had sales of $18 billion, profits of $2 billion, and 30,000 employees.
But The Fourth's reign didn't last. In June 2008, a group of Brazilian businessmen running a Belgian-based brewer called InBev offered to buy Anheuser. Remarkably, the Brazilians won in a matter of weeks. On July 13, 2008, A-B announced it would sell itself to InBev for $52 billion in cash. Under normal circumstances, the deal might have attracted attention, maybe some handwringing, an American icon sold to a little-known foreign company. But in the summer of 2008, business reporters — and everyone else — had other concerns. As Lehman and Fannie Mae and AIG melted down, Anheuser's sale went practically unnoticed outside St. Louis.
InBev allowed The Fourth to remain on the board of the new company, gave him a $120,000 per month consulting contract. He also cashed out almost $100 million in stock. Not a bad payday, considering he'd been chief executive for barely eighteen months. Still, the deal was a humiliation for Busch, who had vowed never to sell A-B to InBev. For the next two years, he more or less disappeared.
Then came that Sunday afternoon 911 call.
* * *
Sunday, Dec. 19, 2010. 1:20 p.m.
Huntleigh, Missouri calls itself a city. It's really a tiny, wealthy village fifteen miles west of downtown St. Louis. About 330 people live there, 99 percent of them white. August Busch IV is one. His estate occupies four-and-a-half acres on a hill at 2832 South Lindbergh Avenue, and includes a 16-room, 6,300-square foot mansion once owned by the hockey legend Brett Hull, as well as a smaller second house. South Lindbergh is a busy road, but fences and a thicket of trees screen Busch's property from traffic. Motorists who turn onto the driveway that leads up to the mansion are confronted by an imposing gate and an automated voice that screeches, "You are trespassing! You ARE trespassing!"
Too small to have its own police force, Huntleigh pays for police coverage from the city of Frontenac, whose department is headquartered a couple miles away. The Frontenac force isn't huge either. Several of the officers who responded to the 911 call from Busch's estate had been there before. Some had worked security at the mansion when they were off-duty, before Frontenac police chief Tom Becker made them stop.
Officer Robert Scronce was the first to arrive. "She was in the bedroom and she was not breathing," Busch said. Scronce found Adrienne Martin lying on Busch's bed. She was tall and thin, with wide hazel eyes, long brown hair, an oversized nose, and breasts too big and round to be anything but implants. The kind of woman who looked good across the bar, not so much close up. She wore grey spandex leggings and a black sweatshirt. The sweatshirt's pocket held a straw covered with white powder, though Scronce didn't find it. Her skin was cool and her lips blue. Scronce knew right away she was gone.
Still, the story of the fallen heir and the dead waitress fascinated me. Of all the giant companies begun in the 19 th century — Standard Oil, Coca-Cola, Carnegie Steel — I could think of only one other whose family had held control so long (The Times, which was still run by the Sulzberger family). The first generation builds the business, the second enjoys it, the third wrecks it, the saying went. Or, as Andrew Carnegie himself had said, Three generations in America from shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves.
But the Busches never went back to shirtsleeves. Control of Anheuser-Busch passed from Adolphus Busch to August Sr. to Adolphus III to August Jr. — known as Gussie — to The Third to The Fourth. Six Busches and five generations. They made Budweiser one of the world's best-known brands, earned tens of billions of dollars for themselves and their shareholders. When August Busch IV took over as chief executive in 2006, the company controlled nearly half the United States beer market. That year, A-B had sales of $18 billion, profits of $2 billion, and 30,000 employees.
But The Fourth's reign didn't last. In June 2008, a group of Brazilian businessmen running a Belgian-based brewer called InBev offered to buy Anheuser. Remarkably, the Brazilians won in a matter of weeks. On July 13, 2008, A-B announced it would sell itself to InBev for $52 billion in cash. Under normal circumstances, the deal might have attracted attention, maybe some handwringing, an American icon sold to a little-known foreign company. But in the summer of 2008, business reporters — and everyone else — had other concerns. As Lehman and Fannie Mae and AIG melted down, Anheuser's sale went practically unnoticed outside St. Louis.
InBev allowed The Fourth to remain on the board of the new company, gave him a $120,000 per month consulting contract. He also cashed out almost $100 million in stock. Not a bad payday, considering he'd been chief executive for barely eighteen months. Still, the deal was a humiliation for Busch, who had vowed never to sell A-B to InBev. For the next two years, he more or less disappeared.
Then came that Sunday afternoon 911 call.
* * *
Sunday, Dec. 19, 2010. 1:20 p.m.
Huntleigh, Missouri calls itself a city. It's really a tiny, wealthy village fifteen miles west of downtown St. Louis. About 330 people live there, 99 percent of them white. August Busch IV is one. His estate occupies four-and-a-half acres on a hill at 2832 South Lindbergh Avenue, and includes a 16-room, 6,300-square foot mansion once owned by the hockey legend Brett Hull, as well as a smaller second house. South Lindbergh is a busy road, but fences and a thicket of trees screen Busch's property from traffic. Motorists who turn onto the driveway that leads up to the mansion are confronted by an imposing gate and an automated voice that screeches, "You are trespassing! You ARE trespassing!"
Too small to have its own police force, Huntleigh pays for police coverage from the city of Frontenac, whose department is headquartered a couple miles away. The Frontenac force isn't huge either. Several of the officers who responded to the 911 call from Busch's estate had been there before. Some had worked security at the mansion when they were off-duty, before Frontenac police chief Tom Becker made them stop.
Officer Robert Scronce was the first to arrive. "She was in the bedroom and she was not breathing," Busch said. Scronce found Adrienne Martin lying on Busch's bed. She was tall and thin, with wide hazel eyes, long brown hair, an oversized nose, and breasts too big and round to be anything but implants. The kind of woman who looked good across the bar, not so much close up. She wore grey spandex leggings and a black sweatshirt. The sweatshirt's pocket held a straw covered with white powder, though Scronce didn't find it. Her skin was cool and her lips blue. Scronce knew right away she was gone.
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