"I got so I couldn't pay my bills," says Maytag. "My cash flow had gone to hell. It was so bad that one day I got up, got dressed, went downstairs -- and then I just couldn't go to work. I just couldn't. I went back to bed instead."
Maytag had been living with constant strain. He had convinced a major San Francisco accountant that, even though his brewery was small, it was an interesting business. The two talked for hours, poring over countless projections that Maytag ran through his Apple computer. Awake or asleep, he was haunted by the specter of failure.
"Then one day I decided that going bankrupt could be fun, too," Maytag says. Bankruptcy didn't come. But realizing that he could learn as much from failure as from success freed him to live with the risk he had taken.
That first year the new brewery lost money, but sales climbed as the supply expanded, rescuing Maytag's cash flow. Anchor Steam reached the break-even point at about 18,000 barrels in 1978, 1,000 barrels ahead of projection. He says that he had planned so cautiously -- "thanks to my Midwestern conservatism" -- that, even with soaring interest rates, his expansion was able to succeed. By 1982, the company was selling 28,500 barrels in 20 different states.
But the struggle had taken its toll. The magician was beginning to fear that he was being swallowed up by his own creation.
Wunder Beer Gilt Edge Steam, Acme Brew: The polished enameled trays and signs hang from the walls of the Anchor taproom like legends of the fallen. Old Stock Regal Amber, Tahoe Beer, Butte Lager, Old Iroquois: icons from the golden age of the small brewer, before national brands became preeminent after World War II, before Philip Morris Inc.'s purchase of Miller Brewing Co. in 1969 shook up a sleepy industry and propelled it toward its final shakeout (see box).
Anchor Brewery doesn't advertise its brewery tours, lest they become just another stop on the Golden Gate -- Fisherman's Wharf-Chinatown circuit. But visitors who have made appointments come -- pilgrims, home brewers, industry mavens, and Anchor Steam buffs alike, seven this afternoon, marveling in the taproom over the antique brewing tools and the sepiatint photographs of mustachioed GermanAmerican brewers, watching the gleaming kettles through the panoramic window, the air redolent of hops.
Brewing "the perfect beer," Maytag knew from the start, was insufficient to build a company. Advertising was out of the question -- not only was it too expensive, but you couldn't sell consumers the idea of the little brewery on a San Francisco hill by flooding the media with money; the contradictions would be too great.
Image was the answer -- "an image to fit what was in the bottle," Maytag says -- with the brewery tour as one of the nonproduct marketing elements. After a lecture on the origin, history, and current quality of Anchor's beer, guests are walked through selected areas and then taken back to the taproom for questions. They leave enchanted, warmed by the aura of tradition and by two samples -- a glass of steam beer and a glass of porter, the company's dark brew -- laden with T-shirts and aprons, baseball hats, plaques, pins, and mirrors that display the company logo.
"You've got to be a con man in this business," Maytag says, "and I am." Everything about Anchor Steam is calculated to impress people with the bias he put into his product. Everything says old-fashioned, small, out-of-the-Establishment-mainstream.
Before designing a label for the bottles, for example, Maytag set his empty 12ounce bottle in a line with the imports, his competitors in price and status. They had glitter and foil, elegant lettering, and a wrap that suggested champagne. "I was born and raised in a business environment," he explains, "and I had an instinctive sense of marketing. I just knew ours had to look different."
Anchor's bottles would look "funky," like a poster from the last days of the San Francisco counterculture. The large, red, brand name across the top looked handlettered. Maytag emblazoned the legend, "Made in San Francisco since 1896," across the bottom, although he had no way of knowing what his beer had in common with its ancestor. He even added a wraparound neck label, carrying 150 words waxing rhapsodic about "an exceptional respect for the ancient art of brewing" and a beer "evolved over many decades and like no other."
The Anchor differenee extended beyond product and package, however. Maytag made extraordinary demands on distributors, insisting that, since his product was brewed without preservatives, it be refrigerated until purchased by the final consumer. There were no discounts. "Our beer is so good that we set our price, and that's it," Maytag told prospective customers, "and besides, we need the money to get across the bridge at night. "
"It's hard to own a small brewery," Maytag says today. "Just ask the man who has one." Maytag has no leverage with suppliers, although to his surprise his prestigious image and personal touch make people want his business. But the brewing industry, which he once thought of as a fellowship, has become a battle zone. "The Miller-Anheuser feud changed everything, " says Maytag. "It keeps applying more and more pressure to the small brewer, most of whom are particularly worried about getting and keeping distributors."
In theory the problem should be especially acute for the demanding Maytag, but Don Saccani, Maytag's master distributor for northern California, Nevada, and Alaska, thinks that even in what he calls "the final shakeout of the brewing industry," Anchor Steam will be attractive. "The import and super-premium market keeps growing," he says, "and everybody wants a piece of it. And Anchor Steam is an easy sell. People have heard about it or read about it, and you can sell the history. It is the finest U.S. beer made."
Maytag's management style is nearly as unusual as the image he projects for the product. "I always wanted to own a place where I'd like to work," Maytag says, and he runs Anchor like a family, with free discussion and shared responsibility -- although without profit-sharing. There are no supervisors and no foremen. The fulltime workers are salaried; those with experience make $27,000, slightly higher than union wages for brewers in California. Initially, tasks were rotated each week so everyone would feel part of the whole process. While size has brought some specialization, everyone is sent to both brewing and packaging courses. Turnover is minimal, and the working atmosphere is casual. Afternoons, Maytag may close the plant down and take everyone to a Giants game; nights, the brewery's rock band practices in the taproom.
