Devil’s Brew
Postcard courtesy Anheuser-Busch.
The beer would have never been brewed in the first place if Tony Faust hadn't been shot in the leg.
He was just seventeen when he arrived in New York from Germany in 1853. He had intended on a career as an ornamental plasterer, but in 1861, a month after the beginning of the Civil War, a riot broke out in St. Louis between Southern sympathizers and the Missouri Volunteer Militia (which included volunteers Eberhard Anheuser and his new son-in-law, Adolphus Busch). As the "traitors" were being marched through the streets to Camp Jackson, a soldier accidentally dropped his gun, and Faust -- who was just there to watch -- was shot in the leg. He decided after his recovery that barkeeping was a less physically taxing occupation.
"So great was his success that he always afterward referred to 'Camp Jackson Day' as his lucky day and never allowed the anniversary to pass without showing the bullet hole to his friends," read his New York Times obituary.
In less than a year, he opened a small café at 295 Carondelet Road in what was then known as Frenchtown. He registered for the Union forces in 1863, and after he returned, his little bar thrived and was rechristened Tony Faust Oyster House & Saloon after it moved to Broadway and Elm in 1870.
"We don't know where Tony Faust got his seed money to begin his restaurant, but it just blossomed. Personally, I think it may have been his charisma," says Terry.
Faust was a short man with a ruddy complexion, bushy mustache and an ever-present bowler hat, and he quickly became a fixture around St. Louis. The newly constructed Eads Bridge allowed him to ship in oysters from north and south using the Mississippi River, plus fish, lobsters, crabs and clams, and wild game and cheeses from Europe.
As his restaurant became more luxe, Faust's antics as proprietor kept pace. Every Faust employee was allowed to drink as much beer as he pleased throughout the workday (Adolphus Busch had a similar policy at the brewery -- both hired mostly German immigrants like themselves), and Faust constantly flouted city laws he found repressive. When a St. Louis law tried to stop Sunday liquor sales, Faust took out an ad in the Saturday Post-Dispatch promising "Bock Beer! Bock Beer! Bock Beer!" would be sold all weekend.
Faust's became a place of opulence and pageantry -- it was the first building in St. Louis to install electric lights. After an 1877 fire, Faust rebuilt even grander, with lofted ceilings, marble floors and counters, and polished walnut cases. The Post-Dispatch declared that "no Western city has anything like it."
Faust's offered the finest wines, fresh game and even a so-called Millionaire's Table, but violent bar fights were commonplace. Skirmishes involved the wait staff, doctors brandishing guns and, at least once, August A. Busch, son of Adolphus. One night he was holding court at his father's table when a typewriter salesman named Samuel Levy skipped his turn to buy a round. Busch called Levy a "cheap screw," a brawl broke out, and Busch ended up punching Levy in the face so hard he was carried to the Planter's House Hotel unconscious. Levy was well enough, though, to file a $10,000 lawsuit against Busch the next morning. "Tony was not just a jovial host for his guests in their finery," Terry writes. "He rolled out the red carpet for all patrons, even those who used their fists to resolves disputes."
Faust probably fell in with the Anheuser-Busches by meeting Eberhard Anheuser first, through the restaurant. They became drinking buddies and bonded over their status as prominent German American St. Louisans. Anheuser once joked that Faust was looking to get into the beer business himself, but Faust supposedly told reporters, "Just tell your readers I am buying the breweries a glass at a time."