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Time, gentleman, please

The British pub used to be the heart of the community and a place of male refuge. Now pubs are closi

British pubs are closing at the rate of 39 a week, and we now have more supermarkets than pubs, which seems so disturbing that if I met anybody who welcomed the development I’d be tempted to hit them. The causes, I admit, are complex and probably irreversible. They include the narrow margins the pub lessees are required to operate under by the pubcos (we’re already in hell, as you can tell); the smoking ban; the preference for eating out over drinking, and for wine over beer; the cheapness of supermarket booze; and the government’s beer duty escalator, set last year to rise at 2 per cent above inflation annually until 2012 and unlikely to be revoked in the Budget in spite of increasing pressure from MPs.

Alistair Darling said the escalator would provide revenue to help the old and the poor – a provocative remark, given that these are the very people most likely to make use of the traditional British pub. But I should have known from those periodic photographs of Tony Blair queasily sipping pints while supposedly bonding with his constituents in Sedgefield that the government I voted for would do nothing to help the Dog and Duck, and I don’t believe Gordon Brown is any more of a pub man.

The beer duty escalator is, in reality, a capitu­lation to the health lobby, whose concerns over binge drinking are all too well founded. But these binge drinkers are not pub goers in the sense that most British men – if not many New Labour ministers – have been for two centuries. If someone cut up rough in the pubs of my young manhood, the place would fall silent, and he would be on the end of a dozen censorious stares. If he slurred and stumbled when ordering a drink, then the landlord, whom he probably knew and liked, would gently advise him to go home. But it wouldn’t come to that. The old-style pub was full of professional drinkers, so to speak, and the ability to hold one’s booze was highly prized.

Binge drinking comes from rootlessness in every sense. Alcohol provides an escape from the anomie that is the defining condition of corporatised, globalised, urban Britain, and if it can be consumed in the depths of some pounding lager depot, then no limits apply. A still faster way to oblivion is to buy cheap beer from the supermarkets, which use alcohol as a loss leader, and can readily absorb the beer duty. It is now being argued, by the Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) among others, that the duty should be frozen on beer sold in pubs, as these are valuable community hubs. But the government, in its priggish way, appears to want to make schools the hubs of communities. Ministers are blind to the natural foci – post offices and pubs.

If, as a journalist, I am sent on an assignment to any British town, I go into a pub to take the temperature of the place. I inveigle myself into a conversation with drinkers at the bar. Note those terms “drinkers” and “bar”. You can’t so readily talk to people eating at tables in pubs. Food pubs are much more atomised places, lacking the correct pub dynamic. Most decent British pubs are now driven to attract what one landlord I know wearily calls “the grey brigade”: genteel, retired folk, who will motor out to a pub for a pint and fish and chips for him, a tagliatelle with pesto and a white wine for her. Having consumed this, they immediately go home, giving a staccato rhythm to pub life.

Most pubs now serve food, because the modern Briton, like the snail, moves about on his stomach. But this is another defeat. Pubs are meant to be about drinking, and the unwinding conversation that results. The landlord in my favourite pub knows this, and will never leave condiments on the tables. Instead, they are handed out with the food, to be taken away afterwards. And no drinker is ever told, “You can’t sit there. It’s reserved for a party of four who are coming to eat.”

Readers, especially female readers, might detect a misogynistic note in this article. I am on difficult ground here. After all, the president of CAMRA is a woman. But I liked the male orientation of pubs. It was an antidote to married life, and I could appreciate that from the atmosphere of a pub even before I was married. Pubs tended to be dark, a troglodytic refuge. This was off-putting to women, but I like dark places. I look much better in the dark, for one thing. And given the high divorce rate, and the crisis of masculinity caused by the deindustrialisation of Britain, I would have thought we needed more rather than fewer places where men can socialise together.

But what do I know? I will be adrift in the largely publess Britain of the future. An old man roving the country, occasionally stopping strangers, who will hurry on, embarrassed at my apparently surreal or fantastical inquiries: “Wasn’t there a Red Lion around here . . . or was it a Blue Boar? . . . Excuse me, but I’m looking for the Blacksmith’s Arms . . .” l

Andrew Martin’s latest novel is “The Last Train to Scarborough” (Faber & Faber, £12.99)

This article first appeared in the 20 April 2009 issue of the New Statesman, Who polices our police?

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The secret anti-capitalist history of McDonald’s

As a new film focuses on the real founder of McDonald’s, his grandson reveals the unlikely story behind his family’s long-lost restaurant.

One afternoon in about the year 1988, an 11-year-old boy was eating at McDonald’s with his family in the city of Manchester, New Hampshire. During the meal, he noticed a plaque on the wall bearing a man’s face and declaring him the founder of McDonald’s. These plaques were prevalent in McDonald’s restaurants across the US at the time. The face – gleaming with pride – belonged to Ray Kroc, a businessman and former travelling salesman long hailed as the creator of the fast food franchise.

Flickr/Phillip Pessar

But this wasn’t the man the young boy munching on fries expected to see. That man was in the restaurant alongside him. “I looked at my grandfather and said, ‘But I thought you were the founder?’” he recalls. “And that’s when, in the late Eighties, early Nineties, my grandfather went back on the [McDonald’s] Corporation to set the history straight.”

Jason McDonald French, now a 40-year-old registered nurse with four children, is the grandson of Dick McDonald – the real founder of McDonald’s. When he turned to his grandfather as a confused child all those years ago, he spurred him on to correct decades of misinformation about the mysterious McDonald’s history. A story now being brought to mainstream attention by a new film, The Founder.


Jason McDonald French

“They [McDonald’s Corporation] seemed to forget where the name actually did come from,” says McDonald French, speaking on the phone from his home just outside Springfield, Massachusetts.

His grandfather Dick was one half of the McDonald brothers, an entrepreneurial duo of restaurateurs who started out with a standard drive-in hotdog stand in California, 1937.

Dick's father, an Irish immigrant, worked in a shoe factory in New Hampshire. He and his brother made their success from scratch. They founded a unique burger restaurant in San Bernardino, around 50 miles east of where they had been flogging hotdogs. It would become the first McDonald’s restaurant.

Most takeout restaurants back then were drive-ins, where you would park, order food from your car, and wait for a “carhop” server to bring you your meal on a plate, with cutlery. The McDonald brothers noticed that this was a slow, disorganised process with pointless costly overheads.

So they invented fast food.

***

In 1948, they built what came to be known as the “speedy system” for a fast food kitchen from scratch. Dick was the inventor out of the two brothers - as well as the bespoke kitchen design, he came up with both the iconic giant yellow “M” and its nickname, the “Golden Arches”.

“My grandfather was an innovator, a man ahead of his time,” McDonald French tells me. “For someone who was [only] high school-educated to come up with the ideas and have the foresight to see where the food service business was going, is pretty remarkable.”


The McDonald brothers with a milkshake machine.

McDonald French is still amazed at his grandfather’s contraptions. “He was inventing machines to do this automated system, just off-the-cuff,” he recalls. “They were using heat lamps to keep food warm beforehand, before anyone had ever thought of such a thing. They customised their grills to whip the grease away to cook the burgers more efficiently. It was six-feet-long, which was just unheard of.”

Dick even custom-made ketchup and mustard dispensers – like metal fireplace bellows – to speed up the process of garnishing each burger. The brothers’ system, which also cut out waiting staff and the cost of buying and washing crockery and cutlery, brought customers hamburgers from grill to counter in 30 seconds.


The McDonald brothers as depicted in The Founder. Photo: The Founder

McDonald French recounts a story of the McDonald brothers working late into the night, drafting and redrafting a blueprint for the perfect speedy kitchen in chalk on their tennis court for hours. By 3am, when they finally had it all mapped out, they went to bed – deciding to put it all to paper the next day. The dry, desert climate of San Bernardino meant it hadn’t rained in months.

 “And, of course, it rained that night in San Bernardino – washed it all away. And they had to redo it all over again,” chuckles McDonald French.

In another hiccup when starting out, a swarm of flies attracted by the light descended on an evening event they put on to drum up interest in their restaurant, driving customers away.


An original McDonald's restaurant, as depicted in The Founder. Photo: The Founder

***

These turned out to be the least of their setbacks. As depicted in painful detail in John Lee Hancock’s film, Ray Kroc – then a milkshake machine salesman – took interest in their restaurant after they purchased six of his “multi-mixers”. It was then that the three men drew up a fateful contract. This signed Kroc as the franchising agent for McDonald’s, who was tasked with rolling out other McDonald’s restaurants (the McDonalds already had a handful of restaurants in their franchise). 

Kroc soon became frustrated at having little influence. He was bound by the McDonalds’ inflexibility and stubborn standards (they wouldn’t allow him to cut costs by purchasing powdered milkshake, for example). The film also suggests he was fed up with the lack of money he was making from the deal. In the end, he wriggled his way around the contract by setting up the property company “McDonald’s Corporation” and buying up the land on which the franchises were built.


Ray Kroc, as depicted in The Founder. Photo: The Founder

Kroc ended up buying McDonald’s in 1961, for $2.7m. He gave the brothers $1m each and agreeing to an annual royalty of half a per cent, which the McDonald family says they never received.

“My father told us about the handshake deal [for a stake in the company] and how Kroc had gone back on his word. That was very upsetting to my grandfather, and he never publicly spoke about it,” McDonald French says. “It’s probably billions of dollars. But if my grandfather was never upset about it enough to go after the Corporation, why would we?”

They lost the rights to their own name, and had to rebrand their original restaurant “The Big M”. It was soon put out of business by a McDonald’s that sprang up close by.


An original McDonald restaurant in Arizona. Photo: Flickr/George

Soon after that meal when the 11-year-old Jason saw Kroc smiling down from the plaque for the first time, he learned the true story of what had happened to his grandfather. “It’s upsetting to hear that your family member was kind of duped,” he says. “But my grandfather always had a great respect for the McDonald’s Corporation as a whole. He never badmouthed the Corporation publicly, because he just wasn’t that type of man.”

Today, McDonalds' corporate website acknowledges the McDonalds brothers as the founders of the original restaurant, and credits Kroc with expanding the franchise. The McDonald’s Corporation was not involved with the making of The Founder, which outlines this story. I have contacted it for a response to this story, but it does not wish to comment.

***

Dick McDonald’s principles jar with the modern connotations of McDonald’s – now a garish symbol of global capitalism. The film shows Dick’s attention to the quality of the food, and commitment to ethics. In one scene, he refuses a lucrative deal to advertise Coca Cola in stores. “It’s a concept that goes beyond our core beliefs,” he rants. “It’s distasteful . . . crass commercialism.”

Kroc, enraged, curses going into business with “a beatnik”.


Photo: The Founder

Dick’s grandson agrees that McDonald’s has strayed from his family’s values. He talks of his grandfather’s generosity and desire to share his wealth – the McDonald brothers gave their restaurant to its employees, and when Dick returned to New Hampshire after the sale, he used some of the money to buy new Cadillacs with air conditioning for his old friends back home.

“[McDonald’s] is definitely a symbol of capitalism, and it definitely sometimes has a negative connotation in society,” McDonald French says. “If it was still under what my grandfather had started, I imagine it would be more like In'N'Out Burger [a fast food chain in the US known for its ethical standards] is now, where they pay their employees very well, where they stick to the simple menu and the quality.”

He adds: “I don’t think it would’ve ever blossomed into this, doing salads and everything else. It would’ve stayed simple, had quality products that were great all the time.

“I believe that he [my grandfather] wasn’t too unhappy that he wasn’t involved with it anymore.”


The McDonald’s Museum, Ray Kroc’s first franchised restaurant in the chain. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Despite his history, Dick still took his children and grandchildren to eat at McDonald’s together – “all the time” – as does Jason McDonald French with his own children now. He’s a cheeseburger enthusiast, while his seven-year-old youngest child loves the chicken nuggets. But there was always a supersize elephant in the room.

“My grandfather never really spoke of Ray Kroc,” he says. “That was always kind of a touchy subject. It wasn’t until years later that my father told us about how Kroc was not a very nice man. And it was the only one time I ever remember my grandfather talking about Kroc, when he said: ‘Boy, that guy really got me.’”

The Founder is in UK cinemas from today.

Anoosh Chakelian is senior writer at the New Statesman.