August Busch's relationship with his father has defined his life. In interviews with business magazines — interviews intended to demonstrate his fitness to run a publicly traded company — he spoke over and over of his desire to prove himself to The Third. In 1997 he told Fortune that he kept letters from his father in his briefcase. "Five notes of compliment from the Chief over ten years of full-time employment here… I cherish them." In 2002 he was even more effusive, telling Businessweek: "Take a walk through my house, and it looks like a father museum. Every picture on the wall is of my father, or me and my father… But he has been extremely tough on me. Maybe you can call it tough love." Even in 2007, after becoming CEO, he told Forbes that a better relationship with the Third would be a "dream."
But that respect, that awe, they go one way only. The Fourth never should have run Anheuser-Busch; his qualifications were laughably thin, and he had Michele's death hanging over him. But then The Third never really let him. Soon as InBev came along, he forced aside his son as coolly as he'd driven out his father a generation before. He keeps his feelings about The Fourth to himself — Goodbye, Alex — but his will tells the tale. August Busch IV isn't in it.
So Busch bumbles on, with his cars and his guns and his helicopter and his empty mansion. He's trying to stay off cocaine and oxycodone, though he hasn't quit drinking. He roots for the Cardinals. For a while he even had a new girl, Yolanda.
Most of all, he waits for just one more chance to prove himself to his dad. The Busches were born just one day apart, The Fourth on June 15, 1964, The Third on June 16, 1937. This June, The Fourth had happy news for April Twist. His dad had suggested they meet to celebrate their birthdays.
"He's like, 'My dad asked me to go out to dinner,'" Twist said. "And he was excited."
* * *
Not long ago, I got a call from the 314 — St. Louis — area code, a number I didn't recognize. I had reached out to The Fourth through several channels, but I didn't expect him to call back. The civil case wasn't yet settled, and he didn't know me.
But there he was. And he wanted to talk. And talk some more. The conversations were off the record, so I can't reveal their substance, but I will say this: they were profoundly depressing. The Fourth isn't dumb, but he seems to lack basic insight into how he's ended up in such a lonely place — much less the desire or ability to change his path. He's always shifting blame to others, a classic trait of addicts. He's always explaining why mistakes he's made aren't really his fault. The drugs and the drinking seem to have taken a toll on his memory, too — he regularly repeats himself. He has half-formed plans about what he might do with the rest of his life, but his history suggests he'll have a very tough time motivating himself enough to carry them out.
Despite the money The Fourth has blown the last couple years on Learjets and Rolls-Royces and his other toys, he's still vastly wealthy. At forty-eight, he could still have a family, if he wants. Even a few months of sobriety would convince plenty of women to take a chance on him.
The odds are long, and I wouldn't bet on him. But if he's going to have any chance at all, August Busch IV will have to take a crucial first step. He must give up trying to impress his father. He must stop being The Fourth.
THE END
The Prince of Beers Page 4