Black Hawk Beer As The Medicine of Choice?

The Daily Times. April 15, 1914.

If you stood on Davenport’s west side a hundred years ago and caught a whiff of warm grain, smoke, and something vaguely cheerful in the air, congratulations—you were downwind of a brewery.

One of the big names was Black Hawk.

Black Hawk Brewery opened sometime around 1865, when America was finishing a civil war and apparently decided the next order of business was beer. Julius Lehrkind, a German-born brewer, was an early owner. That made sense. Germans all over the Midwest were quietly improving local life one lager at a time.

Davenport was the perfect town for brewing. It had river traffic, railroads, factories, and a healthy population of people who’d worked all day and didn’t need to be talked into a drink.

Like many old businesses, Black Hawk never sat still. Names changed. Ownership changed. Buildings were added whenever money appeared.

The Independent Brewing and Malting Co. plant near 1801 West 3rd Street was a serious operation. It had cellars, bottling works, rail connections, wagons moving in and out, and all the machinery necessary to dominate the local market.

They kept selling Black Hawk beer. Customers already liked the label; only a fool would toss it aside.

By the late 1800s, the Zoller family took over and expanded things. They added more capacity, newer equipment, and more labels.

For years, the brewery was part of the neighborhood’s daily rhythm. Men went to work there. Taverns counted on its output. Nearby residents probably set their clocks by the smell.

Then the country tried a strange experiment. Prohibition. Black Hawk went quiet.

When repeal came, the brewery went back to work. In 1935, it returned as the Zoller Brewing Company. In 1944, it revived the Blackhawk Brewing Company name.

They sold Blackhawk Beer, Blackhawk Old Lager, Blackhawk Pilsener, Brewer’s Best Pilsener, Lago Lager, and Blackhawk Topping Beer.

By the 1940s, Black Hawk was one of Iowa’s larger breweries. Its beer turned up across the Quad Cities and beyond—at picnics, taverns, fish fries, and card games.

Then the national brands rolled in with giant budgets and slick marketing campaigns—dominating print, radio, and TV. Local breweries shut down—one by one.

Black Hawk held on until about 1952 or 1953. Another brewer used the plant briefly before the final shutdown in 1956.

That’s how it goes with hometown giants. One day they dominate the market. A few years later, they’re memories, with old timers telling everyone, “You should’ve seen that place.”

Of course, none of that explains the ad shown above, because how do you explain an advertisement that touts beer as the perfect medicine?

I know people who believe it, but try putting that in print today. It’s not gonna fly.

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