Bulleit Proof. Tom Bulleit

1 One Sip

      March 14, 2017

      Shelbyville, Kentucky

      STANDING REGALLY ON STAGE, Deirdre Mahlan, president of Diageo North America, leans into the microphone and says to the audience, “Join me in welcoming the founder of the Bulleit brand … Tom Bulleit.”

      The roar from the crowd thunders as I jog up the steps to the stage and hug Deidre, who is applauding now, a grin spread across her face. I arrive at the podium and look out at the hundreds of invited guests packed inside this tent the size of a big top. A kaleidoscope of faces whirls before me—dozens of Diageo folks, members of the media, local and state politicians, my family, and scores of friends, some who’ve traveled thousands of miles to celebrate this day, this momentous event.

      Suddenly, I feel weak-kneed and disoriented, barraged by emotions—joy, gratitude, humility, validation, even shock.

      And love. I feel enormous love.

      The applause soars, peaks, ebbs, and then silence descends, humming with expectation, the only sound the thumping of the wind against the canvas of the tent. I pause to catch my breath.

I peer at the crowd, these hundreds of people eyeing me, waiting, many beaming, some leaning forward on their folding chairs, some holding their programs wound tight in their fists, the wind outside continuing to sing.

      I smile and extend my left hand like a game show host pointing out the grand prize. We are on the grounds of the first Bulleit Bourbon distillery, occupying 300 acres of rolling Kentucky countryside. On this campus, we’ve built four of what will eventually be 12 barrel houses, each holding 55,000 barrels of bourbon, and a 52-foot still—the land, the construction, irrigation system, solar panels, the whole works coming in at a cost somewhere north of $250 million. In a few minutes, along with Deirdre, the governor of Kentucky, one of the senators from our state, and a few other dignitaries, I will wield a pair of ridiculously oversized shears and cut the ribbon dedicating the distillery. But now, I shake my head in wonder.

      “I was sitting in the audience,” I say, my hand frozen in mid-gesture, “and I was thinking if all this could happen, I should buy a lottery ticket, because I could win the lottery.”

      I lower my head to a ripple of laughter. I smooth my tie, and say, “Thank you all for coming. This is an extraordinary day. I thought, mistakenly, that this would be a day like many others. I don’t know what I was thinking. Sometimes I can speak well, but today—”

      I can’t hold the emotion back. I clear my throat, grip the podium with both hands, and say, “I hope you will forgive me. Today I’m a little bit overwhelmed by my wedding anniversary.”

      Another laugh, followed by another surge of applause.

      “Thirty years,” I say. “Betsy and I. Thirty years. That’s when we officially started our journey together. And that’s when all this began. Of course, if I go back to the very beginning, when my great-great-grandfather Augustus created the original recipe for Bulleit Bourbon, we go back 160 years or so. And speaking of old, did I mention that today is my birthday?”

      Now a cheer. I shake my head slowly and whisper, “Extraordinary.”

      I pause again, look over the crowd, and close my eyes. In my mind’s eye I see bottles of Bulleit Bourbon and Bulleit Rye lined up on a shelf, the bottles draped with double gold medals from the San Francisco World Spirits Competition and other international competitions, not just once, but year after year … extraordinary …

How did this happen? How did I get here?