On this day, in 1888 the infamous douchebag Russell Stover is born. You may be wondering why Russell Stover, the candy maker, is a douchebag. Well that’s just it. Candy. The decadent delicious morsels this asshole concocted has contributed to diabetes and obesity to this day.
Here’s a brief history of this sucrose chemist douchebag:
Ah, the genesis of a sticky situation. Back in the summer of ’21, a visionary named Christian Nelson from the sleepy hollow of Onawa, Iowa, had a brilliant idea: a chocolate-covered ice cream treat he morbidly dubbed the “I-Scream Bar.” Naturally, the first seven victims… I mean, companies… he pitched this to wisely declined, likely envisioning the sticky, melty apocalypse that would ensue.
But then, our intrepid protagonist, Russell Stover, waltzed onto the scene. Perhaps he had a secret penchant for culinary disasters. Whatever the reason, he partnered with Nelson, their fateful agreement scribbled on the somewhat less-than-ominous letterhead of the Graham Ice Cream Company of Omaha. Stover, in a stroke of marketing genius (or perhaps just a desire to avoid screaming customers), rechristened the doomed delight the “Eskimo Pie” and, in a move of pure laziness or foresight, removed the stick, transforming it into a handheld melting hazard. Legend has it that Stover, armed with his arcane knowledge of chemistry, even concocted a chocolate shell designed to momentarily contain the icy chaos within. Nelson, bless his optimistic heart, even managed to patent this frozen folly in January of ’22.
Fast forward to ’23, and Stover, perhaps realizing the error of his ways or simply smelling a different kind of sugary opportunity, wisely bailed on the Eskimo Pie venture for a measly $25,000. He then dragged his poor wife, Clara, to Denver, Colorado, where they birthed “Mrs. Stover’s Bungalow Candies” from the cozy confines of their kitchen. One can only imagine the passive-aggressive notes left amidst the chocolate smears. By ’25, ambition (or maybe just a serious sugar addiction) led to candy factories in Denver and Kansas City, Missouri. By ’31, they officially set up shop in Kansas City, probably to be closer to the heartland’s insatiable sweet tooth.
The ’40s rolled around, and in a move of ultimate branding commitment, they officially declared themselves Russell Stover Candies. Because why beat around the bush when your name is already synonymous with potential dental decay?
Then, in ’54, the Grim Reaper finally caught up with Russell, just five days after his 66th birthday. A bittersweet ending, one might say, considering his namesake company was churning out 11 million pounds of candy annually, distributed through 40 of their own sugary outposts and infiltrating a staggering 2,000 department stores. Clara, bless her enduring soul, steered the sticky ship until ’60, when a box magnate named Louis Ward, a man clearly in need of reliable cardboard for all that candy, bought the whole operation for $7.5 million. One wonders if the negotiations involved more talk of structural integrity or sugar content.
The Ward dynasty clung to this sugary empire until 2014, when the notoriously refined Swiss chocolate overlords at Lindt decided to add a touch of American excess to their portfolio, snapping up Russell Stover Candies for a cool $500 million. A fitting end, perhaps, to a tale that began with a melting ice cream bar and ended with a global confectionery conglomerate. The circle of sweet, slightly terrifying life.
