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Long before the United States put its first space vehicle into orbit, foreign cartoonists, from Argentina to the Transvaal, had assumed that the American satellite would be built along the familiar lines of a Coca-Cola bottle. In their eyes, as in the eyes of many people abroad, Coca-Cola is a fluid that, like gasoline, is indispensable to, and symbolic of, the American way of life. The two liquids, indeed, are often thought of as compatible, even though gasoline is one of the few solutions around that have not yet been mixed with Coke. Gas in a Coke bottle, however, makes a first-rate Molotov cocktail. An English cartoonist has depicted a United States Air Force plane being fuelled in flight by a pair of aerial tankers, one furnishing gas to the engines, the other Coca-Cola to the crew. More transactions at service stations in the United States involve Coca-Cola than motor oil. On its own, without gas, Coke is so widely regarded as a symbol of America that an Italian cartoonist once portrayed Uncle Sam himself as a top-hatted, star-spangled bottle of it. For the last ten years or so, our foreign critics have taken to identifying the policies of our State Department with those of the Coca-Cola Company, and have conjured up a new type of imperialism, which they call Coca-Colonization, or Coca-Colonialism. Hitler drank Coke, but while Germany was at war with the United States, the official Nazi line was that the beverage was a menace to European civilization. Currently, it is lapping the stuff up at the rate of over a billion bottles a year, to the joy of the hundred and eleven West German bottling plants that turn it out. In the Lebanese revolt last spring, two of the first buildings in Beirut to be assaulted by the rebels were the library of the United States Information Agency and the Coca-Cola bottling plant. Around the globe, Coca-Cola is consumed, as its advertisements have lately been trumpeting, about sixty million times a day. An American naval airman named Edward G. Vrable claims to be the first man to drink a Coke at, or over, the North Pole—an achievement he scored during a weather flight, at , Greenwich Mean Time, on March 29, The Nautilus was the first vehicle to carry Coke beneath the North Pole. A parched wine connoisseur who recently made a pilgrimage to St. Once Italian prisoners interned in South Carolina during the war had been introduced to the drink, they refused to do their chores until they were promised a daily ration of it. Some shipwrecked sailors who were rescued off Cuba a few years ago, after clinging to the rigging of a capsized vessel for three and a half days, attributed their survival to the happy circumstance that a case of Coke was wedged in the rigging, too. A dramatic high spot in the plot of a play in the Loretta Young television series last winter—not sponsored by Coke—occurred when a native houseboy employed by an American couple in Korea turned his back on a full bottle of Coca-Cola. This denoted severe emotional distress. In another scene, as the mistress of the household threw her arms about her husband, she was clutching a bottle of Coke. This denoted passion. Even the Coca-Cola Company regards as out of the ordinary—though it is rather fond of the old girl—a wrinkled Indian woman in a remote Mexican province who told an inquiring explorer in that she had never heard of the United States but had heard of Coke. There are fifty-one plants in Mexico that bottle it. Two years after that, a Coca-Cola man pushed a hundred and fifty miles into the jungles outside Lima, Peru, in search of a really primitive Indian to whom, for publicity purposes, he could introduce Coca-Cola. Deep in the bush, he flushed a likely-looking woman, and, through an interpreter, explained his errand, whereupon the woman reached into a sack she was carrying, plucked forth a bottle of Coke, and offered him a swig. There can be exceedingly few North Americans who are unacquainted with Coca-Cola, which a Swedish sociologist has said bears the same nourishing relationship to the body of Homo americanus that television does to his soul. One such ignoramus came to light ten years ago, when the Army quizzed six hundred and fifty recruits stationed at Fort Knox, Kentucky. A single soldier had never drunk a Coke. All in all it was a set of findings far more encouraging to the Coca-Cola Company than to the Department of Defense. In contrast to that innocent rookie, some of his fellow-citizens drink Coca-Cola at a staggering clip. Possibly the outstanding Coke drinker of all time is a used-car salesman in Memphis who revealed in , when he was sixty-five, that for fifty years he had been averaging twenty-five bottles daily, and that on some days he had hit fifty. He added, inevitably, that he had attended the funerals of half a dozen doctors who had called his pace killing. Morton Downey, who for the last sixteen years has been using his voice exclusively to sing the praises of Coca-Cola at conventions, luncheons, and the like, heard about the Memphis prodigy in the course of a trip to Tennessee, and looked him up. Downey, whose own thirst for Coca-Cola has been acclaimed in a company house organ as unquenchable, is not only a caroller for Coke but one of nearly eleven hundred domestic bottlers of the drink. Coca-Cola in bottles is on sale at a million six hundred thousand retail outlets in the United States, and a hundred and thirty thousand soda fountains have it on tap. The Coca-Cola Company itself owns only forty-two of the bottling plants, and the income from them is no more than a tithe of its gross sales, which in came to nearly three hundred million dollars. The bulk of this take was derived from the sale of Coca-Cola syrup—or a more potent concoction known as concentrate—to other bottling plants and to soda-fountain jobbers. There is only one ounce of syrup in a six-and-a-half-ounce bottle of Coke. Nonetheless, in the company sold around two hundred million gallons of the stuff. Two-thirds of this ocean of Coke is swallowed in the United States. In a novel published last year, it was predicted that after the earth is levelled by nuclear warfare, archeologists may find no trace of civilization in the Western Hemisphere other than a fused blanket of metal made up of the discarded caps from Coke bottles. The drink is now bottled in a hundred and seven foreign regions, including the Isle of Man and Mozambique, and in many areas abroad it enjoys a social standing markedly higher than any it has ever attained at home, as if it were a Foreign Service career man who, after hanging around Washington obscurely for years, is suddenly appointed ambassador to a small nation and gets invited to all its best parties. Coca-Cola is served at wedding receptions in Saudi Arabia, at garden parties in India and Italy, and, cheek by jowl with champagne, at formal dinners in Venezuela. When Farouk reigned in Egypt, all the Cairo night clubs reserved a table for him every evening, just in case he should turn up. Alongside every regal oasis was a silver ice bucket cradling a supply of Coca-Cola. The Coca-Cola people have tried to make a social splash at home. A year ago, for example, they ran an ad showing some members of the horsy set, in full hunt-meet panoply, daintily sipping Coca-Cola. In South Africa and in Mexico, a young man may drink anything that comes to hand during the week, but when he takes his best girl out on a Saturday night, he treats her to a Coca-Cola. There is plenty of evidence that to Coca-Cola men the course of true love runs smoothest when it runs delicious and refreshing. No more fervent tributes have ever been paid to Coca-Cola than those that came from Allied service men who either got the opportunity to drink it or missed it unbearably during the Second World War. This day that was to mark the turning point in the Battle of the Philippines began for me with an incident that seemed of the greatest importance. The Coke he had was one of eleven salt-incrusted bottles that some American soldiers had salvaged from a sunken supply ship. Well, darling, it is a bottle of Coca-Cola. May we all toast victory soon with a Coke—if flavored with a little rum, I am sure no one will object. An Australian soldier thought it ripping. Even today, Coca-Cola receives an occasional missive about its role in the war. A recent one included an account of an air crash that the writer had witnessed in the South Pacific. Then, as he staggered through a German town, a peeling advertising poster caught his eye. As I sit here with my darling wife and child, I often think back to that little Coke sign in Germany and say thanks, thanks a lot for helping to get me home. Coca-Cola quickly struck back. The company was run then, as it is now—although he is officially retired—by Robert Winship Woodruff, an urbane, astute, enormously wealthy Georgian, who had resolved as early as the nineteen-twenties that there was no place on earth too remote, geographically or culturally, to enjoy the benefits of Coca-Cola. Scarcely had the United States declared war when Woodruff announced his determination to make Coke available, at a nickel a drink, to every member of our armed forces, no matter where he might be. The Coca-Cola Company is the largest single user of pure granulated sugar on earth, and when sugar rationing went into effect, the company got nowhere near the amount it wanted for the ordinary production of syrup. It tried hard, though. Even under rationing, however, the company was able to acquire virtually unlimited supplies of sugar for Coke for the armed forces. The armed forces, for their part, were quick to enlist under the banner of Coca-Cola. Theatre commanders were authorized to order bottling plants, much as they ordered ammunition. General Eisenhower, whose affection for Coca-Cola matches that of any alien head of state, had barely landed in North Africa when he requested eight plants. A plant needed in China was dismantled in India, flown piece by piece across the Himalayas, and put together again. To supervise this mass migration of nectar, a hundred and sixty-three Coca-Cola men donned uniforms and shuttled back and forth across the world as technical observers—or, as they were more commonly known to the service men they ministered to, Coca-Cola colonels. It was perfected too late to be installed before hostilities ceased, but it is now standard equipment. For instance, the reputation of the Society Islands as a paradise was splendidly maintained; after the war native divers at Borabora recovered thirty thousand empty Coke bottles that had been tossed into a single placid lagoon there. In less serene regions, the scarcity of Coca-Cola was sometimes so acute that upon receiving a trickling shipment a military unit would have the chaplain dole it out, in the hope of avoiding mayhem. Individuals in arid areas who were lucky enough to latch on to a bottle—occasionally one would be shipped from home in a cotton-wrapped gift package—guarded it ferociously. Then the lieutenant locked the safe again. A soldier in Holland drank half a bottle his wife sent him and let a dozen of his buddies shoot craps for the other half. The first bottle to reach the Anzio beachhead was shared by nineteen admirably disciplined G. In the Solomons, a single bottle of Coca-Cola was sold for five dollars; in Casablanca, for ten; in an Alaskan outpost, for forty. A field-artillery sergeant in Italy who got two bottles in drank one and raffled off the other among the men in his battalion, the proceeds going to swell a fund for children of members of the unit who died in action. Four thousand dollars was collected from soldiers vying for the bottle, and the man who won it was too overcome with emotion to drink it. Ernie Pyle, writing of this unusual fund-raising drive, said that the participants in the raffle hoped that the Coca-Cola Company would also contribute to the kitty. The company immediately sent two thousand dollars to the artillerymen, but in so discreet and roundabout a fashion—out of a natural desire not to be deluged with similar appeals from every battalion under arms—that many of its top officials do not know of the generous gesture to this day. Soon after the war ended, the American Legion polled five thousand veterans on their preferences in the matter of soft drinks, and found that nearly two-thirds of them favored Coca-Cola. A complementary survey made by the Coca-Cola Company revealed that among veterans with overseas service the percentage was even higher. In the postwar years, as Coca-Cola strove mightily to consolidate its territorial gains, its efforts were received with mixed feelings. When limited production for civilians got under way in the Philippines, armed guards had to be assigned to the trucks carting Coke from bottlers to dealers, to frustrate thirsty outlaws bent on hijacking it. In the Fiji Islands, on the other hand, Coca-Cola itself was outlawed, at the instigation of soft-drink purveyors whose business had been ruined by the Coke imported for the solace of G. In Western Europe, Coca-Cola has had to fight a whole series of battles, varying according to the terrain, not all of which have yet been won, though victory seems to be in sight. The Danish beer industry has singular leverage. The Tuborg company is noted for its philanthropies, and the Carlsberg company is a wholly nonprofit outfit, all its proceeds going into a foundation for the advancement of the arts and sciences. At last word, the Danes were about to relent, though. The drink was a laxative, they claimed, and they suggested that if it was allowed to flourish unhindered it would probably be superseded by an even more potent laxative—castor oil. And this, they concluded solemnly, was a notorious Fascist beverage. The fact that the Fascists did not drink castor oil themselves but forced it upon their victims was not stressed. The non-Communist press said he had had a heart attack. One Left Wing journal invited its readers to guess which of three dosages could kill a mother-in-law more quickly—a few drops of belladonna, a bit of Strophanthus, or half a bottle of Coke. In Rome, a Left Wing paper printed the results of what purported to be a survey of Coca-Cola imbibers in that city. A typical example was an unnamed businessman who said he regarded drinking Coke as his patriotic duty. Otherwise it will be too bad! In view of the steadfast anti-Catholicism of the Italian Communists, it was only natural that they should have detected a wicked rapport between Coca-Cola and the Vatican. The evidence was skimpy. True enough, a truckload of Coke had been spotted in St. But there was an answer to that one, too—the Roman Catholics enjoy no theological monopoly on such ceremonies. Farley, the chairman of the board of the Coca-Cola Export Corporation, a wholly owned subsidiary. Farley has worked for Coca-Cola since the Democratic National Convention, when he split with President Roosevelt over the third-term issue and resigned as Postmaster General. Farley, of course, is an influential lay Catholic, and this circumstance has been no end of help to the company in its attempts to iron out delicate situations in Catholic countries. This was probably inspired by the fact that Farley did accompany Spellman to Rome for the ceremony; they travelled, though, by commercial aircraft. The largest Coca-Cola bottling plant in Europe today, with a capacity of three hundred bottles a minute, is one that was unveiled by Farley last year in Milan. What happened in Italy was nothing compared to what happened in France. Coca-Cola had been there longer—since —and it got belabored harder. The French Communists may have been especially worked up because Paris was, and is, the headquarters of a suave, dapper White Russian, Alexander Makinsky, who is a sort of roving plenipotentiary for Coca-Cola in Europe. He was hired by Coca-Cola in , when the company felt that a glib, knowledgeable trouble shooter with a Continental air might make some of its European growing pains less agonizing. To some Coca-Cola executives, most of whom are natives of Georgia, he seemed the more ideally cast for this role because he was born in the Russian state of Georgia. Makinsky decided to take the job after democratically inviting the guests at a dinner party he was giving to vote for or against the proposition. On learning that he himself had cast the only negative ballot, he chivalrously accepted the offer, and he has been a contented Coke man ever since. Some Frenchmen still think of the years and as those of two great national scandals—Indo-China and Coca-Cola. The agitation against Coke began in the fall of , when Dienbienphu was under siege. They came back in March with a bill that would have empowered the Ministry of Health, several of whose high-placed functionaries were Communists, to regulate the distribution of all soft drinks containing vegetable matter—a category that, as the French did not by then have to be told, included Coca-Cola. It was by no means just the Communists who crusaded for the passage of this bill. Eventually, the National Assembly did pass the vegetable-matter bill, and the wrath of the Coca-Cola forces, who had been lying fairly low, pending developments, was at once unleashed. Jim Farley, a normally mild-mannered man, all but bellowed with rage. He had been in France the previous fall, trying vainly to see Prime Minister Bidault and head off the tempest. Now that the legislators had acted, Farley issued a sarcastic statement to the effect that drinking Coca-Cola seemed not to have impaired the health of the G. One Georgia statesman, the late Representative Eugene Cox, announced that his friends were swearing off French dressing, and another, Representative Prince H. Preston hinted darkly at reprisals in the form of higher tariffs, and urged the French to come to their senses and lay off wine and cognac. Billy Rose announced a moratorium on the serving of French champagne at the Diamond Horseshoe. The issue was finally resolved, in the manner of so many other prickly international disputes, through diplomatic channels. The Communists were licked, and the furor quickly subsided. Why have the Communists picked so on Coca-Cola, when there are plenty of other outgrowths of American know-how scattered across the earth, many of them with tail fins? One Coca-Cola man recently addressed himself to this question. Everyone who has anything to do with the drink makes money and becomes a member of the bourgeoisie. A Coca-Cola statistician in Europe has calculated that for every dollar the parent company receives from Germany, for instance, sixteen dollars are made by Germans. Max Schmeling is the proprietor of a bottling plant in Hamburg, and the Maharajah of Patiala, not exactly a bourgeois but at least a native, is the proprietor of one in New Delhi. Andrews, in Scotland, is bottled, appropriately, in a Glasgow plant that was set up by Bobby Jones. If identification with America has bedevilled Coca-Cola in some areas, non-identification has been helpful in others. Some Coca-Cola men attribute its escape to the fact that its Egyptian owners had done much to accommodate their nation beyond merely slaking its thirst. Well, this plant had tile floors, and white tile walls, and our bottler was teaching Egyptians to wear clean white uniforms and look through microscopes. Why, the Minister of Health came around to see the place, and he immediately went out and tried to get the bakeries and other food manufacturers to raise their standards to the Coca-Cola level. The health of the Coca-Cola Company itself has been given a boost by the fact that orthodox Moslems are enjoined from drinking hard liquor, with the result that even when they are piqued at the Western world they cannot switch to vodka. During the Suez Canal dustup, Nasser and his aides sipped Coke while planning their tactics. To the Communists, Coca-Cola may be a drink that has sinister Catholic connections, but at least one Catholic newspaper has suggested, contrarily, that Mohammed is the Prophet not only of Allah but of Cocah-Colah, too. For a four-month pilgrimage from Bangkok to Mecca not long ago, six hundred Moslems included in their provisions thirty-four hundred cases of Coke—well over a bottle a day per pilgrim. Some cynics have hinted that Moslems like Coke because its dark color enables them to spike it with alcohol and not get caught. Its popularity with the majority of them, however, stems from its being a cheap, readily available antidote to the thirst-provoking climate they live in. Not until twenty-five years after Coke was introduced to New York City did its inhabitants start consuming a million cases of the drink annually; in Cairo, a much smaller metropolis, the milestone was passed in ten months. While this high rate of consumption naturally delights the Coca-Cola people, it gives them a pause from time to time that is more reflective than refreshing. In Egypt, as in other distant parts of the world, Coca-Cola has had to fight for the pennies of the poor—most often against its arch-rival, Pepsi-Cola. The profits that Coke nets from its export operations alone are reliably thought to be larger than what Pepsi nets both here and abroad, but if Pepsi-Cola is not yet a foe of frightening dimensions, it has been a persistent gadfly. Until a few years ago, when Pepsi was offering twice as much volume for about the same price, it had a competitive edge in many impoverished areas, where quantity was bound to be a big consideration. One sheik in Cairo earned a reputation as a wit for declaring that the plural of Coca-Cola was Pepsi-Cola. The war between the two cola drinks has ranged over much of the earth, with many frisky skirmishes. In the Philippines, three years ago, somebody started a rumor that a man had fallen into a vat at one of the twelve Coca-Cola bottling plants on the islands and had rapidly dissolved. Soon a counter-rumor was launched: the grisly event had indeed occurred, but it was a Pepsi-Cola tank that the luckless fellow had stumbled into. In Venezuela, Pepsi-Cola outsells Coca-Cola by a substantial margin, possibly because its bottler treats newlyweds to free honeymoons. The politically volatile country of Thailand had two contending national leaders a while back; one was a big stockholder in the Pepsi-Cola bottling company, and the other had a similar stake in Coca-Cola. Presently, both men had to flee the country, and a stalemate seemed in the making, but then it developed that the Prime Minister who ascended to power on their departure had been a Coca-Cola stockholder all along. In Egypt, a local Pepsi bottler, hoping to wean King Farouk off Coca-Cola, gave him a block of stock in his company, but despite this largess, there continued to be only one tourist-carrying camel at the Sphinx named after a soft drink, and its name was Coca-Cola. Both Coca-Cola and Pepsi-Cola suffered severely in Egypt seven years ago, when it was alleged that a principal ingredient of all cola drinks was a distillation of the intestines of pigs—animals that are anathema to Moslems. Before the rumor could be scotched, sales of Coke and Pepsi fell off drastically, and when the story was wafted over to Morocco, the reaction was identical. Coca-Cola retaliated by publicizing a testimonial from a pilgrim just back from Mecca, who said that Coke was highly thought of there, and thus could hardly be defiled. Also, a son of the then Sultan—now King—of Morocco made a point of hoisting a bottle of Coke to his revered lips at a race track. Pendar was our vice-consul in Casablanca during the war, and when Roosevelt and Churchill met there in , he turned over a house he had rented—one of the most commodious in the city—to the President. It is believed in some particularly credulous circles that these agents transmit intelligence by means of code words tucked in Coca-Cola ads. There are six and a half million outdoor signs advertising Coca-Cola in the world today, give or take a few thousand that regularly get blown down, swamped, burned up, or otherwise maltreated. Sixty million drinks a day notwithstanding, Coca-Cola people are always pleased to learn of new areas their beverage has conquered, for they are convinced that everybody in the world—including Mau Maus and their pursuers alike—will drink Coke if only it can be made available to them. William E. Robinson, chairman of the board of the company, likes to say in speeches that Coke is consumed in places where people do not eat butter or drink milk. It was a surprise beyond belief and most welcome, as the thirst of the desert was upon us. Coca-Cola, the universal drink of man all over the world, speaking a universal language and satisfying a universal need. Coca-Cola men like to tell of two American tourists who were about to cross the Sahara by car. If the continent of Africa—at least from the special viewpoint of Coca-Cola—can now be regarded as just about a hundred per cent civilized, there are still outposts of the world that, again in relation to Coca-Cola, are laggingly untamed. The drink is not yet bottled in Yemen, for instance. It can be bought in parts of Greece, but it is not yet bottled there—or in Israel or Portugal—owing mainly to the opposition of local citrus-fruit raisers. Resistance in Portugal, though, is melting fast, just as the hitherto frosty Danish Parliament is thawing. Cracks are starting to appear in the Iron Curtain itself. At a trade fair in Yugoslavia in , where there was an exhibit of typical American products, a tiny supply of Coke was on hand; people lined up just to watch other people drink it. A Polish commentator observed not long ago that the fact that one could talk openly about Coke in his country and not go to jail was proof that Poland enjoys more freedom from the Soviet yoke than most Communist satellites. Last January, the Polish papers hopefully—though baselessly—prophesied the imminent construction of a Coca-Cola bottling plant in Danzig, in which the Polish government was to own a fifty-one-per-cent stake. This is not the kind of non-American investment that the Coca-Cola Company cherishes. Poland harbors some lively temperance societies, and they have been staunch missionaries for Coca-Cola. Before the Communists took over China, Coca-Cola was doing nicely there. Some Chinese drank it instead of tea, and there were bottling plants at Canton, Shanghai, Tientsin, and Tsingtao. Coke had been bottled in China as far back as , and it thrived there, despite some awkwardness in rendering its name in Chinese characters. Coca-Cola has never been bottled in Russia—not even under the Czars. The drink is not utterly unknown there, though. Americans on foreign service get it through State Department commissary channels, and American journalists get it from the Coca-Cola Company, which occasionally sends them a couple of gallons of syrup, from which they can make home-brew. The wife of one correspondent informed the company that a Russian maid in her employ had used some of the syrup—apparently with good effect—to remove facial wrinkles. There is a bit of evidence that the natives like to drink it, too. During the Olympics, held in Australia, the teams from the Communist nations attained by far the highest rate of Coke consumption of any athletes present—seventeen and nine-tenths bottles per capita, in eighteen days. For most Russians, however, Coca-Cola is an unseen enemy, and an enemy whose composition they have woefully miscalculated; indeed, a good many relatively well-informed Soviet citizens believe that Coke is an alcoholic beverage. In order to function properly, Democracy needs the loser. What happens to all the stuff we return? When the piano world got played. The Vogue model who became a war photographer. The age of Instagram face. Sign up for our daily newsletter to receive the best stories from The New Yorker. Save this story Save this story. New Yorker Favorites. By Dwight Macdonald. Annals of Marketing. Net Worth. By Henry Louis Gates, Jr. The Weekend Essay. The Pain of Travelling While Palestinian. This year, I learned the difference between a traveller and a refugee. By Mosab Abu Toha. The Lede. Schools are testing how much they can shape the racial outcomes of admissions without being accused of practicing affirmative action. By Jeannie Suk Gersen. This Week in Fiction. By Cressida Leyshon. Pop Music. Sophie Is Gone. Her Music Lives On. By Jia Tolentino. The Pictures. By Alex Barasch. Cover Story. The artist attempts to preserve the most perfect time of year. Briefly Noted. I want to embrace amor fati , but I really can no longer recollect who I once was. By Liana Finck. The HBO show—the most thrilling offering currently on TV—zeroes in on the domineering masculine impulse that drives the world of finance. By Naomi Fry. On and Off the Menu. How Southern California became the epicenter of hype diets and twenty-dollar smoothies. By Hannah Goldfield.

Restoring the connection between Coca-Cola and the ecosystems it inhabited, this study places natural resource acquisition at the heart of a narrative about the.

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