Tales from the Reawakened Wine Patrol
by Lance Cutler
Sometimes life is all about timing. Being in the right place at the right time makes all the difference. I didn’t plan on being there. I just knew I had to get out of Los Angeles. I had to escape with my family to some other place. I yearned for a more rural existence, one far removed from the despair of inner-city Los Angeles and the hassles with police and the intense, passionate pleadings of political true believers.
So, in 1977 I found myself in Sonoma, California, a small rural community steeped in history and populated primarily by elderly retirees. The center of town circled around a lovely park with mature trees and a duck pond. The northern-most mission of the Spanish conquest anchored one corner, the hardware store another. In the middle of First Street East, locals would shop at the market taking time to sit at the lunch counter for a cup of coffee and gossip.
A poor farming town in a gorgeous setting, Sonoma survived by growing apples, pears, prunes, and some wine grapes. Restaurants were family style and inexpensive. If the food was not exciting, at least it was plentiful. The bars did big business, mostly on-the-rocks drinks, martinis and Manhattans.
I landed a job as director of a small, private elementary school. The pay was $600 per month, nine months a year, with free tuition for my daughter. We lived in an 864-square foot house on two acres of land, which we shared with our landlords, the Boninos. Our rent was $165 per month; $150 if we kept the leaves raked.
In the summer of 1978, with no salary coming in from the school, I signed on for a job in the Gundlach Bundschu tasting room. A small family winery dating back to 1858, Gundlach Bundschu had been revived by Jim Bundschu and his two brothers-in-law. I worked the tasting room Saturday and Sunday from 12 to 4. Often, no one would show up for hours at a time. I earned $3.00 per hour. The Merlot and Zinfandel sold for $5.00 per bottle; the Cabernet Sauvignon was $5.50.
I returned to the school in September, working from 9 to 3 and then working at the winery from 3:30 until midnight to help with harvest. In February of 1979, the Bundschus asked me to work full-time at the winery. They offered $3.50 per hour. I accepted the offer.
I worked at Gundlach Bundschu for 18 years. I became winemaker, then general manager and won the Winemaker of the Year Award in 1983. Along with Jim Bundschu and Jim McCullough, I helped turn Gundlach Bundschu Winery into one of the most respected and revered wineries in all of California. We made wonderful wines which sold at very fair prices.
We honored the Hispanic contribution to winemaking and grape growing. We started the first humorous marketing program in the fine wine business. We invented the Sonoma Valley Wine Patrol. We hijacked the Napa Wine Train, kidnapped Richard Branson, and trained many of the best winemakers of California. We rode the tidal wave of the fine wine boom as it grew from a simple, local business to become one of California’s most important industries, accounting for more than $84.5 billion in annual economic output.
The three of us, working together, created a magical kingdom that welcomed anyone willing to work hard and laugh at themselves. Hundreds and eventually thousands of people discovered this special place and signed on to be a part of it. There was no other winery like it. There likely will never be another.
This is the story of how that magical place started, developed, and eventually withered away. It is a story filled with creativity, a brutal work schedule and laughter, lots of laughter. It is also a story of death and murder. In the end, this is the story of the California wine business.
For those of us in the wine business in those days, life was hard, but it was fun, and no place was more fun than Gundlach Bundschu. It was a magical place spreading joy and wonder everywhere.
Is it all true? I can’t say for sure. Memory twists the truth, and what’s true for one person is not always true for another, but I was there. These are things that I did. This is how I remember it.
People say you must record the history. You must pass on the truth. We cannot leave the story to private equity firms, billionaire serial buyers and large wine conglomerates like E.J. Gallo and Constellation.
I was in the right place at the right time, and this is my story, so I’m going to try to tell it.
