You may be surprised to learn that when a certain group of commercial
fishing companies joined forces, they initially didn't go by the name Bumble Bee Tuna. Instead,
it was known as the Columbia River Packers Association, or CRPA. Founded in 1899 in Astoria,
Oregon, where its headquarters remained for the next 81 years,
the CRPA was a collective formed by A.B. Hammond. He hoped that this conglomeration
of seven commercial fishing companies would boost the group's business prowess.
Their original focus wasn't tuna, but rather canned salmon. Then, around 1910,
they realized there was plenty of albacore in the nearby Pacific,
and by 1930 canned tuna became the company's top product.
“This is too much tuna.”
“This is fabulous!”
What prompted the Columbia River Packers Association name to eventually change to
Bumble Bee is unclear. But where it comes from is fairly simple,
as Bumble Bee was the name of one of the seven fishing companies that founded the CRPA.
As the CRPA grew in the early 20th century, the sheer number of albacore tuna caught off
the shores of the Pacific Northwest motivated the company to create more
products. Among these new brands, the Bumble Bee label was launched in 1910.
This brand was quickly recognized as a superior product by consumers from
all walks of life. This didn't lead to an immediate shift in the company's priorities,
though, as salmon still reigned supreme during the 1910s. Salmon's overall abundance and cheap
cost made it hugely popular in that decade, but then overfishing led to the slow decline
of its nationwide prevalence. But the lack of restraint by salmon fishermen wasn't the
only reason for tuna's eventual rise, as the number of albacore tuna found in the
Pacific Northwest remained plentiful after the Bumble Bee label was introduced in 1910.
Eventually, it became clear that tuna was destined to usurp salmon,
and the shift towards tuna supremacy appeared complete by the end of the 1930s. In time,
both tuna and the Bumble Bee brand came to dominate the company's attention and bottom
line. And so, in 1960, the entire company was rebranded as Bumble Bee Seafoods.
The consistency offered in every can or pouch of Bumble Bee Tuna isn't the
only reason it continues to resonate in the public's consciousness. Sure,
its deliciousness certainly helped it become one of the three biggest canned tuna brands in the
U.S. as of 2020. But it's also easy to imagine a world where Bumble Bee remained little more
than a popular-but-middling brand if it had never introduced its famous cartoon mascot.
"Mmmm-my kind of tuna. How 'bout you?"
Debuting in 1950, Horatio the bumblebee was an adorable addition to the company's packaging
and promotions. Always sporting a tall chef's hat,
and sometimes clothes as well, he was a staple of the company's packaging
for six decades. But it seems that all good things must come to an end, and so in 2020,
Horatio was put out to pasture and retired by the company as part of a brand makeover.
The name Bumble Bee may seem like an unusual choice for a seafood company. The name actually
comes from a fishing fleet boat that was local to Astoria, Oregon during the 1890s and 1900s.
And as previously mentioned, it was also one of the seven fishing companies
that formed the Columbia River Packers Association in 1899. We're not exactly
sure why the Bumble Bee label came to be the defining brand under the company's umbrella,
but considering the reputation for quality it developed in the wake of its introduction,
it may just be a simple case of the cream rising to the top.
It's hardly shocking that Bumble Bee Tuna has had its fair share of moments in the
pop culture spotlight. Part of this can be attributed to the legacy of
its earworm jingle that's been featured in numerous commercials over the years,
as well as a 1994 song by the ska band Mephiskapheles that incorporated the tune.
But Bumble Bee's 15 minutes of fame don't stop there. Anyone who was paying attention to Jim
Carrey in the 90s will surely remember when the brand was immortalized in Ace Ventura:
When Nature Calls. When the titular pet detective heads
to an African village in one scene, he misunderstands a local greeting,
leading him to wander around gleefully wishing "Bumble Bee Tuna!" to everyone he encounters.
"Bumble Bee Tuna. Bumble Bee Tuna. Ace Ventura, Pet Detective."
It hasn't always been sunshine and lollipops for Bumble Bee, though. In 2020, for example,
then-President Donald Trump alleged that cans of Bumble Bee were being thrown at police by
protestors, although there wasn't any evidence of this. Nevertheless,
the company still felt the need to conduct damage control, as the brand's Twitter responded,
"Eat em. Don't throw em."
The American right to follow the religion of your own choosing has spurred numerous
companies to develop niche products that meet the specifications of followers of
various belief systems. This includes Bumble Bee,
which notes on its website that the majority of its offerings are kosher,
as they use an Orthodox Union-approved notation to alert customers to their kosher-safe items.
Bumble Bee has partnered with the Orthodox Union since at least the early 2000s to ensure it meets
the strict kosher standards set forth. In 2004, Bumble Bee's then-president Chris
Lischewski stated that the company was proud of its partnership with the OU, as he noted,
"At virtually any hour of the day, we are processing tuna to high kosher standards
somewhere in the world. The training investment is substantial, but the payoff is well worth it."
"Okay, it's worth it."
A belief in promoting religious equality may have prompted Bumble Bee to produce its kosher products
in the first place. But it also surely helps that courting kosher consumers is a profitable move.
Either way, there's no denying Bumble Bee's commitment in this area, with the newspaper
Chicago Jewish News even once describing it as the best choice for kosher canned tuna.
In 1982, more than 40 million cans of Bumble Bee Tuna and other
seafood products were recalled after a small hole was found in those cans,
although there were no reports of anyone becoming sick as a result of the spoiled tuna.
It's generally much easier to forgive a company when the error isn't fatal or
otherwise catastrophic, as was the case here. We're sure plenty of concerned consumers voiced
their concerns, because who wants holes in their tuna cans, after all. Luckily,
though, the fact remained that at least the botched cans weren't really a danger
to consumers. After all, FDA spokesperson Jim Green told The New York Times in 1982,
"'We had no toxins in any of the cans."
Furthermore, the Bumble Bee recall had been designated a Class II recall, indicating
that it was, quote, "a serious but reversible health hazard with proper medical attention.''
There are countless laws and regulations that restrict the monopolization of power
in an industry under any single company or corporation. Anti-trust legislation aimed
to drive economic competition and prevent price gouging practices that hurt consumers
exist for a reason, after all. While the efficacy of many of these legal rules is
generally up for debate, sometimes the system works as intended. This was the case in 2015,
when the Department of Justice scuttled a proposed merger between Bumble Bee and Chicken of the Sea.
It's not hard to see why the Justice Department had reservations regarding
a potential merger between two of the three largest canned tuna companies in
the United States. As Assistant Attorney General William Baer of
the department’s Antitrust Division put it after the potential merger was squashed,
"Consumers are better off without this deal."
"No deal!"
This proved to be a prescient statement, as Bumble Bee pleaded guilty in 2017 to engaging
in price-fixing schemes. There were also some humorous insinuations at the time that the Bumble
Bee-Chicken of the Sea merger was canceled because of an inability to compromise on a
new mascot. But the reality is actually much less amusing than that. As Assistant A.G. Baer put it,
"Our investigation convinced us — and the parties knew or should have known
from the get go — that the market is not functioning competitively today,
and further consolidation would only make things worse."
Deciphering the precise motivations that drove Bumble Bee to explore a possible merger
with Chicken of the Sea in 2015 isn't all that daunting. After all, the devil is in the details,
particularly in light of Bumble Bee's guilty plea for price-fixing in 2017,
alongside another guilty conviction for its now-former CEO, Chris Lischewski, in 2019.
The company owned up to its role in the price-fixing scandal, receiving a mammoth
$25 million fine as a result, though Lischewski was less forthright in taking responsibility.
Choosing to take his case to trial, he was unable to convince jurors that he hadn't
aimed to deprive Americans out of the benefits of competition in the industry. So in 2019,
he was found guilty and sentenced to 40 months in prison and slapped with a $100,000 fine.
Lischewski went on to appeal his conviction, but his arguments were ultimately rejected by
a three-judge panel in 2021. In the written opinion, the appeals court described the
evidence against him as "overwhelming," with corroborating testimony demonstrating that:
"Lischewski was substantially involved in orchestrating,
implementing, and enforcing the price-fixing agreements."
"Eating a tuna-heavy diet was more expensive than it should have been thanks to this man."
If you were already aware of the legal missteps taken by Bumble Bee during the 2010s,
you probably also already know that the company pled guilty to price-fixing in 2017 and was hit
with a $25 million criminal fine. This fine was hardly unjust by any stretch of the imagination,
but it did put the company in an insurmountable financial bind,
leading Bumble Bee to declare bankruptcy in November 2019.
The burden resulting from the fine levied by the Department of Justice didn't cause the
company to go belly up overnight. But over time, it did strain their coffers beyond their limits,
particularly as legal fees racked up alongside the criminally-imposed penalty. The notion of
bankruptcy didn't spring up suddenly, either, as Bumble Bee was reportedly
known to be mulling the prospect of Chapter 11 at least three months before actually filing.
Luckily for Bumble Bee, the company still contained a fair amount of value and assets
at the time. Thus, it wasn't forced to go under without any external interest. As it prepared to
file for bankruptcy, the Taiwan-based FCF Fishery Company swooped in with a stalking-horse bid,
which is an initial purchase offer for a bankrupt company from an agreed-upon
buyer. After several months, the formal purchase of Bumble Bee Seafoods by FCF
Company was approved by the bankruptcy court, leading to the official sale in January 2020.
It's a bit of a cliche for someone to declare that they and their family can't have nice
things. That's often an exaggeration, but in the case of Bumble Bee tuna deciding to
remove its long-time bumblebee mascot Horatio in 2020 to draw attention to
its products' nutritional benefits, it's hard not to despair about the state of the world.
We're being hyperbolic, of course. Obviously, there are far greater issues in the world than
a corporate cartoon mascot's retirement. But we're still sorry that this little
bumblebee has gone the way of the dodo, with no prospect of ever returning anytime soon.
Not that we can really fault the thought process behind the switch
in marketing strategy. After all, as vice president of Corporate Brand Strategy and
Communications for Bumble Bee Seafoods Renee Junge told Intrafish in 2020,
"Our main goal in retiring Horatio was to allow the benefits of the product to shine a bit more.
We serve one of the most nutrient-rich products on this planet, and we wanted to be able to
tell that story without being distracted by our adorable (now retired) mascot."