Dr.
Bronner’s
eccentric
philosophy
of
peace,
love
and
cleanliness
finally
wins
over
the
most
important
convert:
his
son.
“DON’T
BE
SMART,
RALPH.”
To
quote
his
father,
Ralph
Bronner
raised
his
voice
to
the
high
volume
at
white
Emanuel
Bronner
usually
spoke.
“He
used
to
say
that
to
me
a
lot.
He’d
be
talking
about
the
labels,
on
the
soap
bottles
being
a
message
to
all
nations,
and
I’d
say
‘So
what
language
should
it
be
in?’
and
he’d
say,
‘DON’T
BE
SMART,
RALPH.”
Emmanuel
Bronner
is
the
Dr.
Bronner
of
Dr.
Bronner’s
soaps.
If
you’re
into
health
food
or
backpacking
or
acoustic
guitar,
(“You’d
be
amazed,”
Ralph
said,
“how
many
people
who
love
health
food
love
*folk
music”),
you’ve
probably
heard
of
them.
If
you’re
not,
likely
you
haven’t.
The
elder
Bronner
died
two
years
ago
at
89.
He
was,
by
industry
accounts
a
brilliant
chemist
whose
genius
was
showcased
on
a
stage
of
soap.
He
was
also,
in
the
tradition
of
John
Harvey
Kellogg
and
others,
an
entrepreneuring,
crusading
eccentric,
a
breed
more
or
less
obsolete
today.
The
term
“obsessive”
hardly
does
justice
to
the
extend
of
his
mania,
focused
mostly
on
getting
out
his
world
peace
message
that
all
religions
are
one,
all
people
are
one.
His
soap,
through
labels
crammed
with
as
many
as
3,000
words,
carries
that
message.
He
was
also
a
father.
Ralph
Bronner
is
63.
His
white
van
sits
in
the
driveway
of
this
suburban
Milwaukee
home,
but
soon
it
will
be
on
the
rad
again,
criss-crossing
America.
He
hits
health
food
conventions,
health
food
stores
and
other
small
shops,
showing
retailers
that
there
are
real
people
behind
the
Dr.
Bronner’s
name,
that,
as
Ralph
always
says,
“It’s
not
like
Dr.
Pepper.”
“He’s
been
from
Yakima,
Wash.,
to
Clearwater,
Fla.;
from
Portland,
Maine
to
San
Diego,
Calif.,
never
as
a
salesman
nor
as
part
of
a
marketing
plan,
-because
there
is
no
marketing
plan
–
but
as
a
spokesman
for
the
soap
and
for
All-One-God-Faith,
which
is
not
just
the
name
of
the
Dr.
Bronner
philosophy,
but
also
a
compromise
name
of
the
company.”
“Dad
wanted
to
call
it
‘With
Bombs
and
Guns
we’re
all
one
or
none,’
Ralph
said,
“but
now
that
he’s
gone,
we
call
it
Dr.
Bronner’s
Magic
Soaps,
because
that’s
what
we’re
known
for.”
He
said
he
gives
shopkeepers
pamphlets
and
drops
off
some
free
bottles
of
liquid
soap.
“then
I
disappear
into
the
night.”
Ralph
has
fun
up
some
300,000
miles
and
gone
through
two
previous
vans
going
about
his
father’s
business.
The
license
plate
on
the
van,
“All
1
God,”
is
a
tribute
from
son
to
father,
a
sigh
of
the
triumph
of
love
over
enormous
odds.
“RALPH,
DON’T
INTERRUPT”
Ralph’s
mother,
Paula,
was
a
maid
at
a
Milwaukee
hotel
when
she
met
Emanuel
at
a
Germanic
club
dance
there.
Sickly,
in
and
out
of
hospitals,
she
died
in
1943
when
Ralph,
his
brother
Jim
and
sister
Ellen
were
very
young.
He
has
no
memory
of
her.
During
her
illness,
the
family
went
on
welfare
and
the
children
were
sent
to
a
series
of
foster
homes.
“I
was
in
15
different
homes
before
I
was
7,”
Ralph
said.
“One
day
I’d
wake
up
on
a
chicken
farm
in
Indiana.
A
little
while
later,
I’d
be
with
a
couple
in
Pleasant
Prairie,
Wisconsin,
or
at
the
St.
Joseph’s
Orphanage
in
Chicago.”
Finally,
having
bounced
all
over
the
Midwest,
the
children
were
placed
with
a
Bavarian
immigrant
family
in
Milwaukee
who
raised
them.
Emanuel,
working
as
a
soap
consultant
then,
was
mostly
poor
but
sporadically
rich
when
a
manufacturer
would
buy
something
he
had
invented.
He
would
show
up
from
time
to
time
in
a
black
1941
Buick
and
give
the
kids
thrilling
rides
on
the
hood
of
the
car.
“I’ll
never
forget
that
car,”
Ralph
said.
“It
always
smelled
of
apples
and
peppermint
Lifesavers.”
Emanuel
also
had
begun
speaking
publicly
about
a
plan
for
world
peace
and
apparently
mad
a
great
impression
on
some
in
his
audiences.
On
March
9,
1945,
according
to
the
next
day’s
Chicago
Tribune,
a
man
was
found
under
the
elevated
tracks
in
the
1600
block
of
Clybourn
Avenue.
He
had
been
crucified.
The
injured
man,
Fred
Walcher,
was
hoping
to
call
the
attention
of
world
leaders
to
Bronner’s
peace
plan,
and
idea
that
came
to
him
after
hearing
Bronner’s
speech.
When
police
and
press
came
to
his
hospital
room,
there
was
Bronner,
handing
out
pamphlets
and
the
authorities
began
to
take
an
interest
in
the
soap
consultant.
After
an
incident
in
which
Bronner
created
a
disturbance
in
the
dean’s
office
at
the
University
of
Chicago,
he
was
jailed.
A
week
later
his
sister
signed
the
necessary
papers,
and
he
was
taken
to
Elgin
State
Mental
Hospital,
strapped
to
a
concrete
slab
and
given
electroshock
treatments
he
would
blame
for
the
blindness
that
would
accompany
the
last
30
years
of
his
life.
For
the
next
decade,
Ralph
and
Emanuel
had
little
contact.
Ralph
would
come
to
view
his
father
as
a
“ranting
man
who
was
wasting
his
talent
as
a
chemist.”
Emanuel
was
in
Elgin
for
six
months.
On
his
third
try,
he
escaped.
He
had
no
money
except
for
$20
stolen
from
a
purse,
but
he
found
a
classified
ad
seeking
a
companion
to
share
the
drive
to
Los
Angeles.
That
would
be
good,
he
though.
No
one
knew
him
there.
By
the
time
thy
go
to
Las
Vegas,
Bronner
figured
he
could
reveal
the
fact
that
he
was
an
escaped
mental
patient.
As
Bronner
watched
the
car
drive
hoff,
he
was
lucky,
go
to
L.A.,
spent
his
nights
sleeping
on
the
roof
of
a
YMCA
and
his
days
fighting
forest
fires
for
pay.
Thus,
Dr.
Bronner
–
the
doctorate
was
self-awareded
honor
of
his
deep
knowledge
of
soapmaking
–
began
his
climb
to
become
what
later
media
reports
would
often
term
him,
the
Pope
of
Soap.
‘RALPH,
YOU
ARE
NO
SON
OF
MINE
IF
YOU
DON’T
GO
TO
RUSSIA
AND
TELL
THE
LEADERS
ABOUT
THE
ALL-ONE-GOD-FAITH”
Spring
vacation
1956.
Ralph
was
a
student
at
the
University
of
Wisconsin,
Milwaukee.
He
hadn’t
often
seen
his
father
since
Emanuel
had
moved
to
California,
but
when
he
got
a
letter
asking
that
he
“come
deal
with
the
bills”,
he
felt
obligated
to
fly
out. “He
was
living
in
a
10
–
story
apartment
building,
the
last
of
it’s
kind,
in
a
seedy
part
of