Retrospect: Alarico supplied the treats when sweets were in short supply

A partnership born from Alabama farmers and businesses brought Alarico yams to Chicago

T.J. Jones is surrounded by crates of Alarico yams in Sprott, Alabama, in 1944. Photo courtesy of the Alabama Department of Archives & History.

Amidst the warehouses of the massive Chicago produce market in 1944 were hints of an ambitious partnership between Alabama farmers and businesses. Attractive, tri-color labels made the 50-pound wooden crates stand out from the others, as did the unusual word printed at the top: ALARICO.

The setting for this unheralded but sweet history dates to the depths of the Second World War. During a time of nationwide rationing of items like sugar and butter, American kitchens looked for naturally sweet alternatives. One of the best options was the humble sweet potato, and Alabama farmers in the 1940s grew tons of them. Yet sometimes the path from farm to table proved too complex. Excess produce went to waste before it could be sold, either locally or to out-of-state wholesalers. In 1943, officials banded together to create an efficient, statewide effort to better market the bounty of Alabama farmers.

The architect of the plan was P. O. Davis. A native of Limestone County, Davis had a decades-long career in agricultural education by the time he was tapped to lead the Alabama Cooperative Extension Service in 1932. Davis understood well the task at hand. His office put forth a thorough plan for expanding the ways Alabama produce was marketed and fixed an annual cost at $75,000.

The project drew nearly a dozen partners, including the Alabama Chamber of Commerce, Farm Bureau, Alabama Department of Agriculture and Industries, Alabama Power Co. and the Tennessee Coal, Iron & Railroad Co. With support from Gov. Chauncey Sparks and the state’s legislative leadership, the plan quickly became law.

In the fall of 1943, representatives of Alabama agriculture and business toured markets in several northern cities. In the Windy City, they confirmed that there was high demand for quality sweet potatoes. The men returned to Alabama and made plans for a pilot program. Among the types of copper-skinned spuds that grew best in the Alabama soil was the “Porto Rico” variety. Thus, it took but a few churns of the marketing cauldron to settle on a state-specific branding plan: The “Alarico” was born.

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Luther B. Sprott stands besides crates of Alarico yams in Sprott, Alabama, in 1944. Photo courtesy of the Alabama Department of Archives & History.

It was not some Yellowhammer State augmentation of the Porto Rico, but rather a simple, colorful stamp of approval acknowledging these were the absolute best sweet potatoes Alabama farms had to offer.

In mid-February, the first truckloads of Alaricos arrived at the Chicago market. Approximately 3,000 top-graded bushels comprised this historic shipment. They came from Sprott, a Perry County hamlet located a few miles east of Marion. Any prior knowledge of Sprott by most Americans likely came from the book “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men,” published in 1941 by Walker Evans and James Agee. The documentary record of Depression-era Alabama sharecroppers included a photograph of a small, wooden building that housed the Sprott Post Office and general store.

The man who owned the store — and who served as postmaster — was Luther B. Sprott. His father had been the first postmaster of the eponymous locale when it was established in 1881. Luther took over the job in 1917 and by the 1940s also farmed alongside his son-in-law, T. J. Jones. Extension service agents were on hand to assist Sprott and Jones in the grading and packing, along with T. C. Reid, a representative with the Alabama Chamber of Commerce, who would accompany the shipment to the Chicago market.

Reid or an unknown photographer snapped portraits of Sprott and Jones on that auspicious day. Wearing a woolen suit, a vest and tie, his arm propped upon a tall stack of Alarico-branded crates, the scion of Sprott stares directly into the camera lens. The portrait of Jones is more casual. He sits in the back of a truck loaded down with sweet potatoes, his cap pushed back on his head. The sleeves of his worn work shirt are rolled past his elbows. At the moment the photograph was taken, Jones looks away, an earnest, “aw, shucks” smile fills his face. This was the photograph that appeared in dozens of newspapers touting the launch of Alarico, the visage of handsome, hardworking T. J. Jones: The face that launched a thousand yams.     

In Chicago, the Alaricos brought $4 a bushel, besting similar products from other southern states by 10%.

Alabama boosters heralded the success. “It pays to raise quality products,” the Alabama Journal wrote.

The Walker Evans and James Agee classic “Let Us Now Praise Famous Men” included this Evans photograph of the Sprott post office and Crossroads store, taken in the 1930s. Photo courtesy of the United States Library of Congress.

By mid-March, four more truckloads left Perry County bound for markets in Chicago and Detroit, along with the first shipment from three Bullock County farms. Not to be outdone, Cullman farmers packed a load in mid-April. “This is a dream car of potatoes,” said one of the agents who graded them before shipment. “This is the best car of potatoes that we have ever received.”

True to their word, extension agents and other Alarico supporters worked to expand beyond sweet potatoes. One of the first efforts was in the Wiregrass town of Ashford, where they established a tomato market. State funds paid for new packing machinery and local farmers banded together to create their own produce association. By late June, two carloads of tomatoes a day — comprising 700 of the 30-pound crates, called lugs, left Ashford under the Alarico brand.

“Pretty soon they will be asking for Alabama products all over the nation,” predicted one observer.

Farming is an act of faith. Few are the professions with more external factors that determine success — the weather, equipment malfunctions, commodity markets and geopolitics to name only some. The same fields that offer prosperity one year can yield misery the next.

After a few successful years, Alabama’s sweet potato crop in 1945 experienced an $8 million shortfall. Poor-quality seed was to blame, experts said. Extension agents worked to harvest better seeds for the coming year.

The Alarico program persisted for a few years more, though most of its successes thereafter went unheralded. In a postwar era of mass consumerism, there was much to draw away the attention of the press and the public. Away from the spotlight, then as now, Alabama farmers continued to feed the nation.

Historian Scotty E. Kirkland is a freelance contributor to Business Alabama. He lives in Wetumpka.

This article appears in the January 2025 issue of Business Alabama.

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