It had been a while since John had moved to Las Vegas with the Company. He and his family quickly adapted to the new city. Not that there had been drastic changes, they still lived in the countryside, on a small ranch in the vicinity of Wayne's lands, but the profile of people they had to deal with now was totally different. Las Vegas was the country's gambling capital and attracted wealthy people from all over the America, as well as some other nations. Luxury was imperative in the city, or in most of it at least.      

It had taken a hell of a job moving their distillery to Las Vegas and John was still not satisfied. Business was not going well. It was one thing to sell whiskey in an unlabeled bottle to his hillbilly countrymen, it was other completely different to sell it to rich cowboys in Vegas. But John was a shrewd manand a businessman above all, despite his rustic and simple manners. So, he called a meeting with all his five male sons on that saturday night. 

Garth, Rodney, Clifford, Duke and Wade, they all sat around the table with their father John. Their mother did not take part in such discussions. John was smoking his hand rolled cigarette and waited for all his sons to settle down. Then he took his hat off his head and threw it on the table.

"My sons, how are you enjoying Las Vegas?" he asked to them, without a single change in his serious expression.

"It's good." Wade, the youngest and most brazen of them quickly replied.

"I'm pretty damn sure it's good, son", John said turning to him. "The Sin City, eh? Well, I think you all have enjoyed a lot in the last few weeks since we moved. But enough is enough."

He looked at each of them in the eyes while taking a long drag of his cigarette. In fact, they were seen a lot on the casino's lately, something John highly disapproved.

"We are not here to party", John continued, "we are here to work. We got plenty of work in the farms and the distillery both. So I hope you boys are done with whatever you have been doing the last couple weeks and focus on the work now." 

Again, John took a drag of his cigarette and a dead silence fell over the Walton's dining room for a moment. None of his sons dared to say anything. Wade and Duke exchanged glances at each other, eyebrows arched. Each one of them knew their father very well and they knew it was not a good time for any jokes. They all watched his father run his hand through his long gray hair.

"Our booze is not selling well in this town and I want to know why. I want my goddamn whiskey in each goddamn bar in this town. In each goddamn casino. I don't wanna know how you guys gonna do it, just do it, goddamn it."

John was the kind of man who almost never boasted, he never needed to. His hoarse voice was considerably calm as he spoke. His firstborn son Garth intervened.

"Things work differente around here, old man. If we want to follow up with this town, we need changes."

"I'm all open to suggestions." John replied immediately with a slight tone of sarcasm in his voice.

"Well, as far as I observed in our time here, and I think my brothers can agree with me, in this town people doesn't only want to drink a good ol' strong booze. That's not enough around here.  These rich people want to be seen drinking their stuff, and it has to look expensive." 

"That's why there are golden labelled bottles of whiskey at every fuckin' game table, pop." Clifford completed and John shook his head briefly.

"Our whiskey doesn't even have a name." Garth said.

John pondered in silence for a moment, staring into de void while all his son's kept their eyes on him. Finally, he started to get up, while speaking again.  

"Ok, this is something to start with." He straightened his coat and took the hat off the table, putting it on his head again. "If that's what we need to make money around here, then we are gonna do it. You all meet me for lunch here tomorrow and make sure to bring some brand name ideas in your empty heads."

John said that almost affectionately. That was his way of being, and his sons knew him too well to take it personally. He went to the kitchen cabinet and poured himself a small shot of whiskey, drinking it in a quick gulp. As his sons got up to leave, he went to the door, took the holster belt that was hanging behind it and buckled it around his waist. Then he opened the door, letting in some cold air. 

"I'm going to Wayne's house. It looks like he needs help with a mountain lion that is threatening his cattle. You all don't forget to kiss your mama goodbye."

After saying so, he left, closing the door behind him. The night was cold but somehow invigorating. John decided to walk to Wayne's house, which was not far. That would give him some time to think about business and the changes that were to come.

John soon met with Wayne. Both camped next to the cattle for a few hours, but no signs of the mountain lion. The two shared some good laughs and some cold beers and when the night was getting too late, they decided to set a trap and go home. John watched Wayne walk up the hill that led to his house with the old rifle slung over his shoulder and then he took the unpaved road that led to his own house. He whistled an old song along the way and when he got home, he slept the few hours before the sunrise.

 
It was still dark when he got up. He was used to waking up early no matter when he went to sleep. While he made coffee, Butch, the family beauceron, appeared in the kitchen for a cuddle. John had great esteem for that dog, which was already old and was no longer fit for farm work, just a domestic dog. He petted Butch and opened the door, letting the dog go for a walk around the ranch. On the porch, while watching the old dog run, John enjoyed a cigarette. 

The sun finally come up, as well as John's wife. Then, John went to the chicken coop and grabbed four chickens. He entwined its legs and severed their heads with a cleaver, at a small table just outside the chicken coop. Plucking and cleaning would be a task for Darlene later.

The wife went to the church. John grabbed a bottle of whiskey and sat in the rocking chair on the porch. There he sat for hours, Butch lying at his feet. The wife returned and began preparing lunch, they were going to have a full table that day. Just before lunch get ready, the sons began to arrive, one by one, with their wives. Garth, Rodney and Duke brought their children too and they all sat at the large table in the Walton house. 

 After lunch, the wives collected the dishes and the children, leaving the men alone. John lit a cigarette and some of his sons did the same. 

"So? What do you suggest me?" he asked, referring to last night's conversations.

As usual, being the oldest, Garth started.

"Well, we talked last night on our way home, pop. We conclude that in addition to a beautiful label, a whiskey must have a strong name..."

"A strong name, ok." John replied, and Garth continued.

"...and we said to ourselves, what name would be better than our own father's name?"

John laughed out loud. 

"My own name..." he repeated, still laughing. John was a simple man who had never imagined anything like that, so he thought his son was joking.

"We are serious, pop." Clifford intervened. "Imagine that: John Walton's Bourbon Whiskey...damn it, it's a pretty good damn name to me."

John slowly got serious again and reflected for a moment, while taking another drag of the cigarette. After a second consideration, the idea didn't seem bad at all. Finally, in his head, he could visualize a bottle of the 'John Walton's Bourbon Whiskey' and the thought aroused some excitement. The man finally spoke.

"What about John Walton's American Whiskey? We gotta show some pride."

The sons agreed. Everyone was excited about the idea and the possible directions they could take with a better positioned brand. "This is evolution!", Wade shouted at some point of the meeting and some glasses of whiskey later, because of course they opened one or two bottles to celebrate the moment. And there at that same table, they began to draw more complete plans. Stamping the family patriarch's name on an alcohol bottle in the middle of the prohibition era didn't seem to be a problem to any of them.