Hammond’s Candies: History Handmade in Denver

We’re here today to celebrate the life of my father, Carl Thomas Hammond Jr. He was born in Denver to Carl Thomas Hammond and Laura Johnson Hammond on April 2, 1922. He died on February 2, 1985. To all his friends, he was known as Tom.

He was the president of the Hammond Candy Co. and master candy maker. My dad made twenty different hard candies at Christmas—candy canes, ribbon candy, hard candy filled with nut meats, cut rock—a complete line of chocolates, five different fudges, seven different brittles, ten different caramel items, twenty different Easter eggs, wedding mints and on and on. More than 150 items all made from scratch. Even some of his raw materials were made, such as marshmallows. I know people whose saliva runs at the mention of banana marshmallow eggs dipped in dark chocolate.

He was a craftsman at candy making. He cooked by sight and feel and smell. When I asked one day at what temperature he would test the caramel, he replied, “Oh, you know, when it is kind of a golden brown.” Making candy that way with the consistency he did over the years, it becomes almost an art.

I don’t know how many master candy makers there are with the skill of my father, but after talking to many people in the business, surely there are not more than a handful who produce and sell the variety that my dad did. And when I realize that there are some 250 million people in the U.S., being one of a handful is very special.

As a businessman, he was well respected. He was honest and sincere. One Christmas, we were discussing the pricing on candy canes. The previous year, they had sold for twenty-five and thirty-five cents wholesale and retail. Our costs had gone up, and I knew that the only other handmade and hand-wrapped candy canes anyone could buy wholesale were seventy-five cents. So he decided thirty-five cents wholesale. I told him that even our customers thought that thirty-five cents was more than reasonable. “No,” he said, “that is more than enough for us.”

What a refreshing response in a capitalistic economy where profit is king. And there is a deeper significance to his statement. It involves being comfortable with who you are and what you are doing and knowing what is really important to you. My dad had that knowledge, and he ran a successful, profitable small business. He never borrowed money, and he never had an unprofitable year. Success is ultimately measured within yourself. My dad was a successful person.

His fondest love, outside his family, I believe was horses. He belonged to the Palomino Mounted Patrol, holding practically every office, including bartender. He thoroughly enjoyed riding. At times, in the summer, he would go out after work and ride. I remember him saying that he could go out and ride for an hour and feel like a new man. In another era, I can see him saddled, working cattle, on what our family affectionately calls Grandpa’s mountain.

His horses, I believe, made him young in spirit. He was always trying to do things better. Several years ago, before computers were the rage, he bought a personal computer for his business, and he asked me to show him how to use it. A youthful attitude can accomplish much at any age.

His most visible virtue was his general outlook on life. He honestly believed that everything happens for the best. So he constantly looked for the best and good in every situation. He didn’t have problems; he had opportunities. Some days he would say, “I could do with a few less opportunities.” He believed that you were as good as you felt, and he felt great. This constant positive attitude carried him successfully through many physical ailments, without complaint, and he rarely missed a day of work.

He was a person who was easy to meet and easy to talk to. He was a good person, a genuine person. A person you respected. And best of all, he wore his virtues quietly.

As a husband, he was loving and compassionate. There was never any doubt as I grew up that my father and mother loved each other very much. They were a constant example to me of how two people could share their lives with purpose and fondness.

One of my brothers, George, also a father, said it very well in a verse he found in a song by Dan Fogelberg:

I thank you for the music,

and your stories of the road.

I thank you for the freedom

when it came my time to go.

I thank you for your kindness

and the times when you got tough.

And Papa, I don’t think I said

“I love you” near enough.

And that is the good news. The virtues that he lived so quietly and so well don’t pass with him. They are passed on to those who knew him and loved him, especially his family. They were passed on, for example, to me to live the best I can, and I will pass them on to others and my children just as his father had done and his grandfather before him.

I would like to close by sharing a recent memory I have of my father. He was at a gathering talking with some friends. There was laughter in his eyes and a broad smile on his face. As he talked, he laughed spontaneously. That is how I will always remember him—as a very happy man. I hope each of you have happy memories of my dad. He was a happy person in love with life and the people in it.