In an unexpected twist of entrepreneurial fortune, a Canadian businesswoman found herself at the center of a logistical quandary that would test the limits of her resolve and the generosity of her community. Crystal Regehr Westergard, a physiotherapist by profession, had embarked on a side venture with a mission to rekindle nostalgic flavors, inadvertently setting the stage for a dramatic, albeit sweet, challenge involving 133,000 chocolate bars and a ticking clock.
Ms. Westergard’s journey began in 2018 with the establishment of Canadian Candy Nostalgia, a company dedicated to resurrecting beloved confections that had long vanished from store shelves. Her initial success came with the revival of Cuban Lunch, a retro candy with roots stretching back to World War II, a treat particularly cherished by her mother.
Building on this triumph, she set her sights on another cherished memory: Rum & Butter. This chocolate bar, featuring a distinctive rum-flavored center, had been discontinued in 1996 after enjoying popularity through the 1980s. Its return proved to be an instant sensation, with reports indicating that more than a million bars sold in its inaugural round of reproduction, a testament to the enduring appeal of vintage treats.
Encouraged by the overwhelming demand, Ms. Westergard made the decision to significantly increase her order for the Rum & Butter bars. However, global events soon intervened in ways no one could have predicted. The onset of the pandemic introduced a cascade of disruptions, leading to severe production problems for the company contracted to manufacture her candy bars, according to reports in the Globe and Mail.
These delays culminated in a substantial backlog. When operations at the factory finally resumed in full, they processed Ms. Westergard’s accumulated outstanding order all at once. This singular event led to what she described as her own version of a “bullwhip effect,” a phenomenon that has notably impacted global supply chains in recent years.
Suddenly, in June of the previous year, approximately 5,500 boxes, containing a staggering 133,000 Rum & Butter chocolate bars, arrived simultaneously. A critical detail complicated this massive delivery: every single one of these bars bore the same expiration date of June 2023. This presented an immediate and formidable challenge for the entrepreneur from Camrose, Alberta.
While Canadian regulations do not inherently mandate expiry dates on candy, the self-imposed best-before date on these particular bars had significant commercial implications. Grocery stores, adhering to their own internal policies and consumer expectations, ceased accepting the bars as early as January, months ahead of their official expiration. This left Ms. Westergard with an immense surplus of unsellable inventory.
“It’s immense,” Ms. Westergard told the Globe and the Mail, conveying the weight of the situation. “If I think about it too much, I’ll start to shake.” Her predicament was compounded by logistical hurdles that made simple distribution nearly impossible for an individual entrepreneur.
The vast quantity of candy was stored in a secure food warehouse in Calgary, Alberta, a city located a three-hour drive from her home in Camrose. The bars were not easily accessible in individual units but were packed together in massive pallets, each weighing approximately 1,000 pounds (453.5 kg), making them incredibly difficult to separate and distribute piecemeal.
Adding to her initial struggles, local institutions typically equipped to handle large donations proved reluctant or unable to assist. Food banks in Calgary, for instance, informed her that they would not accept any candy donations, citing explicit no-candy policies. This left Ms. Westergard facing the daunting prospect of seeing her revived treats go to waste.
“I was becoming increasingly aware that if I just left the (chocolate) there, it would come to its stale date and that we’d have to throw them out,” she stated. “That was my worst case scenario.” The thought of such a significant volume of chocolate ending up in a landfill was particularly distressing, especially given that disposal itself often incurs costs. “I really hope that we are not making a date with the Calgary dump,” Westergard told the CBC, highlighting the financial implications of such an outcome, noting, “They even make you pay to dump things now.”
In a moment that underscored the power of public awareness, Ms. Westergard’s story caught the attention of a journalist at the Globe and Mail newspaper. An article detailing her conundrum was published on April 10, quickly transforming her private struggle into a widely discussed public interest story. This media exposure proved to be the turning point she desperately needed.
Almost immediately, her inbox was inundated with messages from individuals and organizations alike, many expressing a desire to help or acquire some of the nostalgic bars. While individual requests from across North America poured in, Ms. Westergard wisely focused her efforts on finding solutions for bulk distribution to nearby organizations capable of handling the sheer volume.
Thanks to the widespread publicity, the 133,000 Rum & Butter bars began to find homes in a variety of places where they could serve a beneficial purpose. A diverse array of organizations stepped forward, demonstrating the reach of community spirit in times of unexpected plenty. These recipients included Calgary’s drop-in center for unhoused people, providing a small comfort to those experiencing homelessness.
A local Ukrainian church, actively assisting newly arrived refugees, also accepted a significant donation, offering a sweet welcome to those displaced from their homes. In a notable instance of community fundraising, a fire department in neighboring Saskatchewan received 16,000 bars, intending to sell them to support their operations and initiatives.
Further demonstrating the flexibility and generosity that emerged, some food banks in the Calgary area reconsidered their initial stances and reached out to take a portion of the chocolate, subtly adjusting their no-candy policies for this unique situation. Additionally, a local charity found a creative use for the bars, planning to utilize them in fundraising efforts to send underprivileged children to summer camp, transforming a potential waste into a source of opportunity.
The logistical challenge of moving such a colossal amount of product was also mitigated by unexpected assistance. Purolator Courier Corporation, a trucking company, stepped in to provide free transportation for the bars, removing a significant financial and practical burden from Ms. Westergard’s shoulders. This act of corporate generosity was crucial in facilitating the widespread distribution.
The scale of Ms. Westergard’s endeavor is perhaps best understood through a vivid comparison. According to Jana G. Pruden of the Globe and Mail, who first reported the story, the 133,000 bars were enough to give one to every person in the city of Red Deer, Alberta, then to every fan at Rogers Place for a sold-out Oilers’ playoff game, then to every passenger on 26 fully-booked Westjet flights, then to every musician in the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra, then to every performer in a large-scale musical production of Cats, and still, one could offer a bar to every member of the Regina Esperanto Club, with eight left over for oneself.
Amidst the whirlwind of offers and suggestions, Ms. Westergard also encountered ideas that, while well-intentioned, proved impractical. She had explored options such as donating to schools, only to find the volume too immense for any single institution. Similarly, proposals to have the Edmonton Oilers distribute them at games were unfeasible due to the team’s existing contracts with specific snack suppliers.
Individual donations, too, presented significant logistical barriers, given the large, palletized storage of the candy and her distance from the warehouse. While initially some nearby shelters and individual food banks struggled with the demand, Ms. Westergard expressed hope for a more comprehensive solution, indicating she was in contact with an organization that manages a network of food banks, with the potential for them to accept “at least a couple pallets — roughly 22,000 bars.”
Reflecting on the unique journey, Ms. Westergard captured the dual nature of her experience. “I think I’ll look back on it and say I’m glad I did it,” she told the CBC. However, she also candidly acknowledged the intensity of the moment: “But when you’re in the typhoon whirlwind it’s a lot. Yeah, it’s a lot.” She even noted with a whisper, “Because it is my first rodeo.”
Ultimately, all of the candy found its purpose, a relief for Ms. Westergard who initially feared having to resort to disposing of it, or even the unconventional suggestion of using it as animal feed, musing, “I suspect that if you fed some pork on it, that would be the most decadent pork you ever had.” She expressed her relief to the BBC, saying, “I’m glad you’re writing a follow-up,” as messages from across North America continue to inquire about any remaining treats.
Crystal Regehr Westergard’s journey from a physiotherapist with a sweet side hustle to managing an unexpected confectionery surplus illustrates the intricate challenges of modern supply chains and the profound impact of community support. Her story stands as a testament to ingenuity, perseverance, and the remarkable capacity of collective action to transform a daunting dilemma into a heartwarming tale of generosity and resourcefulness.
