The death of Ernest Gallo on Tuesday at age 97 is the sort of event that has memorialists everywhere trotting out that journalistic chestnut, the “end of an era.” It would be closer to the truth to say that Mr. Gallo actually outlived his era. While his fellow achiever in family wine fame, Robert Mondavi, singularly reshaped American wine and brought it a global respectability, Mr. Gallo was more comfortable in the pennies-from-heaven mentality of bulk wine. But make no mistake: Those pennies added up.

I never was able to interview Ernest, although I did meet him once and engaged in idle chitchat. Although his brother, Julio, was notoriously press-shy, I did interview him in the mid-1970s. He freely admitted to me that his job to was deliver what Ernest and his marketing team had determined the market wanted next. That meant the likes of Gallo Hearty Burgundy and Pink Chablis, as well as such massive sellers as Annie Green Springs and MD 20-20, among many others. They sold in the tens of millions of cases.

The Gallo wine empire was and is just that, a vast organization encompassing not just a sprawling, refinery-like tank farm in the company’s headquarters in Modesto in California’s Central Valley — far from the glitter of Napa Valley — but a shipping business, a bottle manufacturing plant, and until recently, an array of wine distributors across the nation. Not since Henry Ford ran his eponymous automobile company had America seen such a vertically integrated family business.

Gallo was divided between Ernest and Julio, who died in 1993. They started immediately after the repeal of Prohibition in 1933, selling the cheap bulk wines that were then, and for many decades afterward, almost the only expression of American wine.

Julio made the wine and Ernest sold it. But the drive, and the marching orders, came from Ernest. The company headquarters were divided into a bottom floor for Julio and an upper floor for Ernest.

Julio was proud that he and his team were able to devise precisely just what Ernest wanted and, more important yet, make it in ever-scalable quantities with unerring consistency. Doing that took far more sophisticated technology and creativity than had ever previously been applied to wine. The brothers were of one mind on the importance and utility of research and technology, and were generous benefactors to university wine research.

By all accounts, Ernest was a marketing genius and a work obsessive. The wine sales people who got their start — and their best educations — at what was called the University of Gallo number today in the thousands. Under precise instruction from Ernest, they fanned out into liquor shops and groceries across the nation, fighting for shelf space, interviewing customers and managers, and not least, browbeating local Gallo distributors into selling ever more Gallo wine, often at the expense of rival brands.

There was a cost to this business success: The Gallo name was associated with cheap, no-account wines. This irked Ernest, who made no secret of his contempt for what he saw as wine snobbery and the willingness of consumers to overpay for wines no better than his. In some cases he was right, but he also, uncharacteristically, missed the marketing boat.

Starting in the mid-1970s and escalating in the 1980s and 1990s, American wine drinkers sought better quality wines. They were willing, even desirous, of paying more money. Where Mr. Mondavi, who spearheaded and profited from this change, embraced it, Ernest remained skeptical.

Unlike Mr. Mondavi, he never credited Americans with actually perceiving and appreciating real quality differences. Ernest once said he had tried Château Pétrus, an ultra-high-priced merlot from Bordeaux’s Pomerol district, and found it deeply unsatisfying with his Christmas bagna cauda, a Piedmontese anchovy and garlic dip.

The name Gallo was everything to Ernest. He had been urged many times to start another line of wines without the name. He refused. A marketing man to his core, he was convinced that with the same drive, focus, and commitment to an expensive long-term effort that made Americans buy Hearty Burgundy, he could persuade Americans to see things his way. They would swallow their snobbery and accept the Gallo name the way they had that of his fellow Italian-American, Robert Mondavi. It didn’t happen, at least not then.

Ernest felt that the problem was one simply of image, but it really was mostly about quality, although the stigma was real enough. Eventually, Ernest had to accept that you couldn’t make truly fine wine in limitless quantity. There was a limit in the land itself, a grape variation about how you can’t make chicken salad — or fine wine — out of unpromising material.

Starting in the 1980s, Gallo began buying thousands of acres of vineyard land in Sonoma County, much of it unplanted. The intention was frank and directed: to make a better-quality wine from grapes grown in a better-quality place — and oh, by the way, the new label was to be called Gallo of Sonoma (now Gallo Family Vineyards). Ernest was not backing down.

This time, however, there was a difference: The wines were good. Although unspoken, it was clear that, finally, Ernest accepted that not every Gallo wine could be made in illimitable quantity. For the first time, Gallo issued vineyard-designated wines. These wines received respectful, even enthusiastic reviews. It wasn’t stigma after all — at least not entirely — and it wasn’t all just marketing, either. Americans really could tell the difference.

By the time of Ernest’s death, the family business reshaped itself considerably. In addition to owning thousands of vineyard acres, the Gallos have purchased Napa Valley’s old-line Louis M. Martini winery, and are keeping that name. They have branched successfully into selling imported wines of their own making from France (Red Bicyclette) and Italy (Bella Serra), with no mention of Gallo anywhere.

Ernest was at his desk throughout most of these changes. He may have arrived late to the quality wine party, but his deep pockets, unmatched distribution muscle, and sheer tenacity made sure that the Gallo wine business still has no real rival — and neither did Ernest Gallo.