An amateurish genealogical exercise whose appeal for general readers is limited largely to a reverent profile of Asa G. Candler, Sr., the go-getting pharmacist who acquired rights to an unsung patent medicine known as Pemberton's Tonic and renamed it Coca-Cola. Drawing on corporate as well as family archives and on the memories of Candler's blood descendants (who refer to themselves as ""the real ones""), Graham (a great-great-grandchild of the founding father) offers a discontinuously selective account of the Candler clan. But, unfortunately, the lives of Candler's heirs hold almost no interest for anyone save kinfolk and those who need reminding that money can't buy happiness. As it happened, moreover, the patriarch ceded ownership of Coke to his four sons and one daughter toward the close of 1917; unable to work together, the beneficiaries sold out less than two years later, effectively ending their ties to the soft-drink colossus. A devout Methodist, Candler prospered in real estate, and he was also a philanthropist of note. His descendants, however, have left few footprints on the sands of time. Many, in fact, became alcoholics, philanderers, and social-register dropouts. In her chronicle, full of pointless anecdotes, Graham soft-pedals or ignores the shortcomings of latter-day Candlers, opting instead for frequent allusions to the heritage of a once-proud house that has squandered its birthright. A graceless, labor-of-love memoir.