Brewed Musings

Brewed Beverage of Choice: A Pint of Hair of the Dog Doggie Claws 2005 (If you can find this beer, get it! Try the 2004 if you can as well.)

In a unfortunate decision by the Oregon Liquor Control Commission, minors will not be allowed onto the festival grounds for the Oregon Brewers Festival at the end of July, thus ending a tradition of 19 years. As I have found out, the topic can cause heated discussions about whether or not minors should be allowed at any beer festival. My argument is, regardless of whether or not you agree with the presence of minors at a beer festival, it should be up to the festival organizers to decide if they want to handle the extra “burden” of minors and not up to government organizations such as the OLCC. But, even though this horse of a topic was beaten to death on a different website, it is not what I wish to discuss today.

Believe it or not a minor in a pub is not as immoral, unhealthy, or irresponsible as one might think. I speak from experience on this topic. Much of what I know and some of the best parts of my personality were borne in the pub. A high respect for my elders and an ability to hold conversations with everyone from my father and mother to the complete stranger at the barstool next to me came from my time with my dad at the local pub. Also developed through my time in the pub was a quite healthy view on alcohol consumption and moderation. Finally, thanks to pub life, I developed a fondness for ethnic tradition and culture.

On any given Sunday, I could be found with my dad and his friends at either the Waterford Bowl, which doubled as a bowling alley and a pub, or at what was JD’s, a small pub on Main Street. From the time I walked in to the time I left, my soda glass was never empty and there was always a quarter for the pinball machine, Pac-man video game, or the dart board on the far wall. And, thanks to Mr. And Mrs. Malison at the Waterford Bowl, along with my family, I learned to use the words “please” and “thank you.” In fact I did not get my soda until I said those magic words.

Like many young ‘uns I was a very shy boy. But at the pub I was a local hero. My elders spoke to me like an adult. Well…a young adult. They treated me as one of the community. I loved sitting at the bar and talking with the old men. They told some of the best stories as they milked their beers and watched the Green Bay Packers lose yet another game. I heard war stories, stories of their youth, stories of marriages, stories of deaths of loved ones, stories of family. All the while I sat and sipped on my soda hanging on every word. Not only was I learning, but these people were getting something that they may not have gotten elsewhere…an interested ear. I was a wee tyke therapist. They gave me an education and I gave them the beloved ear of someone who actually cares.

Over this time I also began to develop a rather healthy view on the consumption of alcohol. Unlike most teenagers of my time, I did not drink until my late teens. And even when I did have a drink, it was at my house under adult supervision. I did not have the desire to drink partly because what I learned from my time at the pub. And while not every image from pub life was rosey, what picture from life ever is? I have seen my fair share of alcoholics and drunks. Show me a person who has not? The fact that my family trusted me enough to not shield me from it says a lot. In fact I think had I not spent the time at the pub with dear, old dad, if my parents did not trust me, if they did actually shield me from the “dregs” of alcohol consumption, the desire to drink at an earlier age may have reared its ugly head.

Finally, thanks to pub life, as well as the community within, I developed a great fondness for ethnic culture and tradition. For those who do not know, SE Wisconsin, especially Milwaukee and her surrounding areas, was settled by ethnic immigrants from Europe as late as the 1920s. The culture of Germans, Irish, Italians, and Poles could be seen and heard for as far as the eye can see and the ear could hear. And even though by my youth the German bier gartens were two to three generations past, the community fostered in those places could be found in the local pub where farmers gathered to discuss crops, workers gathered to unwind, the local off duty cop could sit next to the accountant down the street. Everyone knew everyone. Pubs, bier gartens, weddings, festivals, etc. were not truly about consuming mass amounts of alcohol as they were gathering places for the community. They were places to celebrate life and its ups and downs. There was nothing seedy about it. Nothing to be ashamed of. There was nothing to hide. The pub was as important as the butcher shop, the bakery, and gas station.

Today I find myself in an unusual situation. I am fighting to have minors present at the Oregon Brewers Festival. Foreign to me because I was not brought up in an environment where alcohol and its consumption was closeted. And while I may not “win,” I will be doing my part to foster change in how we view alcohol and its consumption so that my great-grandchildren can grow up in an age where drinking in moderation is an afterthought and pubs can go back to their original intent: a gathering place for the community.

Prost!

the confucian brewer