First Day: D.G. Yuengling & Son, America's Oldest Brewery

I am waiting for you, Vizzini! 
You told me to go back to the beginning... so I have.

--Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride

As promised, I restarted my freelance career in earnest today, by going back to where things started: the Yuengling brewery, America's oldest, in Pottsville, Pennsylvania.

You see that sign on the wall? I touched that sign the very first time I ever visited the brewery, way back in the last week of December, 1982. It was closed that day, but I'd be back. I wrote the first story I ever wrote for pay about Yuengling, in a beer store newsletter I wound up producing for seven years, the same beer store newsletter that would get me my first assignment for what was then Malt Advocate, which would lead to my long-time column in Ale Street News, which would lead to Pennsylvania Breweries... 

I wanted to go back to the beginning...so I have.

I was joined by my old friend Scott Fasnacht, who was with me on a tour of Yuengling in 1985 that was a landmark for me -- my first real backdoor tour of a brewery -- and John Holl, editor of All About Beer, who had never been to Yuengling, and since I'm going to be writing my first All About Beer column about this visit for him, we thought it would be fun if he came along. 

We took the 11:00 tour: the old kegging line, the damp and dark lagering caves, the brewhouse, the machine shop, the canning line, and tasting in the Rathskellar, which didn't look much different from my son's first birthday, when we (his mother and I, and his four grandparents) took him on the tour and got his picture with a man who was there to take the tour for his 81st birthday (if I could find the picture, I'd share it). I got a hand-rolled Black & Tan: Porter and Premium. Still tasty stuff, by God.

Then we went across the street where they've almost finished refurbishing the old Yuengling creamery, where they used to make Yuengling ice cream (one of the many things Frank Yuengling did to get through Prohibition). The place looks great, with a huge gift shop area (the brewery merchandise has always been some of the best) and a nifty tasting room with a beauty of an old tap box and what I was told was the backbar out of what had been the oldest bar in Schuylkill County. Neat stuff, opening soon. 

Then we went over to the expansion brewery, the Mill Creek facility. I was very happy to run into Dave Casinelli, the COO, and the man who has a large part of the credit for making the brewery the success it is today (he'd say the main share goes to Dick Yuengling, and it's hard to argue that!). Dave welcomed me back to beer -- which I have to admit, was a thrill -- and I asked him how things were going. I got an honest answer, which I'll be talking about a bit in that column; you'll just have to wait!

We walked on down to the beautiful new bar and hospitality room, where they showed us this video. I have to say; it was well-done, and moving. It's 27 minutes long; take the time to watch it, there's some great stuff in there. Because the really neat thing about Yuengling is that they don't have to make up anything; they've got a story a marketer would kill for. They don't hide anything, they don't try to make what they are or what they do anything except what it actually is.

And then...I drove home. Once again, a freelancer. Once again, a beer writer. Back at the beginning.

Is That Another Growler I See?

I spotted what I'm pretty sure is an old-style growler back in August here. It's in a John Sloan painting in the Philly Museum of Art.

Regular reader Steven Herberger spotted another, and I got permission to link to the picture: it's at Print Magazine's website. Take a look.

Note: STAG does not encourage Prohibition-era stereotyping

Check the large pail the slack-bellied fellow with the spade is holding. I don't believe he's bailing out a ditch he's dug; I'm pretty sure he's supposed to represent 'immigrant labor.' Let's leave the stereotyping out, though (the point being made is that while the scary Papa Doc-type black man, and the slob of a ditch digger, and the scary Italian extortionist, and even the dopey white guy get to vote, the beautiful, virginal woman does not), and focus on the growler.

Note that it's shiny! It's a steel growler, not a dull tin item. And it's a big one, too. You've got to agree: no one holds their lunchbucket that way; Ditch-digging Danny-boy (or Duncan, or Dietrich, or Dmitri) is definitely getting a noseful of suds, 1913-style. (UPDATED: I had '1919' here, Steve Herberger corrected me. Don't know how I got that wrong; thanks!)

Growlers. The history is out there. Keep your eyes open. (Thanks, Steven, and thanks to Steven Heller of Print for permission to make the link.)

Is That A Growler I See?

Cathy, Nora, and I went to the Philadelphia Museum of Art yesterday, and I was enthralled by the Impressionists, the Bucks County painters, and by the Ashcan School painters. While looking at those (and the Thomas Eakins collection), I saw this painting by John Sloan: "Sixth Avenue and Thirtieth Street, New York City."

Taken with my phone; I apologize for the quality.

The gallery note describes the scene: "This painting, which depicts an intoxicated woman crossing a street in a state of confusion and disarray, illustrates John Sloan's compassionate, nonjudgmental approach to the squalor and misery he encountered in the Terderloin district of Manhattan." There's more, but that's the part I wanted: she's supposed to be drunk, and she's carrying a covered pail...is that a growler? The painting is from 1907, certainly a time when one would find growlers on the streets of Manhattan.

Take a closer look.

Let me drink my Knickerbocker in peace!

I don't think a woman, a drunk woman, would be carrying home a pot of stew. I believe...that's a growler. Just happened to notice it, and found it interesting.

RIP, Bob Ryan

I just found out that Bob Ryan, the former owner of Ryan's Beverage (now North Wales Beer) in North Wales, died about a month ago. His passing was probably not noted by many, but Bob had a very significant impact on my life: he bought my first piece of beer writing.

I was working at a small pharma company in Fort Washington at the time, late in 1993. My friend Tom Lawler walked into my office and tossed a piece of paper on my desk; it was a one-page, one-side newsletter from Ryan's Beverage (Tom lived about four blocks from there at the time). "You can do better than this," he said. I looked at it, and he was right, I could. So I did. I ran up a two-sided newsletter on a cheap desktop publishing suite I had (DOS-based, can you believe it?), a story on Saranac and Matt Brewing, put a snazzy masthead on it, and gave it to Tom. I had a cover letter that said, essentially, I'd like to do this for you. If you like this one, it's free; if you'd like more, I'll do them for $25.

Bob liked it. I wrote newsletters for Ryan's for seven years, and their craft and import business grew. I'll take a little credit for that, but mostly it was Bob's hustle (and the energy of his wife, Connie). Bob was always smiling, always thinking, and made the most of his little sidestreet space. I got up there fairly often; did tastings, did book signings once Pennsylvania Breweries came out, helped out with beer selection occasionally.

Finally, the newsletter got to be more work than it was worth for me as I got busier with better-paying gigs, and I had to tell Bob I couldn't do it anymore. That was after the shakeout in 1996, and the business was tougher. Eventually, Bob came to me and asked advice on what to do. I gave him the best thoughts I could, but he wound up selling (to a guy from my local beer store!). I heard from him occasionally after that, but with him out of the business...

Then this morning I got an email from Connie; she'd seen my name on LinkedIn, and wanted to let me know that Bob passed away last month, from Parkinson's. It's a sad moment. Bob, more than any other one person, is responsible for what I do now, for how I got here, for all the great experiences I've had, and for all the help I've been able to give to craft beer and rye whiskey.

Cheers, Bob! I hope you're getting a chance to rest.

Beer in the cemetery...again

I wanted to help out my friend, the Reverend Kirk Berlenbach (at St. Timothy's Episcopal in Roxborough), because the guy runs one of the most lively, active, and dedicated beer clubs in Philadelphia, and I've had some real fun afternoons hanging out talking beer with them in the church basement. Really! They help run a homebrew competition and reception that doubles as a tour of the brewer mausoleums of the Laurel Hill and West Laurel Hill Cemeteries, led by Rich Wagner, the newly-published author of Philadelphia Beer: a heady history of brewing in the cradle of liberty (with a foreword by yours truly). Perhaps not a unique afternoon, but you gotta figure the combo's kinda rare. Check into it; you don't have to be in the competition to take the tour, have some fun, talk beer, and get some good home-made beer and food. 

  

SAVE THE DATE!
SATURDAY, MAY 19th
Step in to spring with some suds at West Laurel Hill’s Third Annual Homebrew Competition, Tour, Tasting and Reception.
Are you a homebrewer?  See how your brew measures up at this AHA-BJCP sanctioned event.  Both bottled entries and sixtel entries are welcome.  Brewers submitting a sixtel receive free entry for themselves and two guests.  Bottled entries are $7 per entry and must be received by Friday, May 11^th.    Certified BJCP judges are also welcome to apply.  

Not a homebrewer? Don’t miss one of West Laurel Hill’s most popular events!  Attend as a guest and you’ll have an opportunity to learn about Philadelphia’s rich brewing history.  Tickets are $25 per person including a tour of Laurel Hill and West Laurel Hill Cemeteries led by Pennsylvania brewery historian Rich Wagner, craft beer samplings and gourmet food.  Reservations are required and space is limited. For more information, to enter a homebrew or to purchase tickets call 610-668-4258 or e-mail Sarah at sjp@forever-care.com A portion of the proceeds from the event benefit the mission work of St. Timothy’s Episcopal Church, Roxborough.

Book review: America Walks Into A Bar

I'm interested in Prohibition: how it happened, how it was/was not enforced, and particularly how it has shaped America's drinking culture, laws, and preferences, right down to the current day. So I like reading books about the era, and there have, happily, been some good ones out lately after a long period with nothing (and the Ken Burns documentary, too).

Christine Sismondo's America Walks Into A Bar goes a step further; quite a few steps, actually. Sismondo starts in colonial America -- early colonial America -- and reveals something I'm pretty sure I never heard before: it's quite likely that the Salem Witch Trials had, at their base, competition between two families of tavern owners. It started with a "tax" revolt (a refusal to supply firewood to a hired preacher), and the bad feelings grew as the competing taverns tried to get more of the traveler trade. Sismondo uses this to show how the tavern -- the bar, the public house, the inn -- has been at the center of so many American movements.

Another one? The gay rights movement. Bars -- often raided by homophobic police and politicians, and just as often re-opened -- were natural gathering places for homosexuals; rules were already lax in bars, and the door was traditionally subject to control. Sismondo tells tales of bars run by characters like Big Nellie in New Orleans (and her regulars: "Lady Richard, Lady Beulah Toto, Lady Fresh and Chicago Belle"), Fat Tony Lauria, the New York mobster who opened the Stonewall Inn -- where gay rights would become direct action -- Paul Ruquy (who ran The Tool Box in San Francisco), and the legally nimble Sal Stoumen, who ran the Black Cat Cafe in San Francisco -- site of much of the madness in Kerouac's On The Road, and a favorite of Allen Ginsberg, William Saroyan, and John Steinbeck. Jose Sarria, a Black Cat waiter turned drag performer, ran for city supervisor in 1961, 12 years before Harvey Milk ran for office; and he almost won, according to Sismondo.

She covers Prohibition as well, of course, and Shays Rebellion, and the Whiskey Rebellion, those last explosions of revolutionary thinking that would be tamped down by the strengthening federal government. She talks about the labor movement's association with bars, ethnic groups that felt at home in bars, how women came to feel at home in bars (in unregulated speakeasies, and they'd never leave, happily!). That's her theme throughout the book: bars and taverns were places where people met, discussed grievances, and often decided to take action. Or action against the bars: she covers the growing temperance movements of the 1800s, and the political corruption associated with the bar business (and the brewing and distilling industries) that gave temperance the solid footing to succeed politically in a modernizing climate.

Sismondo brings new stories to light -- and believe me, I've heard a lot of them, but I was happy to see new ones in plenty here -- but never falls into dry scholarship. Even given the material, this could easily have been a tediously overwritten book, but -- as is almost promised by the dustcover photo, posed with cocktail glass in hand -- Sismondo is a better host than that. The footnotes -- thank you! -- show the scholarship and research, but the writing is great race-along stuff; interesting, amusing, and beguiling.

I've talked about the loss of the neighborhood bar myself, and perhaps prematurely mourned it. Sismondo's final chapter reassured me; action does still take place in bar, though it may seem to be a bit anticlimactic compared to the titanic struggles over liberty and individual freedom that America's bars have hosted in the past. She discusses how live music became allowed in bars (it wasn't before? Who knew!), how smoking is more often not being allowed, and finally, the kiddie revolt: overbearing parents bringing kids to bars, blocking the floor with huge strollers, and allowing the little ones to run around unchecked...hey, I took my kids to bars, and they behaved, dammit!

Sismondo has a book here about what bars have meant in America. We've loved them, hated them, banned them, embraced them, argued in them, sung and danced in them. You'll feel positively warm about them after reading this fascinating book.

Washington Crossing Beer Fest!

Washington Crossing National Historic Park -- Washington saved the Revolution in this small Pennsylvania town over 200 years ago; on a freezing, snowing Christmas night, he and his men crossed the Delaware River in Durham boats, slogged down to Trenton, and surprised a force of Hessian mercenaries. He followed up this surprise victory with a quick raid on Princeton, knocking the British troops back to winter quarters in central New Jersey and setting the morale and spirit of the army and the Continental Army ablaze.



We've apparently forgotten how important this was to our history. In the fall of 2009, budget cuts forced the closure of Washington Crossing Historic Park. Interpretive tours of the park’s historic buildings ceased. Bowman’s Tower -- Washington's lookout up the river, with a commanding view of the valley -- was shuttered. And the reenactment of George Washington’s crossing of the Delaware River – held without interruption since the 1950s – was cancelled. Local citizens took on the challenge, raised money and volunteered, and not only did the reenactment take place on Christmas Day, but the educational mission of the park has carried on.

In less than three weeks, you can help preserve this historic site, a hallowed part of American history, by signing up for the Washington Crossing Beer Fest!  Check out the breweries that will be represented here. It's May 14th, 12:30 to 4:30, with live music and food (the music's free, food is extra), and beer samples from breweries far and near: $40, and that's going to benefit this historic park, a true landmark of American history. (It's a great place to start a trail ride, too, down the canal path to Bristol, or across the river and down to Trenton, take a look-round for Hessians maybe?) Get your tickets here!

30 years of crazy beers...how the time flies

I've told the story many times, how in my senior year of college my medieval history professor took two of us upperclassmen out for beers on Holy Thursday night in 1981, and how that was the night I had my first non-mainstream beer: Altenmünster. And I'd like to say that I loved it from the first sip, that I knew immediately that this was beer like it should be...and you know, I will, because I knew right away that this was the stuff I wanted to be drinking. I still have the bottle somewhere; it's packed away while we re-do the basement, but it's there.

And here I am, 30 years later, changed completely by that beer. I have a career, I have a reputation, and I have friends around the world, all because someone cared enough about good beer to get a kid to try something new. I've been trying to pay him back ever since. Try something new tonight, people!

A Yuengling brewery...in Harlem?

Well...yeah. Thanks to my eagle-eyed, beer-loving brother-in-law Carl (who works in the Archives at the Library of Virginia in Richmond), I found out some stuff I didn't know about Yuengling today. Take a look at this entry in "Out of the Box," the Archives blog. It's a letter to Virginia governor James L. Kemper from David G. Yuengling Jr. -- yes, he's that Yuengling, the founder -- dated Sept. 28th, 1874. In it, Yuengling says he is sending the governor 

“one bbl. of old stout in bottles this has been brewed three years ago and considered the Best. Should you find it to [sic] strong[,] add water to suit your taste, and it will be a delicious stimulant. Hope it will do you good.”

Pleasantries out of the way, Yuengling moves on to business; the progress of the C&O Railroad. 

But the interesting thing is the letterhead: the Ryerson and Yuengling Champagne Ale Brewery, Harlem, NY. The archives blog says: "It was the junior Yuengling [David's son] who oversaw the construction of a new brewery in Richmond in 1866. Located at 912 East Main Street, the brewery became known as the James River Steam Brewery and was later sold to the Richmond Cedar Works in 1878. Yuengling’s letter does not originate from Richmond, but instead from Harlem, on Ryerson & Yuengling, Champagne Ale Brewery stationary."

Pretty interesting. 

Pabst Deal Closes

News comes Friday that the Pabst deal is final. Connecticut investor C. Dean Metropoulos bought the company from the Kalmanovitz Charitable Foundation for an undisclosed price; the erstwhile chairman of Pabst, Lou Giraudo, would only say that the speculated price of about $250 million was incorrect. Metropoulos made no comment.  A Reuters story said that "The foundation listed its total assets as $62.3 million in its tax return for the year ending June 30, 2008." The story also noted that

"Sales of Pabst Blue Ribbon in food, drug and other retail outlets rose 33 percent to about $172.7 million in the 52 weeks ending April 18, The Wall Street Journal has reported, citing data from market research firm SymphonyIRI Group." 

So that's done. Now we'll see what the Pabst drinkers -- the reputed hipsters and bike messengers -- are going to do. I suspect they're going to keep drinking Pabst.

The Man Full of Trouble...and rye whiskey

Where to begin...

Chris Poh, of the American Public House Review, whose radio show I was on a few weeks ago, contacted me recently with a tempting offer: how would I like to join him and Ed Petersen at A Man Full of Trouble, Philadelphia's last standing original colonial tavern? You mean the place UPenn owns, down near the Olympia, that isn't open to the public? Hell yes, I would!

And that's how last night I found myself sitting in the living room of A Man Full of Trouble, being served a beer (a Tröegs Pale Ale) from a lovingly re-created caged bar by the 'publican,' Patrick Spiro, a recently graduated UPenn doctorate student, who lives there with his wife, Laura, and their newborn daughter (see below). And just after that, we went up to the second floor balcony just in time to catch the last light of the day, pictured below.

The view is striking: where you can see the cobblestones coming in from the left, just past the Stop sign, is the course of the long-gone and covered Little Dock Creek. Straight ahead is the Delaware River -- no I-95, this is one of the rare places where it's covered over -- and that's the stern mast of the Olympia in the distance, starting to glow in the sunset light. A rainbow developed over the next few minutes. We were standing on a balcony that had been reconstructed from pictures of the building from the 1830s. The cobbles, the magical glowing light, and the mast of the ship came together for a breath-taking moment.

Patrick took us down to the basement, where the building's original well is still open to water from the Delaware, showed us how the walls lean inward, and generally made us quite welcome. We chatted about blogging and advertising, of all things, then I broke out a particularly appropriate beverage, given the setting: a sample of Finger Lakes Distilling's soon-to-be-released rye whiskey, a young and brilliantly spicy whiskey, full of rye character at a barrel-strong 110 proof. We sipped, and looked around the place. Then Patrick pulled out another surprise: a growler of Cape Cod Summer, a beautifully accurate hefeweizen, a great way to top off the evening.

I may never get the chance again, but it was quite special. I breathed in a bit of Philadelphia history, American history, booze history. I was a man full of satisfaction. And a little bit of rye.

Thanks to Chris Poh for the use of the two photos on the left.

Genesee triumphantly returns to the Rochester skyline

Boston has the giant CITGO sign. Baltimore has the eerily blue Bromo-Seltzer Tower. Philly's PSFS Building's red marquee still glows, even though the company failed in 1992.

Rochester had a landmark sign, the Genesee Beer & Ale sign. But for the past 40 years, you could only see it in the daylight. One of the first things North American Breweries has done as the new owners of the brewery by the Genesee river (you can see the High Falls in the lower corner of the picture below, and the tanks of the brewery at the top center) is to repair that sign. As you can see in the video above, they lit the sucker up in July. It was a pretty popular event for the town, and a proud moment for the brewery.

Now...how about a nice cold can of Genny Cream?


View Larger Map

More on bourbon barrel size...

In reference to the earlier post, Larry Kass (of Heaven Hill) forwarded this from a contact at Independent Stave Company, the big barrel-making outfit in Lebanon, KY:

I found in a circular, distributed by the Treasury Dept., dated 1968, the information concerning the 53 gallon barrel. It was proposed to the Treasury Dept. that the 53 gallons should be the maximum capacity of a whiskey barrel. This petition was rejected, but their conclusion was that they would not set the maximum size for whiskey barrels. The selection of the size of the container suitable for maturing a product may continue to be left to the distiller.

So 53 gallons appears to be a quasi-standard. My only question: who proposed that to Treasury? Distillers? I do think Treasury was smart to turn down the job of setting a max size of barrels. Thanks, and thanks to the folks at ISC.

Why's a bourbon barrel 53 gallons?

That's what Tom "Yours For Good Fermentables" Cizauskas asked me last week. Is there a legal standard for the size of a bourbon barrel, or are they all right around 53 gallons (little more, little less because each barrel is hand-assembled from staves of varying size) because of some ancient measurement?

I didn't know, so I told him I'd try to find out. I asked Larry Kass, the director of communications at Heaven Hill. Larry asked the folks at Independent Stave, and also asked the guy I should have gone directly to: Mike Veach, the closest thing bourbon has to an over-arching 'corporate memory.' Mike's an avid researcher, and a tireless advocate of funding for a bourbon archive and historical center. Here's his answer, sent through Larry:

As far as the barrels are concerned, this is what I have always heard: The barrels used to be a standard 48 gallons and that is the size the warehouse ricks was designed for storing. During the Second World War wood became scarce for cooperage and the decision was to increase the gallon size of the barrels to save wood and space in the warehouses - and to save cost as well but that was not the main point at the time.
The size of 53 gallons was the largest that they could make to fit in the standard ricks without making the structure of the barrel weak causing leaks. Now this information came from an article that was based upon second hand sources, but it does seem the most logical explanation. I was told by some warehouse workers that they thought if they made it larger, it would also be too hard to handle while rolling. They said the old 48 gallon barrels were much easier to handle, so the increased size made the barrels more difficult to roll. That could also have played a part in the size of 53 gallons.

So there you go. Makes sense. Thanks to Mike, to Larry, and to Tom for asking an interesting question.