Part I
Beginnings to July, 1991: "Informality Shall Be the Rule ..."
The origins of the group that came to be known as FOSSILS are obscure, but only in the sense that it is impossible to know the point in each individual member's life when the pursuit of better beer became a priority. Speaking only for myself, 1989 probably was the year. I had returned from a third long journey to Europe, and although I would continue to drink cost-effective mainstream beer when necessary to maintain the level of sought-after intoxication that is an inescapable factor in any drinking experience, it had become inescapably obvious to me that beer had risen to a level of importance beyond that afforded me by the generic American norms of my youth. A steadily growing interest in beer appreciation was the prime motivation that led myself and several other friends and acquaintances toconsider some sort of group effort, which in turn was spurred on by the involvement of my cousin, Dennis Barry, and others in home brewing. In the mid-1980's, during one of my stints as an employee of Scoreboard Liquors, I had attempted to put together a Beer-of-the-Month Club, the members of which would agree to buy equal allotments of a particular beer so as to provide the opportunity for everyone to try something new while holding down the cost. I was thinking about it again in early 1990, and at one point four of us (Myself, Todd Fulkerson, Barrie Ottersbach and, I believe, Bob Gunn) split up a case of St. Sixtus Abbey Ale. By the summer of 1990, my lovely and long-suffering future wife Amy had taken over the operation of Rich O's from the two pathetic derelicts who opened it, and we were discussing the possibility of pushing it in the direction of a pub, which would be called The Cozy Rut. This wouldn't come to pass until later, but the idea was the impetus for further consideration of the club concept, since Amy's place would provide avenue for meetings. Furthermore, Denny's homebrewing was progressing nicely, and we were hearing more and more about the hobby. Finally, I put together a sloppy, hand written poster to announce, albeit unwittingly, the coming of the revolution to New Albany, Indiana:
Drinkers of the World Unite!BEER of the MONTH CLUBSunday, Sept. 30, 19905:00 PMThe Cozy Rut at Richo's, next to SportstimeAgenda1. Sample a few beers (type to be determined).2. Discuss the club and what we'll do.3. Decide on next month's beer. 4. Discuss home brewing.5. Patronize Amy's place by eating dinner there.The Few, The Proud, The Swizzled
The meeting took place as planned, and thenewsletter began in anonymous fashion shortly thereafter. As Dennis Barry later put it,"We had a grand time." I was appointed to the position of President for Life, tobe abbreviated P-F-L. It's worth remembering that at the time, Amy had been in business at Rich O's only a few months. The first FOSSILS meeting took place in the front dining area, where six tables and orange-seated chairs remain today. Those six tables were Rich O's in 1990 -- just those pieces of used furniture and my future wife's steady and indomitable will. An insurance office was on the other side of the wall that bisected today's front room, and the bar didn't materialize until mid-1992, when my involvement in the business commenced.
Provisional Report of the Beer Club with No NameOct., 1990
The inaugural gathering of the beer club with noname must be termed an unqualified success. Attending:Dennis (Barry), Roger (Baylor), Mark (Francis), Rick (Lang), Amy (O'Connell), Barrie (Ottersbach) & Lee (Cotner)1. Beer of the Month: MacAndrew's Scotch Ale. All drinkers noticed distinct qualities that set (it) apart from Old Swillwaukee ...2. Our Organization: Purpose, Philosophy, Etc. We agree to meet each month... officers were selected in a decidedly non-democratic fashion, with all in attendance supporting the motion that each and every club member have an official title or hold an office... informality shall be the rule (and) dues will be levied only when deemed necessary for a specific purpose, with unanimous approval of the rank and file required... 3. The Terrifying Plunge into Homebrewing: If any common theme emerged from our initial gathering, it is that most of us are interested in home brewing. Dennis and Mark are grizzled veterans of the process (and) eager to discuss their progress. Equipment and supplies are easily obtained. Cleanliness and sterility are of the utmost importance. Take notes while brewing!We will meet on Sunday, October 28 at 7:30 PM, again at Richo's. Lee is responsible for providing munchies...
Taking the Puppy for a Healthful Stroll.
The first Walking the Dog owed its name to a story related on the back of Newcastle Brown Ale bottles (The story has been replaced by the familiar U.S. government health warning), wherein it was stated that men in Newcastle would steal away from their homes for a tipple at their respective pubs by ataking their dogs out for a walk. The October 28 meeting also yielded the club's name: Fermenters of Special Southern Indiana Libations Society. I can't recall much about how this name came to pass, other than our attempting to find pliable words that would match a witty, pre-determined acronym. As it turned out, FOSSILS was a fine choice that took into account one of our most significant local attractions, the fossil beds at the Falls of the Ohio. In addition, it predated the Jurassic Park dinosaur marketing mania by almost four years. For those of us in attendance, the meeting of October 28 will long be remembered as the occasion of a great awakening, for it was there that the many varied and wonderful possibilities of home brewing were definitively revealed through the expertise and the uniformly luscious samples provided by our guest, Mr. David Pierce of LAGERS. Fully equipped with cooler and anecdote, David treated us to colorful commentary on the subtleties of home brewing and the origins and activities of LAGERS, punctuating his words with the products of his labors, all of which were excellent. Barrie has conducted preliminary research on a field trip to the (Oldenberg) brewery (whose) package rates have been deemed excessive by the group, so he will seek additional information on nearby motels to compare prices. Volunteerism lives, and it is boosted considerably by generous helpings of David's mead, and so Mark (Francis) has graciously volunteered his home for our next meeting (Sunday, November 25 at 6:30 PM. Todd(Fulkerson) or Mark will be responsible for the munchies; they'll have to work to top Amy's spread of the 28th - credit to Lee for the cash infusion and to Amy for preparation.
(WTD #2, November 1990)
My first-ever, anti-swill ranting appeared in #2. It is worth noting that my interest in refuting America's liteweight, light beer obsession didn't begin with FOSSILS. Rather, the inspiration for this still-evolving position dated to 1985, and the pages of the immediate forerunner to the Dog. In a 1987 issue of The Weekly Wad (10/17/87: Ottersbach Wedding Issue), which my collaborator Byron Foster and I published at sporadic intervals, a feature referred to the scourge of L.I.D.S. - Lite Induced Deficiency Syndrome, a disease of the palate that we were committed to reversing by encouraging the consumption of full-flavored beer: Unlike many diseases, L.I.D.S.(Lite-Induced Deficiency Syndrome) can be cured. Doctors say that the first and most important step in treating L.I.D.S. is the daily consumption of beer rich in calories, alcohol and real beer flavor. There's no better place to begin than Plzen, Czechoslovakia, and the world's best known, most effective deterrent to L.I.D.S.: Pilsner Urquell. Brought to you as a public service by the WeeklyWad, Real Beer Drinkers of America, Drunks Against Mad Mothers and the Pilsner Urquell Brewery, Plzen. To be sure, this meant Bud as opposed to Bud Light, and our grasp of beer styles hadn't expanded beyond the familiar pilsner with which we were accustomed. It would take several more years for the position to become fully realized. Yet the die had been cast by the inference that light beers were perversions of the true beer drinking ideal. At some point I came to the conclusion that this doctrine needed to be taken to its logical conclusion, and this was expressed in the second issue: Recent statistics confirm America's position as the top volume brewing nation in the world. Anheuser- Busch spills more beer each day than entire countries brew in a year, but more importantly, A-B spills sacks of cash to promote its line of beers, as do the other major American brewers. This reliance on advertising is the first clue to the decadence of the industry. Only a handful of America's mainstream beers are of any merit compared to the great beers of the world. It doesn't have to be this way. I hereby dedicate my life to the proposition that America's Miller Lite culture is nothing less than an abomination, a crazed and shameless perversion of all that good beer stands for and can be. Satisfying, complex, and distinctive good beer has a story to tell. It glows with natural and historical symbolism, urging camaraderie and a joyful appreciation of life's fundamental diversity. American mainstream beer, on the other hand, speaks to little else except the business page, though it serves as useful sociological commentary on the nature of mass delusions. American beer is a commodity to be bought and sold, a substance so bland that it can be peddled to practically everyone, particularly those who swear by magazines like "Prevention" or to those for whom fashionable TV ads for Coors constitute the epitome of intellectual discourse. There will be many, ranging from strident teetotalers to calorie-conscious weekend warriors, who will be irritated by my stance on patriotic grounds, from force of habit or through plain ignorance. They'll pound another six-pack of Lite, safely avoiding the challenge posed by complexity and character, and remain in the realm of the mundane. Those of us who know better are tired of being charitable, tired of "Choices" that include two light beers and Old Swillwaukee, and tired of abetting the dream world wherein Lite can be billed a "Fine pilsener beer." Our lives are far too short to remain forever mired in America's stunted mainstream beer culture, where ad men sip their light, draft, dry, aluminum-clad beverages and count their money. Let's aspire to a global perspective, ascend the heights, and savor the best that beer can be. Founding FOSSIL father Mark Francis hosted the next gathering on November 25, 1990. While it may have been the mead at the earlier meeting that prompted his generosity, his spirit of volunteerism has survived to the present day: four Christmas parties, three Oktoberfests, and the little-known fact that as of September, 1995, Mark has never missed a FOSSILS meeting. We're beginning to see early signs of genius in the brewing Fossils. Those who made it to Mark's place on November 25 were treated to the inaugural efforts of Lee (Cotner) and Bob (Gunn), to Denny's (Barry) latest (Provided by messenger boy in his absence), and to Jeff's (Price) second. We even scoured the fridge for the year-old, last remaining bottle of the batch brewed by Mark and Tim Moberly (To help with analysis) David Pierce was in attendance, accompanied by fellow LAGER Bob Capshew. There was unanimous praise for Denny's contribution. Congratulations to the intrepid homebrewers of FOSSILS! Just think how much has been accomplished in the few short months since your efforts began. Special recognition to our host, Mark, who proved his devotion to the scientific spirit of investigation by calling in ill with a mead-induced hangover on Monday. "Barring" unexpected changes, the next FOSSILS meeting will be December 29 at Mr. Ottersbach's residence. This will be our pseudo-Christmas party (Please don't deluge me with gifts). A keg of Guinness is expected. Bring a side dish or appetizer. Barrie will provide the main course, and for those of you who haven't sampled Ottersbach cuisine, certain pleasure awaits.
FOSSILS JOIN AHA
Our youthful organization is being registered with the American Homebrewers Association, thanks to paperwork provided by David Pierce. In my capacity as P-F-L, I have chosen Mr. Ottersbach to be the recipient of our complimentary copy of zymurgy, since Barrie's address should be permanent unless Beth (Ottersbach) loses her job.
(WTD #3, December 1990)
A revised roster listed 14 names, with titles/jobs including Royal Court Taster (Rick Lang), Spillage Coordinator (Mark Francis) and Historian and Director of Pondering (Don Barry).
"Ara (r-f) at": The Inaugural FOSSILS Christmas Party
In the aftermath of the "Pseudo-Christmas party" on the 29th, I barely was able to describe the mayhem - so I didn't really try. It turned out to be the first FOSSILS epic production, and was summarized in WTD#4 (January, 1991):
FOR STRENGTH, VITALITY & OTHER ATTRIBUTES TOO MANY TO DESCRIBE. CASUALTIES REPORTED THROUGHOUT THE DAY ON THE 30th.
On Sunday, Dec. 30, 1990 I awoke to find my liver in its personalized jar atop the end table. He swam about in a state of agitation, alternating a chant of "Arafat! Arafat!" with endless choruses of the "Hallelujah Chorus." Finally, in response to my pained and puzzled expression, my liver looked at me sharply, sucked in his gut, and said "Mmmmyyy goodness, my Guinness." It was only then that I remembered where I had been the night before: Ottersbach residence... bouncing baby keg ... wild women refusing to yield the brandy: The FOSSILS holibash. Like other great parties of the past, our blowout on the 29th defies any brief description, yet we can be sure that in the years to come any gaps in our memory will be amply filled by tall, colorful recollections of the evening, especially if Barrie is telling the story. Brain cells were sacrificed, but it will be impossible to forget the great themes of the day: Guinness, Handel, Ara (r-f) at, Irish drinking, Doc Barry's inspiring lecture, great food, glow-in-the-dark "Art" and offensive, unidentifiable mounds and rivulets in Barrie's driveway, and the View pointe parking lot. FOSSILness is a state of mind, grace, and degenerative liver problems. I was still working at Scoreboard Liquors, and we devoted a Sunday afternoon to inventory our stock and calculate the sum, based on a proof-gallon formula, that we would have to pay to account for the excise tax increase of January 1, 1991. After having done so, prices were raised accordingly. It wasn't the first time that the role of the government in the drinking lives of its constituents had been discussed by the FOSSILS; after all, the topic of prohibitionism in its varying forms remains the eternal "Exhibit A" in such debates. However, the question of taxation prompted thoughts running in more than one direction, one of which was the reaction of the megabrewers. In short, who should be speaking on behalf of beer in the battles to come? Should it be those huge brewers who have done the most to lower the common denominator of their product to such an extent that reasonable arguments in defense of beer (For instance, it is a food, not just a taxable item to be controlled by the federal government along with firearms and tobacco) are rendered meaningless by their typically cynical marketing campaigns for malt liquor? Should it be a lobby group like Beer Drinkers of America, who accepts the bulk of its financing from those same major breweries? We would learn more about BDA in the coming years. Or should it be those who have learned exactly whatbeer can be?
OFFICIAL TEXT OF THE P-F-L's STATEMENT ON THE BEER TAX INCREASE
By now all drinkers have felt the affectionate governmental squeeze of the January 1, 1991 excise tax increase on alcoholic beverages. Beer drinkers will rage for months to come at what they perceive as unfairness on the part of a corrupt and incompetent federal government, and justifiably so, since America's political culture is at a low ebb in terms of ability and leadership. However, it must be noted that the Joseph Q. Sixpacks who are complaining most bitterly that their sixes of Old Swillwaukee Ultra Light cost too much probably have done little to participate in the political process. America's mainstream mega-brewers lobbied mightily to limit the extent of the excise tax increase, and in some respects they succeeded, (but) despite this modest victory, 1991 will not be a good year for the big boys. Beer sales have been flat for several years, and now a potentially devastating combination of higher taxes, still-snarling Mad Mothers and an alleged social trend toward better personal health (understood to imply less drinking) conspires to wreak havoc in the chart-strewn, marketer infested corporate boardrooms of the brewing monoliths. All of which suits me fine, because they deserve it. While we're at it, maybe we can toss a few more ad men on the fire and settle back toenjoy a rich and satisfying, albeit more costly, Salvator Doppelbock, for if there is anything more decadent and shameless than America's political culture, it is our mainstream beer culture as defined by the giant corporate beer producers and their criminal cohorts at "Advertising Age" and "Business Week." The history of civilization records no deliberate act of sacrilege or desecration that approaches the blasphemy of America's brewing conglomerates during the past quarter-century as they have set out to systematically dismantle the worthiness of their products and to entirely discredit the notion of beer as something special, as a liquid worthy of reverence , joy, and discovery. Only in America can a watery, odorless, tasteless, adjunct-choked substance be put into a can bearing the libelous words "A FinePilsener Beer," and only in America will millions drink this most horrid of swills and harbor the ridiculous delusion that Lite is beer. Maybe some drinkers will respond to the latest price hikes by eschewing the six-pack mentality and adjusting to the pleasing reality that one Guinness in hand is worth any number of Busch Light Draft Malt Drys. The time for the revolution draws ever nearer.
Drinking into Spring, 1991
In the latest LAGERS newsletter, David Pierce describes FOSSILS as a "Local beer appreciation and brewing society." As for the latter, the homebrew thus far has been nothing short of amazing, particularly for those laggards (like me) who have made no effort to brew. Naturally, and in keeping with our founding principles, there are no obligations or expectations on the part of any Fossil, but if there is any one idea that represents a common currency among us, it is a shared belief in the greatness of beer. In terms of beer appreciation, we have traveled along, arduous road, one littered with literally thousands of empty cans and bottles dating back to our first sly sip from dad's Sterling. Now many of us have arrived at what can only be described as a point of no turning back; having glimpsed in various ways the wonderful and diverse properties of real, authentic beer, we're drinking the best the world has to offer and we are brewing our own to a standard that exceeds the blandness so common in the beer culture of America. Each individual's attitude toward this topic will vary, and as Americans each of us (might) consume swill when confronted with a social situation that lacks other options, especially if we are in search of intoxication. But in the end, a Fossil knows better, and this knowledge must be an integral part of his or her drinking strategy from now on.
P-F-L's PAGE: A FEW THOUGHTS BEFORE WE MEET AGAIN
It is a reflection of my growing interest in the "Beer appreciation" aspect of FOSSILS that my thoughts have turned to providing more structure to our gatherings ... (as) each Fossil, at one point or another, has suggested that it might be educational to devote the pre-debauchery portion of our monthly meeting to a topic or subject related to beer.Consider the following ideas:1. Organization of home brew tastings2. Theme home brew for future meetings3. Theme commercial beer to match the theme home brew As P-F-L, I hereby decree the following: MARCH MEETING - March 17, 5:00 PM at Rich O's BBQ. The topic will be Belgian beer, and it will be illustrated by one or two Belgian ales. Warning: Belgian beer is expensive! An exchange prompted by our desire to visit the Oldenberg Brewery was the first mention of bunker-building in the Knobs. Barrie Ottersbach had drained a cistern that was located beneath the living room of his home, and if a door from the basement could be cut through the concrete. Rich McGuigan, No. Kentucky Consulate: I have a short list of budget-priced hotels located within a ten-mile radius (or so) of Oldenberg. If you're interested, let me know and I'll make arrangements. Editor's/P-F-L's Note: This sounds like a job for our Minister of Activities, whose responsibilities now include the Office of Blasting Cap and Subterranean Exploration.
(WTD, #5 February 1991)
My Kingdom for a Piece of Inch-and-a-Quarter TubingMarch 17 HIGHLIGHTS
Guests included Nuts 'n' Stuff kingpin Bob Hennessy, (whose) generous donations enabled us to hold a first-ever raffle, which will become a regular event so long as members continue to bring items to raffle. If this is a success on a month to month basis, we might consider altering or abolishing the current system of paying for the beer of the month, or allowing the raffle to subsidize it. As expected, reaction to the Belgian abbey ales was mixed; indeed, they're a different breed. LAGERS member Brent Mays will be attending the April 13 meeting. He will give a talk on drinking in New Zealand, where he visited recently. David Pierce has informed me that there will be a home brewing club congress of sorts at the Oldenberg Brewery on August 17 (I think); it will be much like the one LAGERS attended last year, and there is no reason why it shouldn't be the first for the FOSSILS.
Dennis Barry, in "The Batch that Wasn't":
While obtaining my ingredients, I asked Bob (Hennessy) if he carried the inch and a quarter tubing, which can be installed into the carboy top to help remove the kraeusen during initial fermentation. He did not. Dave Pierce had told me to go to ACE Hardware for the tubing, but I had procrastinated to this point. This would soon become my undoing, and it's all Bob's fault. The brewing of my first wheat beer went quite well initially, (but) Beth definitely was not laughing when she called me at work that afternoon. The hose and the rubber stopper were lying 10 feet across the room, in front of the refrigerator. The carboy was sitting in front of our cabinet of glasses, and Beth said several of the glasses inside were 1/3 full of wort (The cabinet doors were not open at the time). The ceiling above the carboy was stained with wort; wort, wort, everywhere. The dishwasher was underneath the counter where the carboy was sitting, and it had the sticky, smelly wort oozing down onto the dishes inside. Dried hop shrapnel are still stuck to my textured ceiling. Needless to say, I now have purchased 1 and 1/4 inch clear tubing from the Georgetown Hardware Store. Isn't there a saying: something about closing the barn door after the cows have gone?
(WTD #6, March 1991)
In Consideration of Events in Far-Off Places.
The April 13 meeting was immortalized by Rich McGuigan, who videotaped it. Like many meetings before and after, the affair digressed rapidly after a promising beginning and culminated with several increasingly inebriated renderings of Uncle Don Blues, an early FOSSILS anthem that was sung to no known tune and included frequent outbursts of "Goddamn." Two videos, one unedited (and lengthy)and the other edited (much shorter), are known to be in existence. They'll be kept sealed for an unspecified amount of time. The seventh issue of Walking the Dog marked a turning point. Previously, the themes had been home brewing, the state of beer culture in America, and how we were defining ourselves according to these concepts. Certainly, these have continued as themes to the present day, but #7 introduced an internationalist perspective to readers of the newsletter. We were groping toward our own "Think globally, act locally" philosophy. In the Spring 1991 Zymurgy, it was noted that Britain's Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) had sent an open letter to President Vaclav Havel of Czechoslovakia urging him to forbid Anheuser-Busch from buying an interest in the Budvar brewery in Ceske Budejovice. It was the first we had heard ofA-B's intentions. Other articles in the same issue included "The Search for Real Beer 'Weltanschauung' in America" and a reprint of a Charlie Papazian editorial, probably his most lucid and consistent ever, in which he defended the consumption of beer against those who tar it as a drug. #7 began with my first shot at Anheuser-Busch over the issue of Budvar. It was a harbinger of things to come.
Bud Out!
Here is the text of a letter I've sent to Anheuser-Busch in protest regarding its interest in buying the Budvar brewery:"We are appalled to learn the Anheuser-Busch seeks to buy the Budvar brewery in Ceske Budejovice, Czechoslovakia, home of one of the world's finest pilsner beers -- a status to which the rice-choked American version can only long for from afar. That means you! For your bloated company to interfere in the internal affairs of the heartland of European brewing constitutes blasphemy to a degree unfathomable to lovers of real beer, for almost certainly you will tamper with Budvar, no doubt inspired by the marketing wizards and advertising sleazeballs without whom American brewers would be powerless. We demand that you cease and desist. Leave the brewing to the experts in Europe; you'll still sell billions of gallons to our impotent countrymen while permitting the world's best beer to remain such.
R.A. Baylor, FOSSILS P-F-L(If they dare to respond, I'll publish the answer in a future WTD)
Barrie Ottersbach followed with "Have Havel, Will Travel," in which he prefaced a tribute to the Czech dissident-turned-politician with a consideration of his own role: Holding an office of power and prestige is a two-edged sword. Certainly, pride and prestige rocket to breathtaking heights when you're a leader of men: REAL men. Being an officer of FOSSILS makes my head swim (For more reasons than one!) Think of me, a welder's son from New Albany, a member of the power elite! The sword's opposite side must be addressed: Like poets, professional athletes and rock stars, FOSSILS officers are givers. They give something of themselves at every meeting, things that shorten their effectiveness in this world. Namely, brain cells... As Minister of Underground Exploration and Blasting Caps, I hereby empower the Minster of Czech Antiquities, Frank Thackeray, to open, maintain and nurture a relationship between himself and the Man of the Decade (as honored by the world-renowned publication "The Weekly Wad"), Vaclav Havel.
Barrie proposed flying all FOSSILS to Prague, room and board provided, where Havel would guide us through the great drinking spots of Prague; all at the expense of hard-working Czechs. In return, we would assure hard-working Czechs that their beer was better than ours, and exchange home brewing anecdotes with them. By the way, the Czech government never responded. The May meeting was held at the home of Dennis Barry, where a keg of Oldenberg was consumed and grilling members commenced the soon-to-be-sacred practice of offering burnt weenie sandwiches to the assembled drinkers. The highlight of this gathering occurred rather early in the morning, and involved an unfenced pool on adjacent property. As Dennis Barry described it: Among the festivities witnessed were Mark on the guitar, Roger's first batch of homebrew (Toad Spit Stout), Lawson's Lager (Barry Sears), Irish folk music and the outdoor lavatory (-ies), plus an excellent raffle. In a memo, the direction of the club was discussed. Our progress during the first eight months of the club's existence was noted: AHA membership, an enriching alliance with LAGERS, ample opportunities to drink beer and almost 50 names on the mailing list. Because I would be leaving soon for Czechoslovakia to teach English until early 1992, it was deemed appropriate to chart the succession (Barrie would become President-for-a-While), our organizational structure (dues-paying membership would be phased in through the remainder of 1991), the continued growth of the newsletter (to be edited by Barry "T.R." Sears in my absence) and, most importantly, whether there was any real reason to remain independent at all. Would it be better to merge with LAGERS? At the meeting of June 16, 1991, it was concluded that FOSSILS would remain independent. The two clubs have remained separate entities to the present day, but they have become somewhat intertwined owing to a large number of dual memberships and the joint activities (Picnic, Kentucky State Fair Homebrew judging) that take place during the year. At the same time, FOSSILS and LAGERS retain distinct identities, with the latter being popularly viewed as the more proficient overall representative of home brewing traditions, as opposed to the FOSSILS emphasis on literary beer appreciation and sociopolitical advocacy. Exceptions are many on the part of both groups, but these characterizations remain useful, at least in the introductory sense.
WTD #8 (May, 1991) included the first of Dennis Barry's series of Toronto beer-drinking travelogues, Mark Rodriguez's thoughts on Mexican beers, Rich McGuigan's winning essay in the "Why I Hate Miller Lite and All it Represents in America" contest, and an account of what happened when I cleaned out the "famous 1980 Chevy Monza" prior to turning it over to Amy, who "Initially refused my magnanimous gift owing to its filthy, not-cleaned-since-Mondale-ran-for-President condition."
It Works Out to 1.934 Miles Per BeerA partial accounting of what we found in the 1980 Monza:78 bottle caps (imported)12 bottle caps (domestic)2 Grolsch swing-cap bottles41 pull tabs1 Hacker-Pschorr 1/2 liter bottle5 empty beer cans1 full Stroh's can (pre-1989 golden label)4 flattened beer case boxes2 bottle openers3 huggies (water sports design)1 plastic beverage holder, attached beneath window13 cigar stubs2 Bic lighters (dry)1 shredded Redbirds ticket (July, 1984)1 1981 Courier-Journal sports page (September 14)2 Heineken beer mats2 Henninger coasters1 styrofoam case insert from Keller-Geister wine
June, 1991: A Measure of Formality Is Grudgingly Adopted.
At the meeting of June 16 in the former Indiana State Teachers Association office adjacent to Rich O's, it became official: FOSSILS adopted a dues structure. Barrie Ottersbach was chosen to serve as President-for-a-While until I returned from Slovakia. Fr. Bob Gunn's "Monastic Musings" column made its debut with the bibulous cleric's account of an encounter with aa attack pigeon in an Austrian beer garden. It would be the first of many Gunn contributions to the newsletter, including tales of bootlegging, strange Irish evenings and road trips to nearby rural communities to drink bad beer with the natives. Another road trip, this one to be taken in August 1991 to the Oldenberg Brewery for the Bloatarian Brewing League's third Beer and Sweat gathering, was being planned as I prepared to leave the country. As a prelude to this, Barry Sears provided a highly favorable description of a recent visit to Oldenberg, which soon after would begin its headlong decline into insignificance: a collapse that has both repelled and fascinated us ever since. Barry visited Oldenberg's Great Hall, which originally was modeled on the beer halls of Europe and would be converted in 1993 into Coyote's, a country-and-western music hall catering to notorious non-drinkers of Oldenberg's beers. He surveyed the brewery's collection of brewing memorabilia, which was grandiosely touted as a brewing museum, and which has since been dispersed among the long-necked, cowpoke patrons of the music hall. Barry and his dad dined at J.D. Brews, Oldenberg's brew pub, which in 1995 is being eliminated to make way for a barbecue restaurant. They toured the brewhouse, where 12,500 barrels of beer were said to be brewed in 1989; the 1995 figures are closer to 8,000. The visit described so vividly by Barry in June, 1991 appears in retrospect to have been a last, fleeting look at Oldenberg's considerable early potential. It would be a topic that FOSSILS would return to again and again, particularly each year in August on the occasion of Beer and Sweat. Then Oldenberg symbolized what might be in our region, but as we grew and learned, it came to symbolize the single largest threat to the revolution apart from the existence of America's megabreweries: Selling out by those within the movement, who are unable or unwilling to grasp the philosophical implications of the beer and brewing revolution. Barry ended his report thusly:The brewery is located off of I-71/I-75 at the Buttermilk Parkway in Fort Mitchell, Kentucky. The drive from Louisville is scenic and offers the traveler a history of household appliances prominently displayed on the front porches and lawns of mobile homes along the way. With my departure date drawing near, I offered a parting shot of my own in an essay entitled "Life and Death in Liteland." Despite the intrinsic sadness that derives from drinking life unlived -- from huddling in the corner, clutching the familiar even as life's incredible diversity parades past -- the casual beer drinker who knows his or her place cannot be reviled, only pitied. However, there are others who cannot be so easily dismissed. The reeking onus of the bogus beer drinking culture that has formed around the consumption of products like Miller Lite falls most decisively upon those who willingly, proudly and boastfully enter into it. Those who claim beer drinking stature and cite their fondness for Lite as proof of their love for beer are as indisputably mistaken as one who describes himself as a surgeon because he's demonstrated the ability to slice a watermelon, for there is no better reason to believe the statement "Lite tastes great" than there is to accept the validity of "2 + 2 = 19 & 3/4" -- yet an entire generation of Americans persist in doing so, leading one to speculate whether the Lite drinker also opts for soya burgers over ground beef, chooses to terminate sex before orgasm, or advocates the conversion of the NFL into a touch football league. When one considers the many qualities that make beer great, it becomes obvious that many of these are synonymous with the qualities that make life worth living. As such, the distinctly American ritual of Lite, and the worldview that prefaces it, combine to form a macabre dance of death and fear.
Patoka Retreat I: The Case of the Missing Keg.
I am the third generation of home potation makers in my family. I have brewed several ales and stouts that have astounded me with their clarity and taste. My father is a maker of fine wines, and some have been compared favorably to various French ones. My grandfather, however, was a maker of many home libations, including a rather high-octane poteen.
Fr. Bob Gunn, in "A Family Affair" (WTD #10, July 1991)
Their abilities at beer-, wine- and spirit-making aside, the Clan Gunn stages superb parties. Their first Patoka Retreat took place from June 28 through June 30, 1991 at the Gunn cabin in Orange County, Indiana. It was an extremely hot weekend, one that became infinitely hotter early Saturday afternoon, when the bulk of the participants arrived to find a spent keg of Bass Pale Ale bobbing buoyantly atop the melted ice water of the tub. In a rare case of massive understatement (his reminders having grown longer and louder as years have passed), Dennis Barry acidly referred to the missing keg as having been "Devoured Friday evening," which "All of the Saturday morning attendees remembered all too well." How this unfortunate situation came to pass is the stuff of controversy and legend. I was there, but I could never tell the true story until now. Myself, Barrie Ottersbach, Bob Gunn and Mark Francis transported the keg to the cabin on Friday afternoon. To test the tapping equipment, which was necessary owing to the long distance between us and a replacement tap, we drew several pints. Sonny Gunn took a wee nip, and Brent Mays dropped by with a champagne bottle of double-hopped elixir. Then, strangely, time seemed to stand still. We had been paralyzed by laser-guided immobilization rays deployed by intergalactic keg-party crashers, who landed and repeatedly had their way with our innocent keg as we watched, helpless and mute. Eventually, we collapsed into sweaty heaps, only to awake the next morning with a nearly-empty keg, many adjacent foul puddles and numerous abandoned cellophane-like wrappers with heaps of gray ash (obviously the remnants of alien rituals). And to think that the four of us have always been forced to take the blame for the disappearance of the Bass. In point of fact, it was a traumatic experience for all concerned, especially the following day, when the only alternative for beer was to send Todd Fulkerson and Barry Sears off to forage for beer in Crawford County. We drank Busch that very hot afternoon. I'd rather not think about it.
The P-F-L's Leave of Absence Begins
On July 18, 1991, I departed the States for a rendezvous with my cousin, Don "Doc" Barry, in Vienna. It was the beginning of my most lengthy European interlude, which culminated in my arrival in Kosice, Slovakia in early September to begin a six-month stint as an English teacher. It was something that I'd always wanted to do, and which was made possible by the need for English instruction in places where Communism had emphasized less useful languages like Russian. FOSSILS went on as before. Coming in the December Walking the Dog (#63):Parts II (In the P-F-L’s Absence, 1991-92) & III (Accepting the Revolutionary Challenge, 1992-93).The epic story will be concluded next spring, with a made-for-TV movie to follow.
