In the first installment of this epic tale, a group of long time beer drinkers (henceforth to be known as the Fab Seven), most of whom professed some degree of interest in home brewing, met at Rich O’s Barbecue and established a club, the Fermenters of Special Southern Indiana Libations Society.
As co-founder Dennis Barry has reminded me, 86% of the name was provided by him. The 14% that he charitably credits me with coining came from my suggestion that "liquor" be replaced with "libations" to be more in keeping with the theme of beer.
Inadvertently, the name of Lee Cotner was omitted from the roster of the founding seven members that was presented in Part I. This correction is being made to forestall his near-certain claim that the omission was meant to reflect his alarming lack of attendance at club functions since the early days of our existence.
Since I haven’t seen him much lately, I trust that this correction will suffice.
Part II takes up the story with the President-for-Life’s departure for Czechoslovakia and the installation of Barrie Ottersbach as President-for-a-While.
Part III will appear in the February, 1996 issue of Walking the Dog. It is hoped that the series concludes at some point before our tenth anniversary in September, 2000.
Part II
August, 1991 to February, 1992:
"Truth, Righteousness and Common Sense Will Be Our Banner"
On July 18, we bid a brief farewell to our P-F-L, Roger Baylor, and welcomed in the new administration of P-F-A-W Barrie Ottersbach ...
WTD #11, August 1991
The FOSSILS ledger in July, 1991 showed 10 dues-paying members and $167.12 in the coffee can.
My longtime friend and then-current roomie Barry "T.R." Sears had agreed to shoulder the burden of the newsletter in my absence. The eight issues of Walking the Dog that he edited, including the first-ever Travel Dog, were in keeping with those before them, but T.R. quickly developed his own unique style. He attempted to balance the newsletter's content between sermons, travelogues and articles about homebrewing, the latter probably appearing more frequently than at any time since.
T.R.'s front pages always were devoted to his monthly recounting of previous and future events, and always ended with his trademark admonition of "TURN OUT THE LITE!" In fact, the crusade against swill abated somewhat during T.R.'s tenure, as the bulk of my output from abroad consisted of topics related to beer and travel in Europe. At the same time, my 1991-92 stay in Slovakia, and the periods of travel in and around my residency there, provided the most thorough glimpse of Europe's beer diversity that I'd ever experienced.
However, Barrie Ottersbach was more than willing to take up the cause in my absence, and his first salvo was fired in the August, 1991 Dog:
True beer drinkers take heart! Homebrew, recruit, and educate, 'cause the Great Satans of mass brewing are beginning to exhibit signs of pressure. As Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson (An honorary FOSSIL) would've done, we attack. I implore you, take brew pot and opener in hand and walk beside me, beer in hand, into the battle with the marketing sleazeballs, remembering always that truth, righteousness and common sense will be our banner!
The revolution is here! Liberate your tastebuds, cast off the force-fed swill of the mega-brewers (and) live! Explore and grow and bloom and flourish Have the courage to step from the shadows of the mediocre and brave the warm, inviting glow of all the world has to offer; and remember, it is better to have sampled and lost than to not have sampled at all.
If you cannot break free yourself, help is easily available. But first you must admit that swill and ad men are more powerful than you. Once you've confessed that those twin evils have control of your life, you can be on your way to recovery. I promise. FOSSILS, LAGERS and the AHA are always eager to help; hell, it's in our constitutions and by-laws. Help is just a phone call away. Let's kick in the door and the whole rotten building will come crashing down.
It was signed "Your meek P-F-A-W, Barrie; p.s., I'm too shy for my own good."
Thus, T.R. quite capably held down the task of keeping the Dog on track, and helped Barrie Ottersbach and Amy O'Connell organize FOSSILS meetings and events.
Two great performances during this period are worthy of note.
The first took place at the Ottersbach residence in July when Ann All, the Lifestyle Editor of the New Albany Tribune, dropped in to observe a batch of homebrew in progress and to gather notes for a story on FOSSILS. According to the testimony of witnesses, including Barry Sears and Dennis Barry, the PFAW had to be persuaded at some length to don a shirt for the photo session that ensued, and he attempted at every turn to ply the journalist with various brews as a means of ensuring objective reporting.
Apparently, this worked. The article was well written, and All emphasized the central tenets of the FOSSILS credo: the failure of mainstream American beer culture, the necessity of rejecting it in favor of a new way of drinking, the joys of homebrewing and beer appreciation, and -- perhaps most importantly -- the distinctive personality of our club, even at such an early date. We were depicted as having a point as well as a pint, which was our objective from the beginning, and it was gratifying to see this recognized in the local media.
The photo chosen to accompany the article in the 'Bune showed a beaming, clothed Ottersbach in his kitchen, brewpot at his side. It was worth several thousand words, especially to me when a copy of the article made it to Kosice.
The second big show was Beer and Sweat on August 17, 1991.
This event had been discussed and anticipated for quite some time. The Bloatarian Brewing League was a veteran homebrewing club in the Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky area that held its meetings at the Oldenberg entertainment complex. The gathering in 1991 would be their third, and even then Beer and Sweat was beginning to take on a life of its own. Some of the LAGERS had attended in 1990, and David Pierce knew several of the Bloatarians, so it promised to be a festive and enlightening opportunity to meet people from other like-minded organizations.
In WTD #12 (September 1991), T.R. summarized Beer and Sweat at Oldenberg rather succinctly: Much has transpired since our last meeting. A group of ten FOSSILS made the trek to the Oldenberg Brewery for the "Beer and Sweat" weekend with other homebrewing clubs from around the region. Inside this issue, you'll find a report on the "Beer and Sweat" outing at Oldenberg from our P-F-A-W.
Barrie only briefly surveyed the carnage.
I want to thank all those FOSSILS who attempted and successfully completed the Oldenberg junket. Those unsuspecting people from the other clubs never knew what hit 'em. Dennis Barry and I were the last people to leave under our own power. At one time, the bar in the hospitality suite was surrounded by green shirts with prehistoric creatures on/in them. I easily imagined the battle of Little Big Horn. FOSSILS represented Indians, the bar was the 7th Cavalry, bottles were broken and abandoned weapons, and bottlecaps were spent cartridges.
Farquar Fossil was our only casualty, Farquar being our blow-up mascot, who was last seen perched on the head of a judge from Cleveland. Imagine what a horrible fate -- being a party animal on Saturday and exiled to Cleveland on Sunday. Being a FOSSIL is a risky business. Farquar, we'll miss ya!
In the next issue, WTD #13 (October 1991), Dennis Barry provided more details. He began "Beer and Sweat -- Oh, What A Night!!" with a partial listing of the homebrew (In kegs lining two sides of the party suite) available to those in attendance: IPA, Doppelbock, Steam, Dunkel Weizen, Bohemian Pilsener, Brown Ale, Spice Ale and Coriander Wheat. Bottled beers offered for sampling included David Pierce's Sour Mash Wheat, Barrie's Brown Ale and Denny's own stout. Noting the watchful eye of a rent-a-cop, Denny related his highlight of the evening:
Ken, the Oldenberg brewmaster, approached me, read my name tag (Dennis Barry - Supreme Brewmaster), shook my hand and mentioned that it was a pleasure to at long last meet a "Supreme" Brewmaster. I humbly gave him my phone number and told him to call me if he encountered any problems or had questions about any of his batches.
Considering Oldenberg's subsequent trials and travails, this wouldn't have been a bad idea. In any case, Denny's watchful eye then turned to some of his mates, who mercifully were not named:
UNBELIEVABLE as it may sound, SOME OF US found the beer and company not good enough to suit them, whereupon they retired back to their room TO PLAY CARDS! The next FOSSILS meeting must surely address this dastardly transgression, as this could not (possibly) comply with our credo. What is our credo, anyway? Whatever it is, it could not possibly include leaving a party when there are kegs of homebrew to be consumed.
Editor Barry Sears must have felt the heat of the Supreme Brewmaster's tweaking:
EDITOR'S NOTE: In defense of the guilty (?) party, we did not leave the party to play cards, we simply were waiting out the apparent rain delay until the scheduled time of the keg party.
Back to Denny for the final word:
Most of us were long gone (in more ways than one) by the time our P-F-A-W closed down the suite, circa 4:30 a.m. A memorable evening of excellent homebrew and camaraderie, to say the least; can't wait until next year - - OH WHAT A NIGHT!!
The P-F-L in Czechoslovakia.
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
A message from your erstwhile leader to all FOSSILS:
One of my students had a question: "Why is the animal on your shirt holding a beer?"
The ensuing discussion ended at the blackboard amidst an agitated cloud of chalk shrapnel. Our definition:
- FOSSIL (fos'sil), noun: Petrified remains dug out of the earth; any of a class of aging old farts; an elite group of real beer lovers who never forget to TURN OUT THE LITE!
One passage in the October newsletter brought tears to my eyes. Denny was describing the contents of the kegs in Suite 181 ("Beer and Sweat - - Oh What A Night!!!"), and the styles he listed set off a Pavlovian reaction in my taste buds. IPA, doppelbock, brown ale ... so many styles to choose from, and I was envious.
Yes, envious. Czechoslovakia is a great place to be if one enjoys world-class pilsners, but other than dark lager and a couple of dubious "porters", I haven't had anything except pilsners and less complex, local lagers since I arrived in Kosice. Most of them have been wonderful; however, in an odd twist of fate, I find myself growing bored and jaded at the prospect of another round of fine pilsners. Once the palate has been broadened, there's no going back to the notion that a steady diet of one style constitutes true beer drinking.
I'm not complaining about the ability to walk ten minutes from my apartment, enter a beer dispensary, drink four 1/2 liters of Velkopopovicky Kozel -- a hoppy, well-regarded pilsner - - and spend one dollar, total. It's just that it brings the FOSSIL experience into perspective. We're no longer happy with the ordinary; we've come to expect, and to demand, the very best of a broad array of beers.
If only President Bush had the same view with regard to Supreme Court nominees and Vice Presidents.
Rog (WTD #14, November 1991
My journey had begun by meeting my cousin, Donald Barry (Denny's brother), in Vienna in late July. We traveled together first to Munich, which we had explored on several earlier trips, then to Regensburg, and finally a short train ride north to Bamberg.
Bamberg was a revelation: 70,000 people, 10 breweries, a surrounding region with at least 100 more and a numberless variety of eclectic styles that were unavailable at home. The pages of Michael Jackson's New World Guide to Beer came to life as we sampled smoked lagers, black lagers and various wheat ales.
When Don returned to the States, I went to Copenhagen and checked in with the Danish FOSSILS contingent (Kim Andersen, Allan Gamborg and Kim Wiesener, who have lived at various places throughout the world, and occasionally can be glimpsed in their native habitat), then visited with friends in eastern Germany. Drinking my way through Dresden and Prague, I eventually landed in Kosice, a city of 250,000 in the far eastern portion of now-independent Slovakia, in early September. I would remain there until February, 1992, teaching conversational English to doctors in the city's large university-affiliated hospital.
It was a fine gig in almost every respect if one overlooked the absence of ale and my girlfriend.
Uncharacteristically, I won't be drawn into a discussion of which I missed the most.
Chief among the indigenous pilsners that proved to be most reliable in soothing the pain of separation from my loved ones was Budvar. During my stay in Copenhagen, Allan translated a Danish newspaper article on the topic of Anheuser-Busch's interest in the Czech brewer whose name it purloined so long ago. The translation appeared in WTD #14, alongside a book review of Under the Influence -- The Unauthorized Story of the Anheuser-Busch Dynasty, and conveyed the impression that the Czechs had rebuffed A-B's meddling, but for good measure I added "since they are who they are, we had best remain vigilant."
Since many of my lesson plans were drawn from an almanac and an American history text, there were many opportunities to survey the course of the many revolutions experienced by mankind, and to apply the lessons of these to the ongoing struggle for good beer. This resulted in a good number of frenzied letters home, as well as the following declaration, which appeared in WTD #15:
A Declaration by the REPRESENTATIVES of the F.O.S.S.I.L.S.
(by Roger A. Baylor, with apologies to Thomas Jefferson)
When in the Course of thoughtful Imbibing, it becomes necessary for the Beer Lover to denounce as counterfeit the Beer Culture of his homeland, a decent Respect to the Opinions of Mankind requires that he should declare the Causes which lead him to the irrevocable Conclusion that most American Beer is unfit for Human Consumption.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all beers aren't created equal, that the Best Ones are endowed by their Brewers with certain inalienable Characteristics, that among these are strength, full-bodied flavor and sureness of palate - that to secure such Quality, true Beer Lovers must patiently search store shelves or brew at Home, deriving their tireless diligence from the heightened Pleasure to be gained, that whenever any brand of Inferior beer intrudes upon these ends, it is the Right of the Beer Lover to reject or to heap abuse upon it, and to opt for real beer instead, laying its superiority on such brewing Principles, and praising its Powers in such Form, as to the Beer Lover shall seem most likely to effect his appreciation and happiness. Habit, indeed, will dictate that unthinking preferences long established are seldom changed from Lite to more complex Libations; and accordingly our Experience hath shown, that most people are more disposed to plod forth in abject Ignorance, since Dullness is infinitely less taxing, than to Right themselves by advancing beyond the Blandness to which they are accustomed. But when a long Train of low-calorie Abuses and utterly tasteless Usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object, evinces a design to reduce Beer to mass-marketed pap held captive by corporate Despotism, it is the true Beer Lover's Right, it is his duty, to swear off such Blasphemy, and to build a new Beer Culture that excludes Fools and False Doctrine.
Such has been the patient Sufferance of the F.O.S.S.I.L.S., and such is now the Necessity which compels them to reject the Swillocracy of America's mainstream Beer Blight, and to TURN OFF THAT LITE!!!
It occurred to Barry Sears that a number of FOSSILS had been traveling throughout 1991, and he began plotting a special issue to "accommodate the stack of articles" that were piled on his desk.
Fr. Bob Gunn's experiences during his journey to Ireland were recounted in four "Monastic Musings" columns, but they can be neatly summarized by one line from his first recollection, "One Strange Irish Night" (WTD #15), which easily might have been glimpsed on a tombstone in an Irish village cemetery:
It was love of the luscious Guinness that proved to be my downfall.
The Second Holiday Bash and the First Travel Dog.
My Sediments Exactly ... by PFAW Barrie Ottersbach
The most esteemed Brother Dave Pierce, the official FOSSIL guru, has done it again! He has brewed a five-gallon batch of Victory London Brown Porter for the holiday party. I authorized that the FOSSILS will pay for the ingredients ($15.80). Brother Denny and I were there in the presence of gurus Brent Mays and Dave Pierce when the Porter was made the old-fashioned way -- all grain, and it smelled delicious. We also sampled some favorite choices of Denny's Canadian collection. Brent chimed in with some marvelous selections as well. It was a Sunday I certainly gave thanks for.
WTD #15, December 1991
My Sediments Exactly ... by PFAW Barrie Ottersbach
Many thanks go to Karen and Mark for their FOSSIL-fest on the 28th. A lot of effort goes into preparing for such a gathering, and believe me, it was appreciated. Also, many thanks to TR for his supreme effort in editing the "Travel-Dog." It is certainly good reading. A few people have mentioned that it was too long for reading. Well, if it's too much effort for you to read, imagine the effort it took to write.
WTD # 16, January 1992
For What It's Wort ... by TR Sears
Many thanks to Mark and Karen Francis for hosting the FOSSILS Holiday gathering. I hope the house is still standing! Seriously, we all appreciate anyone who is willing to sacrifice their humble abode for such an event. And my apologies to Karen for molesting her cat -- my claw injury is clearing up nicely!
WTD #16, January 1992
The first collection of tales of FOSSIL road trips was entitled Travel-Dog 1991 and was handed out by TR Sears at the 1991 Christmas party at Mark Francis's home, where the party would come to rest for the next three years. The first Travel Dog included Dennis Barry's "beer treks" to Edmonton, Alberta and southwestern Ontario; my trip to Munich and tours of Copenhagen's Carlsberg and Tuborg breweries; Barrie Ottersbach's "I Want Beer!," in which the temporary leader told of a alcohol-saturated cruise and stay in Mexico; and Donald Barry's classic story of his visit to the Smithwick's brewery in Kilkenny, Ireland:
A remarkable phenomenon awaited (us) in the official bar, where we received two pints of gratis ale. The guide mentioned that on every Thursday afternoon retirees of the town ("pensioners" to the Irish) are permitted to drink all the free ale they please, compliments of the brewery. What an eminently noble and civilized gesture! However, we Americans should count ourselves lucky that this idea has not spread to the U.S.; too much free suds of the likes of Miller's and Budweiser's would probably lead to an early and excruciating exit from this life. Why punish pensioners? The retirees all seemed to be having a jolly grand time "drinking up the jars," as the Irish say. The only complaint I heard was voiced in the WC by an elderly fellow who lamented that "piddling" was now a real problem since he had lost his youthful velocity.
The Return of the P-F-L.
Greetings and apologies for another late newsletter. This is getting to be my trademark!! Well, good things take time. Anyway, this issue of the 'Dog' will be the last that I put together. By the time some of you are reading this, our beloved leader and missionary PFL Baylor will be back on his native soil and ready to take up the task of putting out this piece of literary genius. I've enjoyed the experience, and many thanks to those of you who have contributed ...
WTD #17, February 1992
Surely TR Sears was relieved to learn of my impending return from the wilds of eastern Slovakia. He had been juggling multiple jobs and coursework at Sullivan College with the responsibility of doing the Dog, and it must have been taxing.
At the same time, I was ready to return home. Had it been earlier in my life, prior to meeting Amy, the lure of permanent expatriate status would have been irresistible, but in 1992 it took little more than the promise of attending a Van Halen show at Louisville's Freedom Hall, and a FOSSILS meeting the following day, to compel me to fix my return date.
And so it was that the temporarily prodigal P-F-L straggled back home, after seven months away and a final half-day late owing to flight delays, arriving in Louisville in the afternoon on Saturday, February 8. At Louisville's Freedom Hall that evening, my identification was requested by a server of the largest selling American beer.
Carded at the age of thirty-one.
Would you believe that I came all the way from Czechoslovakia for this concert and left my I.D. at home?
No?
Okay; whatever. One of our friends bought the overpriced, cardboard-clad King of Adjuncts for me, and I found that it was so bad I couldn't drink it.
Welcome back to America, sucker.
The FOSSILS ledger in February, 1992 showed 18 dues-paying members and $284.67 in the coffee can.
