BEER - THAT MAGICAL  DRINK!

Here are a couple of true beer stories, which I have probably written about in earlier blog entries.

BEER CAN ALLEY

My Grandmother was a member of the WCTU (Women's Christian Temperance Union), in fact, she would play the piano at their New Bedford, Massachusetts meetings.

Being strongly against the imbibing of alcohol in any form, she banned it from her home.

Her husband, my Grandfather, loved his beer, and this was a dilemma.  He didn't want to displease his wife, but he wanted to continue drinking beer.  So, he had to think of ways to "sneak a drink."

One way, took place during baseball season when my Grandfather and his best buddy would use their baseball aliases to "watch" each game by gazing into the yellow dial of the cathedral-like radio that stood on a corner table.

The table was situated next to an open window that allowed one to look into the deep alley that separated our house from the next-door garage. We could not afford screens on all the windows and relied on fly swatters to keep us sane.

My Grandmother seldom visited the corner table where "Arkie Vaughan" and "Homer Cronin" sat, intently watching the Boston Red Sox fight with The New York Yankees. 

Whenever these guys saw that Grandma was not in the vicinity, they would reach under the table and grab bottle-shaped cans of their favorite Dawson's Ale.

When the beer cans were empty, they would throw the cans out the window.  In time, there was a pyramid-high pile of cans in the alley. 

One Monday, I heard a loud scream and unusual cursing from my Grandmother.  She had been checking all of the house's windows and had discovered the beer-can pyramid.  I hurried out of the house so I wouldn't see or hear the yelling that was certain to occur when she confronted my Grandfather.  

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NICKEL BEER!

I came home from the Air Force in 1956 and I liked to treat my Grandfather (lovingly called "the Senator") to nickel beer at his favorite "watering hole," The Buttonwood Cafe, nearby on Kempton Street in New Bedford.      

 The cafe was known for their 4-ounce glasses of nice cool beer for only 5 cents each.  For $1.00, the Senator and I would be able to nurse 10 glasses of beer each.  This would equal 40 ounces of beer, not enough to get us drunk.

One day, as the Senator and I were imbibing some nice, cool Dawson's Ale, and listening to the news on the bartender's radio, Charlie W, walked in and sat down beside us.

When I was 15 years old, I had the largest paper route in New Bedford, Christmas was near, and I needed help.

Charlie W. was a big tough-looking guy.  He  volunteered to help me for a small amount of pay.

He did help. especially on the day before Christmas, when most of my customers would normally give me a monetary gift.  A lot of my customers did not like Charlie's brusque manner, and withheld the money. But some didn't, and Charlie helped himself to those money gifts and lied that they hadn't been given.

 I fired Charlie!

 So, it wasn't immediately pleasurable to meet Charlie again at the Buttonwood Cafe.

 As we drank our beer and listened to the local news on the radio, Charlie reached into the big pocket on his camouflage jacket and dumped a massive amount of nickels on the bar, saying: "Drinks are on me!"

Just then, the local radio newsman said: "FLASH! It was just reported that another telephone booth has been broken into!"

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Go, and enjoy a nice, cool draft/craft beer!