A Sweeping History of Southern Oregon Beer

Southern Oregon Beer: A Pioneering History by Phil Busse
Foreword by Jim Mills (founder of Caldera Brewing)
The History Press/American Palate, 128 pages
$22

Unlike Portland, Bend or Hood River, Southern Oregon isn't apt to appear high on the list of places beer nerds dream of visiting. The relative remoteness of the area surely figures into that. Regardless, there's good beer and a good story there.

Phil Busse's new book tracks the Southern Oregon beer story from frontier to contemporary times. It's part of the History Press series focused on American beer cities and regions. Portland Beer shares the same publisher.

It turns out the Southern Oregon story is quite different than what happened in Portland. The reason is largely the result of geography. While Portland was a bustling port with products moving in and out by the mid-19th century, Southern Oregon was isolated until the arrival of the railroads in the latter part of the century. In that way, it's trajectory more closely parallels Bend than it does Portland.

As a result of its isolation, Southern Oregon's early breweries were small and self-contained. Unlike Henry Weinhard, who was shipping beer up and down the coast and to the Far East during the second half of the 19th century, Southern Oregon's breweries served a local clientele. They had no access to outside markets.

Unknown to many today, the dominant town during that time was Jacksonville. Busse recounts Jacksonville's brewing history, led by several German immigrants, against its frontier veneer. There are some fascinating characters involved in that story. Jacksonville's stature faded after it was bypassed by the railroad. which cut a straight line from Grants Pass to Ashland. Medford was born in between, eventually to become the area's largest city.

The coming of the railroad invited national brands to the table throughout Oregon. That reality had a negative impart on Southern Oregon's small breweries. Busse notes that the brewery count was winding down years before Oregon implemented statewide prohibition (ahead of the country) in 1916. The national brands, particularly Anheuser-Busch, were the primary reason.

Busse spends a lot of time talking about the people who drove the region's beer industry during the pre-prohibition era...Veit Schutz, Joseph Wetterer and John Gottlieb Mehl, founders of the region's earliest breweries, but largely unknown outside this book. There are also a several women included in the coverage...Fredericka Wetterer, Mary Mehl and Marie Kienlen. All became prominent beer industry icons. There was, in fact, a semblance of equality on the frontier.

Prohibition all but destroyed brewing in Southern Oregon, as it did across the country. Most of the area's breweries closed. A Weinhard-owned facility in Medford got by making ice. There was a bizarre attempt to keep going on the part of Grants Pass Brewing, which manufactured denatured alcohol (legal for industrial use) and sodas. However, the soda turned out to be a ruse, as the brewery continued to make beer until it ran into trouble.

During the Prohibition era, Southern Oregon enjoyed great success as a producer of hops. It's an interesting concept, covered nicely here. The market for hops in the United States had collapsed. But World War I had destroyed agriculture in much of Europe. Hops acreage in Southern Oregon increased dramatically and the region joined the rest of the state in selling hops to European customers. There was, of course, no prohibition in Europe.

Beer was becoming the haven of the national brands by the time Prohibition ended in 1933. The situation got worse with the coming of World War II. By the end of the war, advances in packaging, refrigeration and shipping extended the reach of big beer. Despite increased per capita beer consumption, the brewery count was in steep decline. By 1947, there were only two breweries operating in Oregon: Blitz-Weinhard in Portland and Sick's Brewing in Salem.

The contemporary story of Southern Oregon beer is essentially focused on Rogue, Caldera and the smaller places that popped up in the area over time. Busse reviews the circumstances that set the stage for the success of the Rogue and Caldera and they helped fuel the beer culture there...things like the legalization of homebrewing in 1978 and passage of Oregon's Brewpub Bill in 1985.

The Brewpub Bill story is a retelling of what I reported in Portland Beer, which is listed in the brief bibliography. Prior to the publication of my book in 2013, everyone had the story exactly wrong. Even the main players thought the Brewpub legislation passed as part of a bill that let Coors into Oregon. I discovered that was not the case, that brewpubs were made legal as part of legislation that addressed liquor licenses at bed and breakfast establishments. There's no attribution in the text, but it's clear enough that this has become the accepted version of the story. 

There are some silly errors in this book For example, the author describes the Burt Reynolds character in Smokey and the Bandit as a "truck driver trying to smuggle a load of Coors across state lines from Texas to Georgia." In fact, the Bandit was a truck driver. But he was driving interference for the truck carrying the beer in the movie. The truck driver was the Snowman, played to the hilt by Jerry Reed. It's a small, immaterial and amusing misstep.

A more serious concern is the lack of an index. That's annoying in a book like this because you can't easily access details. Even a rudimentary index would be better than nothing. This may not have been Busse's decision; it's quite possible that the penny pinching publisher didn't want the extra pages. Perhaps some of the non-historical photos could have been dispensed with. Very shoddy.

In the end, this is pretty good book. Busse does a nice job detailing Southern Oregon's beer past. There's enough detail, in terms of names, dates and places, to make your head spin. In a good way. I think the book will have strong appeal with anyone interested in Southern Oregon history. I'm not so sure about beer fans interested in the history of iconic beer cities. But who knows.

Finally, I should note that I don't know Phil Busse. I met and spoke to him briefly at a book launch event at Powell's last week. He's a longtime Oregon journalist who has extensive experience with alternative weeklies. He helped found the Rogue Valley Messenger in 2014. Other than the Powell's event, I don't know what plans he has to support the book release.

The Widmer Way: Boys Make Good

In an annals of Oregon brewing history, there are a few names that come instantly to mind. Henry Weinhard is automatic. He wasn't the first to brew here, but he was so significant that his legacy endured for more than a century. Arnold Blitz is another icon and a part of the Weinhard story. Then there's Kurt and Rob Widmer.

The Widmers were members of the group that launched the craft beer revolution in Oregon. They might well be the most successful of the founding brewers. It's a tough call only because the McMenamin's collection of properties is sprawling. Kurt and Rob Widmer built a beer brand that captured the imagination of mainstream craft fans in Oregon and beyond. None of the others managed that.

Jeff Alworth's new book, The Widmer Way: How Two Brothers Led Portland's Craft Beer Revolution, charts the Widmers' course from their relative youth to the conception and realization of their brewery to the partnership with Anheuser-Busch, Redhook and the formation of the Craft Brew Alliance.

I might have chosen a different title. The Widmers no more led the craft revolution here than did Bridgeport or Portland Brewing or McMenamins. Each of the founding breweries played a unique role. Widmer's key contribution was Hefeweizen, which set a standard in bars and popular restaurants, lending the craft movement an aura of status and credibility at a crucial moment.

Much of the story reported here is not new to me; I knew some of it thanks to my work on Portland Beer. But Jeff's book goes into much greater detail, which figures since Kurt and Rob are the main subjects. Their story is intriguing and instructive. Nothing came particularly easy for these guys. They meticulously built their business on hard work and remained true to that value long after they had achieved great success.

Putting together a craft brewery in the early 1980s was no easy task. The challenges were significant and are fairly well appreciated today. Jeff outlines issues the Widmer's faced as they assembled their brewery and began brewing. The makeshift system was a menagerie of pieces that weren't designed to function together. That meant brewing was arduous, requiring extensive time and labor. It meant jumping through a lot of hoops to get the job done.

Kurt and Rob were young, hardworking and dedicated to quality. Having started out as homebrewers, they put up with crappy ingredients and somehow managed to make decent beer. The initial batches of beer produced in their brewery were much better than their homebrew. But they sewered the first 10 brews, anyway, considering the beer not good enough to sell.

It's a pretty good guess that the Widmer dream would have failed had it not been for their father, Ray. Ray grew up on a farm and knew how to fix things and solve quirky problems, the kinds of problems you're apt to find in a cobbled-together brewery. He was retired by the time Kurt and Rob began working on their brewery. But Ray joined the fun and provided crucial assistance as the boys navigated numerous challenges.

A prime feature of the story is the cautious approach the Widmers took to everyday business. Once they landed on Hefeweizen as their flagship beer, orders poured in so fast they couldn't keep up. A small brewery at B Moloch's in downtown Portland provided brief respite. When they finally moved to Russell Street, they installed a 30-barrel brewery. Incredible. That brewery should have been at least twice as large...just one case of the thriftiness wired into the Widmer DNA.

The most fascinating part of the book involves how the partnership with Anheuser-Busch was formed in 1997. At the time, the Widmers needed to expand again, but were also looking for a partner that could help them reach a wider audience. They discovered they had a lot in common with August Busch III, then the CEO of Anheuser-Busch. The AB partnership evolved largely out of a shared set of values. The Widmers were widely criticized within the growing craft community at the time, but the partnership with AB was one of the smartest decisions they ever made. More than cash to finance expansion, they got access to the nationwide AB distribution network.

Out of the arrangement with AB (which purchased 27 percent of Widmer) eventually came the partnership with Redhook and formation of what became the Craft Brew Alliance in 2004,  as well as the decisive purchase of Kona in 2010. Jeff covers these developments nicely, but wisely avoids investigation of the modern CBA, which is run by sociopaths and only indirectly germane to the Widmer story. Small favors.

If there's a weakness here, it involves the circumstances under which the book was written. Kurt and Rob trusted Jeff to accurately tell their story and paid him to do so. The problem is that paid-for biographies often tend to be too friendly to their subjects. While he was writing the manuscript, Jeff asked me to read several chapters and provide comment. Knowing me to be an honest asshole, he figured I'd provide an honest assessment. I did.

How much of my advice he took is unclear. The flaws in this book are largely related to words here and there that might have been chosen differently. What those occasional words do is create a more friendly, pandering picture than is needed. You'll see what I mean. That approach explodes Aliens-style in the final chapter, the Legacy of Beer, which is full of loving anecdotes from friends and family, and way too syrupy. I would have dispensed with that chapter or toned it down.

Another shortcoming involves the photos, which are small and murky. The Widmer archive contains a lot of photos and it's unfortunate that they aren't handled better here. It's not clear who made the decision to present the photos in this way. Jeff didn't have access to them, so this isn't his doing. Either the publisher, the Ooligan Press, or the Widmers, who negotiated to have the manuscript printed, made the call on the photos. This isn't a disaster, just an opportunity lost.

Even with the noted flaws, I give this book very high marks. The occasional bits of pandering are offset by a story that is expertly written, illuminating and essential reading for fans of craft beer and Portland history. Hiring Jeff to write their story, similar to their decision to partner with Anheuser-Busch, was a wise move on the part of the Widmers.

The book is available through area bookstores and on Amazon. There's an audio version in the works, but I don't know when it will drop. I urge interested readers to purchase a copy at a local bookstore. Doing so won't help Jeff, who got his money up front. But it will help those retailers and let the publisher know that books like this do have an audience. For those who want to read the book without owning it, the Multnomah County Library has 21 copies that can be checked out.

For hardcore fans, Jeff has set a local launch event for Tuesday evening, April 2, at the former Widmer pub on Russell Street. He'll do an introduction, possibly a short reading, and Kurt Widmer will be on hand to talk. Rob is unavailable, apparently hiking the Pacific Crest Trail, which is perfectly appropriate. A list of related events can be found here.

You can indirectly support your local beer writer/author and historical inquiry in general by buying a copy of this book. Just do it.

Review: Barrel-Aged Stout and Selling Out

I first caught wind of Josh Noel's book months ago. It peaked my interest because I've followed the antics of Anheuser-Busch in craft beer space for many years. You know this if you stop by here occasionally. I preordered the book on Amazon and it arrived just prior to last week's trip to Kauai. Perfect timing.

The book is not yet in full release. That evidently happens on June 1. It looks like Amazon is still handling it as a preorder, though, as I say, the copy I ordered months ago arrived in my mailbox about two weeks ago. Whatever.

First, I don't know Josh Noel and was not interviewed for his book. One of my blog posts from several years ago is referenced, but that's it. My friend, Jeff Alworth, received an advance copy a while ago and told me it was great reading. He was right, a rarity. (I kid.) Read Jeff's review here.

Noel, who writes about beer and travel for the Chicago Tribune, interviewed seemingly hundreds of people and consulted a pile of print, electronic and related sources while prepping for the book. As with all such projects, the research likely took significantly longer than the actual writing. Situation normal.

I don't want to give too much of the book away. Please support the author by purchasing a copy. The tale is essentially divided into two parts. Most of the first half of the book focuses on how John and Greg Hall (father and son) built Goose Island Brewing into a highly respected craft brand. The second half covers the aftermath of Goose Island's sale to Anheuser-Busch in 2011.

It's clear early on that John and Greg Hall are polar opposites. John is the steady, conservative hand steering the company; Greg is the wildly creative, undisciplined and unstable force who invented a great line of beers, including Bourbon County Stout, a beer that transformed the way we think about barrel beer in this country.

By 2010 or so, Goose Island was at a crossroads. It simply could not keep up with the demand for its mainstream beers, while also maintaining production of its high end specialty beers. They needed money in some form to expand. John Hall, 45 when he launched the brewery, was nearly 70. Thinking about the next 10 or 20 years wasn't in the cards.

There was no succession plan at Goose Island. While many employees and outsiders assumed Greg Hall would eventually take control of the company, that was not the plan. Some will consider Greg to be the tragic figure in this story. In fact, it's fairly clear that he was was not suited by temperament to run the company. He was strictly a creative guy.

The result of that reality is that John Hall elected to sell a controlling share in Goose Island to Anheuser-Busch. Portland-based Craft Brew Alliance, which owned a 42 percent share in Goose, eventually sold its share for $16 million in cash, plus reduced distribution fees worth millions more (the CBA was a third owned by AB at the time).

In the wake of the buyout, Noel shifts to covering multiple facets of what transpired. The Brazilians running Anheuser-Busch (absorbed by InBev prior to the Goose Island deal) had no idea how to operate a craft brewery. They bullied employees, bungled marketing tactics and generally mangled the Goose Island brand.

But Goose Island served as a sort of test case. As Anheuser-Busch bought more craft breweries, its experience at Goose was significant. The cautionary tale for craft beer fans is that the Brazilians have been good learners. They've modified and refined their approach with the acquired brands. To a significant extent, they actually know what they're doing now.

It seems to me that Noel's views on big beer vs craft are readily apparent. But you'll have to read the book and judge for yourself. If you care about the beer industry and the future of craft beer, you'll enjoy this book. Please buy of copy at your local independent bookstore or online, if you must. It's well-worth the investment.

One area where Noel jumps the track along the way is in describing Portland's early craft beer history:

By 1984 the city of fewer than four hundred thousand was home to a handful of breweries, including what would briefly become three of the nation's ten largest: Portland Brewing Co., Full Sail Brewing Co., and Widmer Brothers Brewing. Widmer, in particular, generated buzz with its odd choice of a flagship: hefeweizen...

Actually, Portland had only one operational brewery at the end of 1984. That was Bridgeport Brewing, known at the time as Columbia River Brewing. Portland Brewing didn't open until March 1986. Full Sail (originally Hood River Brewing) didn't open until 1987, and not in Portland; Widmer was prepping to open in 1984 and eventually did in April 1985. But Hefeweizen was not the Widmer Brothers intended flagship. That honor belonged to Altbier, which proved to be a hard sell. Hefeweizen became the Widmer flagship largely by accident a year or two after they officially opened.

Regardless of that misstep, Noel has put together an excellent book that will be of interest to craft beer fans and industry observers. I regard it as essential reading.

Jon Abernathy's 'Bend Beer' Earns Two Thumbs Up

Bend Beer: A History of Brewing in Central Oregon by Jon Abernathy
Foreword by Gary Fish
The History Press/American Palate, 171 pages
$20

Bend, Oregon is widely recognized as one of the top beer cities in the country. In fact, articles published in the national media have routinely referred to it in recent times as Beer Town USA. That's based largely on the number of breweries per capita and the quality of the beer.

Jon Abernathy's new book traces the transition of Bend (and Central Oregon) from frontier homesteading to the timber boom era to recreation, tourism and, finally, beer. It's a long and winding road, with a number of fascinating stopovers along the way.

The first thing you realize is that Bend's history does not parallel that of Portland, Oregon's largest city and the place where craft beer in the state was born. Henry Weinhard Brewing had a dominant presence in Portland and the Northwest for more than a century. There was only a small brewing presence in Central Oregon until Deschutes Brewing was born in 1988. That's when Bend's beer trajectory starts to line up with Portland's.

Without many breweries to write about in the early period, Abernathy focuses mostly on the economic development of Central Oregon. The area possessed a tiny population of subsistence farmers and ranchers. Bend wasn't even incorporated until 1905, largely a result of the fact that the area was economically isolated. That changed in a big way with the arrival of the railroad in 1911, which opened to door to the timber era and dynamic growth.

Strangely enough, the coming of the railroad and the launch of the timber boom era coincided closely with state prohibition in 1916. Bend had been a haven for saloons and brothels from its early days and the temperance movement was greeted by many. But not all. One of the more fascinating stories from the prohibition period involves the role Central Oregon played in the manufacture of moonshine for the region. I won't give it away, other than to say the countryside "lit up at night."

Confiscated still

By the time Prohibition ended in 1933, Bend's economy was dominated by timber. Taverns and bars opened or reopened and the beer flowed. Bond Street, the eventual home to Deschutes Brewery and Public House, once again became a bustling strip. The area's beer experience during the period following Prohibition mirrored that of the country, as the national brands moved in.

The timber era began to decline by the late 1950s, gradually replaced by recreation and tourism. Mount Bachelor (known at Bachelor Butte until 1983) led the way as a magnet for visitors from outside the area and accounted for a growing financial footprint. As the onslaught of the national brands intensified during the post-World War II era, Central Oregon aligned with the rest of the state in supporting regional brands Olympia and Blitz-Weinhard.

Deschutes under construction. 1988.

Gary Fish was operating a restaurant in Utah and watching the craft movement expand in the mid-1980s. He looked at the brewpub model and saw something he liked. Northern California is where he wanted to establish a brewery, but high real estate prices and competition proved problematic. His parents, having visited Central Oregon, suggested he take a look at Bend.

Deschutes Brewery opened in June 1988, less than a year after Fish visited the area to check things out. Abernathy documents several interesting points here. First, there were others who had plans to open a brewery in Bend around this time. None succeeded. Second, Deschutes was not an instant success by any means. They were problems with employees, customers and infected beer. These were uncertain times.

Collection of Jubelale bottles

"You could shoot a gun off in here a lot of nights and nobody would notice," Fish is quoted as saying. Some nights he sent employees home and ran the place alone business was so slow. That's a hard concept to fathom today, given what Deschutes has become.

Most of the second half of the book deals with Bend after Deschutes. Abernathy rolls through the successes and growing pains at Deschutes and traces the history of breweries that came later: Silver Moon, Cascade Lakes, Bend Brewing, 10 Barrel, etc. The names and travels of countless brewers, many of whom passed through Deschutes and other places on their way to their own gigs, are tracked.

Bend Brewing

Because it happened after the book was published, Anheuser-Busch's purchase of 10 Barrel Brewing is not covered. That's probably just as well. Any future edition of this book will certainly address that deal and the not-so-friendly response to it. For now, interested folks will have to be satisfied with news reports and blog coverage.

As many who read this surely know, I wrote the history of Portland beer. The Bend book shares the same publisher and, as you can see, the same cookie cutter cover layout. I have never met Jon Abernathy, but we had several online conversations regarding his project. Still, no one told me I had to like his book or recommend it. Bend's story is really quite different than Portland's for reasons that are readily apparent as you read the book.

At the end of the day, some of the most interesting history is local history. For it is local history that traces the development of communities and people most clearly. Jon Abernathy does a fine job laying out and explaining the forces that shaped the transformation of Bend and Central Oregon from frontier to modern times. The brewing part of that history happens to be most prominent after 1988. Still, there is great history here.

This book will be of interest to residents, non-residents and tourists who want to know how Bend and Central Oregon became what it is today. The hoards that travel the Bend Ale Trail annually will find plenty to like here. The story is well-researched, well-constructed and expertly written. And it will occupy a seminal place in the literature of this area for years to come.

Jon has launched a series of events in support of the book. Some have already taken place and I assume they have gone well. Here in Portland, he will appear at Powell's Books on Burnside on Friday, Dec. 5.  He will partner with Brian Yaeger, whose book, Oregon Breweries, comes out next week. Both books have Facebook pages and websites with more info. I urge interested folks to learn more.

Never Mind The Bollocks: It's Craft Beer!

There is a certain snobby aura that has shrouded craft beer in recent times. It was not much in evidence in the early days. I believe it descended around the time beer turned into a cultural phenomenon, as opposed to something people simply consumed for enjoyment or as part of some activity. The exact timing is, as they say, a little sketchy.

It's true, you know. Once upon a time people mostly drank beer just for fun. There's still some of that today, but beer has moved on to the point where it is now a self-fulfilling, self-contained activity. People drink beer to drink beer. And an entire industry has grown up around that basic ideal.

Where it gets a little messy (and snobby) is in the blind assumptions a lot of us tend to make about craft beer. We may well have reached the point where we take beer too seriously. Could it be possible?

For anyone looking for consider the possibility that we've gone too far, a good place to start is the recent book: The Unbearable Nonsense of Craft Beer: A Rant in Nine Acts. Fair warning: You may not want to read this book if you think craft beer is a panacea. It beats up many common notions.

Unbearable Nonsense is the mind-meld of Max Bahnson (author of the blog, Pivni Filosef-Beer Philosopher) and Alan McLeod (author of A Good Beer Blog). The book appeared in digital form about a month ago and was subsequently released in paperback. You can find it on Amazon and (I assume) other online outlets. I doubt you'll find it at Powell's or at the library. Maybe someday.

This book is exactly what it says it is: a rant. The authors wind their way through a series of sometimes wacky settings (time and space are manipulated with impunity) while taking shots at many of the assumptions craft beer fans hold near and dear to their hearts. I'll get to some of those shots momentarily.

First, the bad news. These gents evidently did not feel the need to proof or edit what they wrote...or have someone do a cursory copy edit. This book, and I'm referring to the digital version because that's the one I read, needed an editor. Badly. It is riddled with typos and related errors. That's unfortunate. The book should not have been released like this. Oh well.

A few juicy tidbits from the book follow...remember, these guys hammer away at some of the most closely-held assumptions in craft beer. Nothing is sacred.

On style...Some time after [Michael] Jackson came out with the concept of styles as we understand them today, the creature started to grow uncontrollably. An [sic] dumb beast fed by many different hands but mastered by none.

On beer tasting...You haven't truly appreciated a beer until someone tells you how beer is made, what's the right temperature to drink it and the right sort of glass to drink it. If you believe that, you have been living a lie. Arseholes! They are just profiteering on the assumed ignorance and lack of confidence of the average person.

On specialty beers...People believe that big, loud beers are technically more difficult to make. And I'm not speaking about people with no technical knowledge. I have argued about it with advanced homebrewers. The commercial brewer, as natural, is happy to keep that illusion going.

On pricing...What the discourse is telling us is that those extreme, experimental, weird, gimmicky beers are riskier, require more skill to make, which justifies the higher prices you will likely have to pay for them.

On historic brewing...There is an almost retarded romanticization of pre-industrial beermaking. That not only is brainless but also loaded with hypocrisy...We've somehow been led to believe that industrial is bad. That beers in the past were purer, more honest, made with love and care. When the truth is...that more often than not, they were rubbish.

On profit...We must be more responsible as consumers, more cynical towards [sic] the people who want our money. The more we see though their bollocks and call them out for over pricing, over complicating and over branding, the more seriously they will have to take us and treat us with respect.

On blogging and social media...And it didn't occur to you for a split of an effing second that [breweries] might be saying all that bollocks so you would identify with their brand, provide free labour and spread your mindless word of mouth through social media buzz? Could it be that hop bombs impair people's capacity for rational and healthy cynical thinking?

On beer...there are still way too many people taking beer too seriously. It's as if some of them have forgotten that drinking beer is supposed to be fun and not a matter of study and careful preparation - and one upsmanship. 

On glassware...You know what the best glass for drinking a beer, any beer, is? The cleanest one you have nearby.

Max and Alan could have gone a better job of making their story palatable. It's quite funny in places, but the authors sometimes get bogged down in details that are peripheral to their narrative. A good editor likely would have cut this thing down and tightened it up. Of course, there was no editor. A shame.

Regardless of those issues, this is a book beer fans should read. It pulls no punches. Hardcore craft beer fans will probably be offended by a lot of what's here. Maybe that's a good thing. No, it's definitely a good thing. There's a gigantic bubble of snobby foam around craft beer that needs to be poked.