A Story of a Man and His Beer

The Esslinger Days

I’ve heard the story about my father working at a brewery while he was in college many times growing up. I’ve been hearing it a lot more these days.

Storytime mostly happens around the dinner table—as it should—after we eat. It has been going on that way for as long as I can remember. And, undoubtedly, the reason why I got into pursuing a career in journalism and creative writing. My whole family is full of storytellers. But I’m the only one who apparently ever chose to write it down. At least publicly. I wouldn't be surprised to find a journal or two, possibly a diary, lying around in the desk drawers of my siblings.  As the baby of the family, I was—and still am at most get-togethers—the last in line to tell a story.

The start of Esslingers began with George Esslinger in Philadelphia in 1868. Success was short lived as the company was forced to close during Prohibition but bounced back after the repeal by being the first brewery in Philly to can beers. I’ll save the quiz cans story for another day because the pursuit of trivia is another important part of the Barbera family lore.

Anyway, my pops was attending college at Villanova—the first in his family to do so—and needed a job for the summer. This is where Uncle Tom came into the picture. Uncle Tom got him the job at the brewery. But he had to work the line checking to make sure bottles were properly filled. Visions of Laverne & Shirley pop into my head. “Halfsies,” as he referred to them, were pulled from the line and placed into a case and then sold at a cheaper price. Some fellow employees would “abscond”  with said cases and sell ‘em on the cheap to their buddies in the neighborhood. By all intents and purposes, it was a boring and tedious job full of quirky coworkers and oddball characters. 

But apparently the ride home on the L was made even more interesting than his 4-to-midnight shift. A young buck at 19-years-old, he boarded the train smelling like stale, cheap beer and got stink eye from the other passengers. “They thought I was a drunk hobo or something.” And even though he could have a shift beer he rarely did, and to this day he has stuck to a steady diet of wine in lieu of beer.  

After a couple of summers at Esslingers, he moved on to Schmidt’s, which was another staple of brewing in Philly. The money was good, he said, but the stories weren’t as long and less colorful. When I first started drinking beer I took to some Schmidt’s out of honor and respect to the old man but then I quickly realized why he was a wine guy because this beer tasted like ass and was a far cry from the IPAs I would drink later in life.

There’s no doubt those supper stories would lead me into the craft beer industry where I spent many years as a magazine editor and writer surrounding myself in the history, science and trends of it all.  

What’s your father’s go-to story?

Cheers, mates.