To Be The Man You Gotta Beat The Man

Well I have done all sorts of blogs so I felt I should venture in a completely new direction. My last blog was sort of "deep and somber" so I felt I should be somewhat more light-hearted with this one.

I am sure that most readers of this blog are not rassling fans. You don't need to be, but respect me even if I do enjoy watching it. There are so many "reality shows on television today. We tend to forget that T.V. show for decades were fantasy.

Now people say Professional Wrestling is fake. Well I ask you to define fake. Watch these vids and try to tell me what is fake about them or the tears on your cheek.

Ric Flair is a true entertainer. Like him or not, he perfected his craft to level never achieved by anyone else. The videos shown below were taken about a year ago. This was an event like no other. Never before have the heels and faces (good guys and bad guys) come out together as a group to praise an individual. Those hugs and tears were real not fake.

The managing and promotion of this "sport" should be included in every marketing and economic program in every college in our country. Think about it. They take the same product and sell it over and over and over again. They literally make billions of dollars doing it.


I took my oldest daughter to several matches. One time Ko Ko B. Ware entered the auditorium and as he walked towards the ring, he stopped and gave her a hug. As he walked towards his match he exclaimed "Have Mercy". Just as Ric Flair was inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame last year, Ko Ko B. Ware will be inducted this year.


Finally I ask. Is it fantasy or reality TV ?
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Wooooooooo !!!



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The Third

The Rest of The Story

I am departing from my usual pile of written muck and rabble.
I guess I have reached that age or at least close to it, where I can be both reflective and introspective. My children are all grown and do not need me to hold their hands to cross the street or comfort them when they have a bad day. I realize that most of my wife's family has this weird opinion of me. And frankly I think I reciprocate the feelings. My co workers do not take the time to respect me for what I do since they are for the most part too busy covering their own back sides or worrying that someone is out to screw them. In a way this makes me a perfect candidate to write a this silly diatribe.


So here goes.........


In February 1992 we had moved back to Texas from California. I had worked there for around 2 years. The Misses and I had been married for nearly 3 years. We were the parents of four daughters. The oldest was 13 and the youngest had just turned 2. The other two were 6 and 8 respectively. We sat down one night and discussed many things. One of the things was that we discussed was that we were going to start to go to church again. That would entail having my three youngest baptized and placed in religious education classes. It would mean that the Mrs. Third and I would have to have our "former marriages" annulled and have our marriage "blessed" and recognized in the Catholic Church. This was a long drawn out process. We started immediately and on February 10 1996, we actually were married in the Catholic Church. In those four years, the wife and I got very involved with many activities within our new Parish family. We met many people who would make lasting impressions on both of our lives. I guess the first one who comes to mind is Kelly. She had been the chairperson of the Church's annual bazaar for many years. She convinced me to get involved with the bazaar. She drank like a fish, smoked 2-3 packs of cigarettes a day and cussed like a sailor. She was awesome. The stained class picture shown here is located in the "old" church which now serves as a parish hall. Most who see it have no idea where it came from. Kelly made it after learning that she had lung cancer 1994. She died only 3 months later. I played mandolin and sang at her funeral. Will the Circle be Unbroken was the last song we played as they carried her casket out of the church. I wore a white shirt and tie but underneath I wore a tee shirt with an Irish Flag on the front of it. Kelly would have been proud. Damn, it is hard singing and crying at the same time.

The wife spent countless hours as a volunteer under the tutelage of Bill and Ruth, on Thursday nights with the weekly church bingo. She also got involved with the annual church bizarre and she and I began attending Adult Religious Education classes. My oldest daughter (who lived with the first Mrs The Third) came down and stayed with us in the summers. She got involved with the youth group and played softball every Sunday afternoon with them. There was a boy named Patrick who she became good friends with. My other girls where enamored with Patrick as well. A few months later I would have to call my oldest at 11:00 PM and inform her that that sweet boy had died in an auto accident. I joined the Knights of Columbus. Later I began teaching religious education. I became a "sacristan" and worked or served on several committees including the Stewardship Committee and the Parish Council. After a few years I became the chairperson of the bazaar ( for 2 years). That was an ordeal and joy all in one package. During the two years I chaired the bazaar, we tripled the amount of money we made each year. (from approximately $20,000 to nearly $ 70,000.00) I increased the beer sales from 1 keg to 19 kegs. I believed that if you got a bunch of protestants beered up at a Catholic bazaar you are gonna make money. I was right. Since at the time, I had three teenage daughters in the parish's youth program, I immersed myself in the youth program. I was a popular religious education instructor (catchiest). I was a Confirmation Instructor, and I was a Youth retreat leader. During that time I was either appointed or elected to positions of leadership within my KofC council. I quickly gleaned that my brother knights had and were raising a shit pile of money and no real place to spend it. I used my power of gab and persuasion to pry thousands of dollars from the coffers of my council to be spent on the youth of our parish. I convinced them to spend over $ 1,300.00 on materials that were used by the High School Youth group to make rosaries. Each of over 900 made were given to every child enrolled at our parish school and enrolled in religious education. I convinced the council to spend nearly $ 3,000.00 on a sound system that was primarily used by the Youth Group. I proposed a college scholarship fund (memorializing a deceased member of our council) which today provides an annual stipend to several of the youth of our parish for college education. I sang in the choir. Hell for nearly four years, I along with 4 other persons, were the music (Folk Mass) for the 7:30 AM Sunday Mass. I also sang in the Christmas and Easter choirs. In other words I was involved. I eventually became the Grand Knight of my council and then for three years I served as a trustee of the council.

I'm not going to explain anything about who and what the Knights of Columbus is or are. But you may not know that the Knights sponsor a youth organization known as the Columbian Squires. Our council had created a Squire Circle back in 1998. I supported this organization. Because a lot of it's members were students I either had taught or were friends of my daughters, I was involved by osmosis. I supported it's adult sponsor (Chief Counselor) and encouraged him to feel free to ask his brother knights for anything he felt his circle needed. For a few years Richard did very good. He had established a very good relationship with his squires. Although I was not very involved with the circle, I could tell that they sort of existed and had no real direction. In effect, they were an extension (a male one) of the youth group.
One of the better fund raisers that our council participated in was working in a "beer booth" at a local festival. (Texas Crawfish Festival) Members of our council "manned" a booth for two consecutive weekends. We received five cents for every beer sold. We usually made nearly $ 2,000.00 per year. One Friday night I arrived to find only two of my brother knights in the booth. We were supposed to have at least nine people. Our booth was the closest one to the Texas Music Stage and the singer that night was some guy named Pat Green. I had never heard of him but it became pretty clear that a lot of people there had. From 6:00 PM until 12:00 AM, our booth sold over $ 20,000.00 in beer sales. That's pushing seven thousand beers. WE WERE SLAMMED!!! That Green fellow was pretty damn good too. The next year I asked the Squires if they wanted to assist the knights working in the booth. Of course since the squires were all under 18 years old, they could not handle alcohol or be inside the actual booth. But they did show up and helped with the ice and soft drinks. A few years later I promoted that the knights assist the Squires in selling hot dogs and sausage on a stick at a street festival in our home town. Our council was asked to provide food and refreshments at a local Special Olympics event. Once again I invited the Squires to attend. At that event I experienced an epiphany.
I have never seen a group of people more appreciative than the childen in the event and their families. I looked into the Special Olympics. I learned that from it's very inception, the Knights of Columbus have been involved. I have done volunteer work before but this was a joy.


After over ten years of being actively involved in numerous parish activities and organizations I began to feel a call to something more. I spent hours and hours of contemplation and prayer. I discussed things with my wife and close friends. I then met with our pastor and upon all of those things, I applied to the diocese to be considered to be allowed to attend a four year training at the local seminary in order to become an ordained Deacon. This was something that I did not venture into lightly. I submitted my application and several persons within my Parish (including our Pastor) wrote glowing letters of recommendation on my behalf. I was among approximately 600 men who had applied throughout our diocese. After a few months and a few interviews, the list was dwindled down to around a hundred when I had my final interview. I knew as I got into my car to leave, that I had done poorly. I called my good friend Garry (also from my parish and also a candidate for the Deaconate) We talked for a long time but I told him I was convinced I would not be selected. He offered words of encouragement but I knew. A few week later I contacted the person who interviewed me and I explained that I realized only a few persons would be selected. I also realized that they probably would not choose two persons from the same parish. I asked that if they had to decide between Garry or me that I hoped and prayed they would choose Garry. They did. I am not certain I would have been picked anyway since I felt I blew the interview. It's Deacon Garry now. Every time I time I read, say, or hear those words (Deacon Garry)I well up in pride and happiness for him. My path was not to be a Deacon. As time passed and events and circumstances happened in my life, I am confident I could not have stayed in the program for 4 years. They had made the right decision.

A few months later another friend of mine joked that since I was soon to no longer be an officer of the Knights, that I should consider being the new adult counselor of the local Columbian Squire Circle. I laughed it off. I am an Eagle Scout and I have 4 daughters and no sons. If I were to have had a son I would have been first in line to be the Chief Counselor. But Glenn persisted over the next few weeks. Your serious I asked him. Hell yes I am he replied. The original counselor had let the Squire Circle "go to seed". He had gotten married and most of the squires that he started with had reached the age of 18 and were no longer eligible to be a Squire. His book keeping was a mess. They were all but finished. Frankly I was pissed that so many of the fathers of the squires did not step up and help out. I decided that I would accept the position but my secret goal was to quickly put an end of the Circle. I was going to let the Circle die right in front of my brother knights and then I was going to chastise them for letting it happen. I admit my years of volunteer service had made me way too cynical.

In May of that year, after about a month in a Children' s hospital, a little 8 year old girl died of pneumonia. Rachel,was a Down's Syndrome child. Rick, her father and a member of our KofC council was a good friend of mine. I had taught Rachel's older brother and sister in religious education. The little girl can only be describe as precocious. Her personality would brighten the darkest day. At every church event (social) you could always see Rachel joyfully playing and frolicking with everyone or anyone she could find. Her passing was a huge loss to many of us. Her parents were devastated. I was asked to lead the choir to sing at her funeral. Have you ever tried to sing when all you could do is cry? There are no words to describe the grief. The church was so crowded. That little girl had touched so many lives.

So here I was, the new Chief Counselor of Squire Circle 4518. We met at a local park and I told each of the remaining members of the circle to make sure and bring his dad. Most did. I was pretty blunt with them and I explained that I was pretty contented to letting their circle end. But dammit, they just would not quit. We want to do something. We can raise money. Why I asked, you don't have any bills. Then we can give it away Marcus quipped. So my plan failed. The very next day I got a phone call from the woman name Charleen. She worded (works) for the Arch Diocese. She asked me if my squires would be interested in participating in serving meals to some people at an up coming retreat at a nearby retreat center. The retreat was for persons with special needs and their families. I told her yes and I began to call around for some of the squires to participate. I called the soon to be Deacon Garry and his wife. I called my guitar playing friend Mike as well. I call the squires. I was feeling pretty good about myself and how we were going to get to participate with such a worthwhile venture. Then it was if the hand of God touched me, ( As I tell my next door neighbor, a part Church of God in Christ preacher, I was struck down like Saul on the road to Damascus.)I picked up my phone and called Rick. I had not spoken to him in over 4 months since his daughter died. I explained that I had been asked to serve lunch a week from the following Saturday. I asked him if he or his wife may want to participate. There was a long silence and then he replied. Hell no... We want to serve a meal all by ourselves. What is this Charleen's number? I know I am rambling (sorry Jennifer) but lets just say that the event was truly life altering. The squires and their dads and Garry, his wife Mary and their daughter Mandy prepared and served the food while my friend Mike and I played guitars and sang. There must have been 50 -60 kids and their parents dancing and singing along as we played silly songs. I have played in many bands before but this was the best audience I had ever played in front of. Do you know hard it is to sing with tears in your eyes? Everyone of them looked like that little 8 year old girl.

I spoke to Rick a few days later and I asked him how his "deal" went. He was so excited and so grateful that I had called him. Another month passed and I was doing some street corner begging for the KofC. Actually we where collecting contributions for an annual fundraiser for Deaf Children. Rick was there and we had a chance to set and chat a while. It had been about 6 months and I asked how he and his family was doing. I expected him to say "oh we are getting by" or something like that. Instead he told me that his life was like being in hell. He was truly a grieving father. The way he described it sent chills into me. I am not sure what made me reply to Rick but when he said she was gone for good, I looked at him and said. Are you crazy? She is not gone. She lives on in each of us. That conversation really got under my skin.

The boys were doing ok. We had a few meetings and I was beginning to think that there still was little hope for them. I was working at a job that required me to spend a lot of time in my car. It was a windy cold gray January day. I was driving home. For some reason the words of my friend Rick "It's like I am in hell" and the young squire Marcus, " we can give the money away" began to play over and over in my head. Within a few minutes that hand of God once again rested on my shoulder. Ok, this time it slammed on my shoulder. ( As I tell my next door neighbor, a part Church of God in Christ preacher, I was struck down like Saul on the road to Damascus.)I was on the phone to Charleen with the Diocese Office. "Hey what do you think about the Columbian Squires of St. Anne having a fund raiser and giving the money to the Persons with Disabilities. We can call the fund we create the "Rachel Jauma Memorial Fund" My heart was racing and I am not sure that she even understood what I was saying. But she did. She said I would have to contact the Jaumas but if they said ok, she thought it was an amazing idea. I told her I would be calling her back when I learned anything. I called the Jaumas and got an answering machine. I babbled my idea and all I actually remember saying is "call me back". After I got home and settled down a bit. My phone rang and it was Eugenia , Rick's wife and Rachel's mother. At first I barely could understand her. but what I did hear was that they were 100% in favor of the idea and wanted to know what they could do to help. Later that evening Rick called and we both cried on the phone as we discussed the idea.


On March, 8, 2003, the Columbian Squires held the first annual Gumbo Karaoke. Last night March 7, 2009 the seventh annual Gumbo Karaoke was held. They made nearly $ 2,000.00 All of the proceeds are going to the Rachel Jamua Memorial Fund. Those Squires and the ones who have joined since, have collected over $ 10,000.00 dollars and given 100% of it to charity. Of the seven events that they have held, they have been honored to have a Bishop and a soon to be Cardinal attend on two separate occasions. In addition to their annual fund raiser, they have done other things to collect money for the fund. They have been volunteers in the annual retreat held for Persons with Disabilities. each year since the one I mentioned above.They have contributed more to charity than all of the other organizations at that parish combined. They are all under 18 years of age. Our council won "Best Youth Activity" for 2003 from the Knights of Columbus State of Texas Council. Our event ranked in the top ten nationally.
All in the name of a little eight year old child.


So, (yes I am getting near the end) I write this and add it to my litany of scribblings. I realize it has few little to do with beer (although I did mention beer on a couple of instances.) If you read on you shall know why I write about this at this time. I reflect on my eventful life and conclude that my participation with the Rachel Jauma Memorial Fund has been one of my proudest accomplishments. Yes, the event and the fund has brought some peace to the Jauma family. Yes ,the money raised has been and will be helpful. What I am proudest of is the life example made on over 40 young men who have worked towards a goal and accomplished it . They asked for no approval or any accolades. They truly gave of themselves. Those young men will grow up to be men who will do the same. That makes our world a better place.
The Columbian Squires' motto is Estos Dignus. When translated it is Be Worthy.. Trust me, they are.


So, why is there a picture of a postage stamp at the beginning of this blog? Well recently Paul Harvey died. So in a way this has been my homage to him. ... The picture is of Bronislaw "Bronko" Nagurski. He is a charter member of the College Football Hall of Fame. He was one of the Monsters of the Midway. He is a charter member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame. The Nagurski Award is given to the top collegiate defensive player of the year. He is only person to be named all pro in the NFL at three different positions . . .

His daughter is Eugenia Jauma I have mentioned above and... yes he is the grandfather of Rachel Eileen Jauma.


"So now you know the rest of the story."


March 6 was her birthday


Happy Birthday Rachel

The Third

Fried "Okrey"

A lot of people think that Louisiana is a "back woods" state. Those people have no clue. I grew up in North Louisiana and it is very different than the southern part of the state. I am a proud "YCA". In fact, it is different in many ways. In 1958 my dad was promoted to a different job. He was a right of way representative. His job required that he travel and stay in areas (mostly South Louisiana) of which new natural gas pipelines were going to be built. As a result he would leave my mother brother and me on Sunday afternoons and return on Friday evenings Depending where he was assigned, he would drive or we would drop him and pick him up at the airport in Shreveport, La. We would join Daddy in the summer months but other than that, my mother, brother and I went to live with my mother's mother, Maw Maw Boone (pronounced Mao Maul Boone) in the "country". Her house was located about 3 miles down on a gravel road (Haire Loop) that was accessible only after driving down a narrow 22 mile asphalt road. It was the house that my mother was actually born in. It was an amazing place to live. We were on 198 acres of rolling hills, part of Dolet Hills (pronounced dole lay heels) full of lop lolly pines and hardwood. Our nearest neighbors, the Haires, were over 2 miles away. My aunt Mable and Uncle Claude's house (the one that blew up) was even further away. In fact they were actually located on the banks of Stink Finger Creek and were in another parish. I was the first person the school bus driver would pick up each day and the last he dropped off. My daily ride to Pelican School was over 20 miles. In front of my Maw Maw's (Augusta Victoria Boone) house was a huge Sweet Gum tree that I used to ride for miles and miles around on my Western Flyer. The house had a wrap around porch and I spent many days swinging in the swing that was located there. On the side of the house and not too far from the kitchen was a large red bud tree that I used to climb in. I would set there for hours inside the tree and read books and daydream. My cousin Jerry (Dravis Gerald), aunt Mable's youngest would come and visit and we would play "pitch" (a side note about my cousin Jerry. The original screenplay of the movie The Competition starring Richard Dreyfuss and Amy Irving was written about him.).It was from the thousands of hours of "pitch" that I would develop my skill in baseball. Those skills (unfortunately not batting) would later give me a chance to play "college ball".

I would catch the school bus early in the morning and usually my grandmother would be up and outside shooting armadillos. It seems we had a lot them on the "place". My mother's only brother Calvin had about 40 head of cattle grazing on the property. Armadillos tended to "root" hole in the ground and the cows seemed to step in them and break their legs. That was not a good thing. So each day Maw Maw Boone would take her Sears and Roebuck single shot 22 caliber long rifle and shoot the bastards. She showed me how to shoot them and by the time I was 9 years old I was killing more than she was each morning. I was using open sites and hitting them in the head ( only way to guarantee a kill) at over 50 yards. We would set outside drinking coffee (yes I was drinking Community Coffee when I was 8) shooting varmints while waiting for my school bus. We had in door plumbing but if you wanted a shower, you could stand outside underneath the water cistern. We had a phone, a party line, and twice a year a huge "loom" would be set up in our living room so more quilts could be made. I sure wish I still had some of Maw Maw Boone's quilts. My grandmother dipped Garret Scotch Snuff. there were spit cans in every room and all of our drink ware were Garret Snuff tumblers.

Like I said I rode the bus every day for over 20 miles. the school bus driver (Mr. Gregory) was the very same one who used to pick up my mother and drive her to the very same school I was attending. Odessa was the valedictorian of her class. Then again, there were only 6 people in her class. I recall one day as we were riding home, some of the older boys (of which half of them I was somehow related) showed me how to "shoot the finger". I remembered how it really began to snow. A real blizzard (at least on Louisiana standards). One of my cousins had a small transistor radio and the song Mack the Knife was playing. To this day every time I see it snowing I think of that song.

My Uncle Calvin would come by every Wednesday night and regardless of what we were watching on TV he would come in and change the channel to "Have Gun Will Travel" . He loved the show. I think probably because the star of the show and he had the same last name.

Years later after we moved on and my grandmother no longer lived in the house year round. An arsonist set the house on fire and all of the artifacts (along with the portraits of four of my great grand parents) in the house were lost forever. Upon hearing the news of the burning of the old place I saw my mother cry harder than ever before. On a hot June afternoon in 1980 in front of what was the old home place I would see my mother's face for the last time.

Memories of that place are very vivid. I was just a young kid but jeez the food was so very good. It was mostly homegrown. The chickens had no hormones in them. Hell it was all organic well before organic was hip. Guy Clarke was right when he penned "... the only two things that money can't buy is true love and home grown tomatoes.". Hot water corn bread split in half and covered with the pot liquor of a pot of pinto beans or collard greens. Damn that is so good. But my favorite was fried okrey. (okra). My mother would have to actually have to count out how many pieces of okra there were and divide them exactly between my brother and me or there would be a fight. It is very rare that I find okra fried the way my mother and grandmother did....

So there we were on such a gorgeous Austin day. We were are at a BBQ joint but for some strange reason I ordered a large basket of fried okra. and a sampler of the beers brewed at Uncle Billy's Brew and Cue. Mrs.The Third had asked me earlier that day why we were going to so many different places. I guess she was not yet hip to the concept of pub crawls. I told her that I was hoping to fine a "jewel". Oh well, the okra was soggy and cold....but the beer ...HOLY SHIT!!!! It was so damn good. Those guys have got it going on. I begin to "bubble. Our waitress informed us she was from Silverton, Colorado. It did not take long to realize she knew something about beer. We learned she was a piano player in a local "Indie Band". I learned that the brewer had years of experience and upon reading some of the propaganda provided I gleaned that he was just short of brewer royalty. All six samples were amazing. The Stout/Porter was probably just very good but the other five were off the hook. The Pale Ale Hell In Keller was as good as anything I have every drank before. I wanted to stay longer and have a few more beers but I was determined to continue the pub crawl.
Our next stop was the Dog and Duck Pub. According to the internet, this was the place to go. I was not all that impressed. We sat outside on one of the picnic tables and gazed at the Austin skyline. I drank a (512) Pecan Porter. It is a beer brewed locally. It was good. Not great but I would surely drink more of them. From there we traveled to the Draught House. The bride and I had driven by this place before. For some reason I was intimidated and we never went inside. Unlike most of the pubs in Austin, they only opened after 3:00PM. This would be the last place we would try on this crawl. I had been disapointed earlier that the Flying Saucier did not have # 9 but I had heard rumors that the Draught House did. Well they did not have the Magic Hat brew either but they did have a large selection to choose from. I was like a kid in a candy store and I thought I should order a local brew from Live Oak, (512), or Independence. It was sort of funny. They opened the doors at 3 and we walked in and formed a line to order beer. The line extended outside the front door. When it was my turn to order I order a Drifter from Widmer. Damn it was really a good beer. Widmer makes good beer. Not a local Austin beer but a local Portland one. Either way I think I made the right choice. The Mrs. The Third was acting as the designated driver even though she did drink one beer at the Draught House. As we sat outside we talked about the first time we had driven by this pub. I told her I did not feel I had been worthy to go to such a famous beer pub. But now that I am an accomplished beer blogger and a connoisseur of beer or a beer aficionado (as my co workers call me) I felt that I was indeed worthy. Yes my ego is begging to run rampant.
After I finished my Drifter and after I realized I would not have to be driving home, I purchased one of the beers that was actually brewed there on the premises. What a treat. I did not realize they were a brew pub as well. I asked for a hoppy beer. Well they gave me one. If you look close at the pic I took you will see actual particles of hops. Well I think they could have filtered them out and that was over kill. But I admit the beer was good. Damn good. Ok, I am am coming out of the keg closet and admit I like hoppy beers.



Oh yeah for The Jim....how is this ?

Read beer blogs daily
They will rouse your very soul
And quench your thirst too




The Third

Nate or Nathan ?

A few years ago I worked for a little over a week near St. Louis, Mo. I really enjoyed visiting the Gateway Arch, Grant's Farm and the Anheuser Busch Brewery. Most beer geeks will readily tell you that Budweiser beer taste like shit and all sort of other insults. The facts speak for themselves. Bud is the Number One selling beer in the frigging world. The Number Two selling beer is Bud Light. So lets agree that those guys are doing something right. The first stop on the tour is the pristine barns of the official horses of Budweiser. While visiting the St. Louis Brewery (no not the Schafly one), the guide does a great job on the tour. He told us how the Clydesdale was bred in Scotland and was primarily a farming animal and not intended to be hitched to teams to pull ornamented wagons laden with beer. He went on to tell us how the original horses where gifts to one of the early founders of the brewery. But there is a subliminal message that prevails throughout the tour. "Make a good beverage that satisfies "across the line". Give it a German sounding name that can be shortened to an American nickname. Deliver it in a timely fashion to prevent spoilage and be consistent in quality. The name Bud was stolen from someone else. (The original Budweiser Bier or Budweiser Bürgerbräu, had been founded in 1785 in Budweis, Bohemia, Holy Roman Empire and had started exports to the US in 1871. In the U.S., Anheuser-Busch started using the Budweiser brand in 1876 and registered it two years later. In Budweis, a new company (now named Budvar) was established in 1895 by mainly Czech brewers, which also started exporting beer with the adjective Budweiser ("Budějovický" in Czech). This led to the Budweiser trademark dispute. Negotiations between the three companies, the two from the original town and the American Anheuser-Busch, about using "Budweiser" reached an agreement in 1911 that allowed Anheuser-Busch to use the brand "Budweiser" only in North America)




The names of beers fascinates me. Think about it, would you really want to drink moose drool? I have previously written that it is my dream to open my own brewery. Yes, I too have some names for some of the future beers I will brewing.
My youngest nephew, the son of my wife's youngest sister and her husband. (also my current bosses) name is Nathan. When he was born I think he was already about 23 years old. According to his proud parents he is the smartest kid in his class. He is reading books ordinarily read by 5th or 6th graders. I think he is in the 2nd or 3rd grade presently. (My oldest was reading on the level of an 11th grader in the 2nd grade and her mother and I have the test results to prove it.) I tend to call him Nate. Mrs The Third (his aunt) tells me he is not "cool" enough to be called Nate. I have to admit, he ain't exactly "cool". When he goes out to eat with his parents and the waiter or waitress asks him what he want to drink he replies, a root beer in a kids cup. He sounds so grown up. Personally Nate should be allowed to be a kid while he still is a kid. If and when I do have a brewery, I will brew root beer too. The name of the root beer will be Kid's Cup Root Beer. I might put a picture of him on the label (or one of his dad, hell they look like twins) It may help make Nathan more cool and people will begin to call him Nate. Come to think of it I think I call him Nate just to piss him and his parents off, just as people do when they call my oldest, Jenny.

When prohibition caused the cessation of brewing in American, Anheuser-Busch, brewed a beverage name Bevo. Living in Texas you may think that the name came from a local mascot. The picture shown here is of Bevo I. This steer was eventually slaughtered and barbecued and served to the athletes of Texas A & M and the University of Texas.. The hide actually resides today in the safe keeping of Texas A & M University. (Gig em Ags!)

Names of beers have crept into our vocabulary and our culture. People spend millions of dollars on beers simply because of brand identification. I worked with a guy a year ago who had a large tattoo of the Lone Star Beer logo on his right arm. H e used to tell us that Lone Star was the very best beer ever made and that Budwieser was probably the worst. I guess he would be shocked to know that the Lone Star Brewery was originaly started by and owned by none other than Augustus Busch!
There was a survey done a few years ago and the question was What company in America has the largest customer loyalty. Now you may think it is Budwieser or Miller or maybe even Coors . But you are wrong. think about it, if you are willing to permanently mark your body with an image, it must mean something to you, or at least make you look like a bad ass.

Pliny the Elder was a Roman naturalist, scholar, historian, traveler, officer, and writer. Although not considered his most important work, Pliny and his contemporaries created the botanical name for hops, "Lupus salictarius", meaning wolf among scrubs." Hops at that time grew wild among willows, much like a wolf in the forest. Later the current botanical name, Humulus lupulus, was adopted. Pliny died in 79 AD while observing the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. He was immortalized by his nephew, Pliny the Younger, who continued his uncle's legacy by documenting much of what he observed during the eruption of Mount Vesuvius.

So exactly where are you going with this blog number three? Well I am not sure. It is just that names of beers do indeed fascinate me. I recalled drinking a beer called Pliny the Elder once and I thought what a strange name it was. So I suppose ole Pliny should get credit for starting my musings here. If you have kept up with my posts and read one I wrote back in December 2008 (I am Waiting for My Real Life to Begin), you will recall that as I grew up, the top three beers in my circle were Bud, Schlitz and Miller. On New Year's Eve I purchased a twelve pack of Schlitz (in cans) for a total of $ 6.29. I tried to get one (just one) of my co workers to drink one. I offered free beer to over 25 persons and not one of them took me up on the offer. Actually the beer was not all that bad. Now Schlitz has really fallen since 1969 but who knows one day it may be on top again. The comment I got mostly was, "Schiltz gives me the shits". So in summary be careful what you name a beer it could backfire.



With just a kiss of the hops



The Third

Austin Texas pub Crawl, The First Act.

June 1964. My parents put me on a train in downtown Shreveport, Louisiana and I along with hundreds of other teen aged boys spent a few days in route to Valley Forge, Pa. and the National Jamboree. I may write more about this trip in future blurbs but the point of reference here is that prior to attending the Jamboree, we spent a few days in New York, New York. As a twelve year boy, I had my first 90 cent hamburger and first ginger ale. I discovered, much to my amazement, that the Statue of Liberty was actually green and not grey as I imagined it. We went to the top of the Empire State Building, United Nations, 1964 World's Fair and a double header with the Red Sox at Yankee Stadium. I heard the word "eclectic" for the first time. It was a word that I would have described "The Big Apple".

In my years of travel I have visited many other places, but few cities would be what I would refer to as eclectic. Portland, Oregon, ("the Micro Brew Capitol of the World") http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Portland,_Oregon But then again a city a mere 70 miles from where I live, is as well. Austin is sometimes referred to as "The Live Music Capitol of the World"
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Music_of_Austin I guess if you are a "Capitol" it qualifies you to be "eclectic" (at least on my list). I find no other city that I have visited to compare with Portland. with the possible exception of Austin. With this in mind, my bride and I drove to Austin a week ago and ventured on a pub crawl.

Arnold (Arnoul) of Soissons or Arnold or Arnulf of Oudenburg (1040 — 1087) is a saint of the Roman Catholic Church . He is the patron saint of hop-pickers and Belgian brewers.

In Houston, Texas there is a brewery named St. Arnold (the oldest micro brewery in Texas, actualy) http://www.saintarnold.com/tours/ Every Saturday at 1:00 PM you can visit the brewery and lay down a half of a sawbuck for a 6 oz. gold trimmed St. Arnold taster glass and five wooden nickels. Once inside some guy in a kilt will give you 20-25 spiel on the way to brew beer and the life and times of dear old St. Arnold. Well it actaully seems that there were two of them.

Saint Arnulf of Metz is the one the Brewery takes their name from. The following story is not completely true but it is the one they (the brewery) tends to support.

Saint Arnold was born to a prominent Austrian family in the year 580. Even back in those days the Austrians were famous for their love of beer, and admired for their brewing prowess. Beer was a proud Austrian tradition that was not wasted on young Arnold.

As a young man, Arnold entered the priesthood and began moving his way up that earliest of all career ladders. At the age of 32, he was given the title Bishop, and in 612 was named "Arnold, Bishop of Metz." (Metz is in France.)

He is said to have spent his life warning peasants about the health hazards of drinking water. Water was not necessarily safe to drink during the dark ages, especially around towns and villages. Nasty stuff. Arnold always had the well-being of his followers close at heart.

Beer, on the other hand, was quite safe. Arnold frequently pointed this out to his congregation. He is credited with having once said, "From man's sweat and God's love, beer came into the world." It goes without saying that the people loved and revered Arnold.

In 627, Saint Arnold retired to a monastery near Remiremont, France, where he died and was buried in 640.

In 641, the citizens of Metz requested that Saint Arnold's body be exhumed and carried from the monastery to the town of Metz for reburial in their local church - The church where Arnold had so frequently preached the virtues of beer. Their request was granted.

It was a long and thirsty journey, especially since they were carrying a dead bishop. As the ceremonial procession passed through the town of Champignuelles, the tired processionals stopped for a rest and went into a tavern for a drink of their favorite beverage - Beer. Much to their dismay, they were informed that there was only one mug of beer left, and that they would have to share it. That mug never ran dry and the thirsty crowd was satisfied.

Every Saint needs a miracle. That's how the Church decides you are a Saint. The story of the miracle mug of beer spread and eventually Arnold was canonized by the Catholic Church for it.

Saint Arnold is recognized by the Catholic Church as the Patron Saint of Brewers.

It is true that St. Arnold of Metz. is also a canonized saint of the Roman Catholic Church.
Most painting and images of him show him with a rake which could be considered a "brewer's rake". There is really not much actual factual information to connect St. Arnold of Metz to beer other than the name and the images of the rake so for me I feel it is pretty much a stretch The owners of St. Arnold Brewery are probably Presbyterians anyway. But I can tell you they brew some mighty fine beer. Anyway back to the point. It seems you can bring your own "vessel" to this "tour" and it will be filled up once for each of the wooden nickels you have. You can bring food and set on the park benches and socialize and listen to the music they have provided. It is 'such a deal" and I recommend this to all of you.

Now back to my story.....

So we got up and I went and washed the car and filled it with gas. We left around 10:30 AM and our first stop on our tour was to be The Flying Saucier. While working on one of my earlier blogs I read that my very favorite beer could be found on tap there. They have about a hundred taps but none had # 9. I settled on a Allagash White. If you recall from one of my earlier blogs, (I'm Waiting on My Real Life to Begin) I mentioned it. the beer was good and it brought back some memories. I would like to go back to the Saucier.. It was nice and I really like the idea of the 200 beer club. We had chicken tenders and they were good. Then again Micky D's makes some pretty good tenders too and they are a lot cheaper. We continued our pub crawl to Barton Springs Drive among the rows and rows of trending Austin eateries and pubs. It seems that every one in Austin was on a pub crawl as well. The weather could not have been any better. It was perfect. we parked in front of the Bush Twin's favorite watering hole, Chueys, and we strolled a few blocks to Uncle Billy's Brew and Que. NOTE: at this point in writing my blog, my nine year old computer gave up the ghost. I mean it just stopped. I am writing this on my brother in law's lap top. so .... this blog will wait till I get back from El Paso and the bride and I can acquire another blogging machine.

Oh yeah, Happy Birthday to you The Jim.



the third see below there is more...

It is Friday February, 20, 2009 and I am now the proud owner of a new computer. Damn Sony makes everything. Rather than continue on this episode I am going to compose a new blog in next day or so and will continue with the story of the Austin Pub Crawl.
I spoke to my oldest daughter last evening and she tells me that my rants tend to ramble on. Well I thought about it awhile and here is my response.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=efy8NojrOVY


again....see ya ! The Third

"I Tell You What........."

December 24, 1995. We had eaten the annual 15 been soup and I was getting ready to head on up to St. Anne's later to sing in the choir for Midnight Mass. The sky was grey and the leaves were brown. Sounds sort of like a song. My oldest daughter (the future Nurse the Jim)was driving in from college and we were all waiting anxiously for her arrival. My dad had dropped by earlier and bestowed upon me some Monticristo # 4 s (Habona). (Yes I love a good smoke) (I quit smoking cigarettes for my youngest daughters 5th birthday present.) My mother in law was living with us and she was cooking all sorts of pies and pastries. We had a Honey Baked Ham in the fridge and a bird to cook the next day. I had gotten a handsome Christmas bonus from my employer and the girls were all well behaved. My favorite customer gave me a hundred dollar Mont Blanc pen. I still have it and just held it as I type this musing. Life was Good. Then hurricane J.R. blew in. "Hey dad, you ever heard of Samuel Adams Triple Bock?". I told her "no I never had". "Well I have called ahead and found out that we can find some at Spec's in The Woodlands." Damn, I replied, it is Christmas Eve and I have to be leaving in a few hours for Midnight Mass. But Dad, this is very best beer in the world. Now that got my attention.
So off we went on a beer run. Yes Spec's had some. Nine bottles actually. At $ 9.00 per bottle. From all of the hype I felt it may be a collectors item and be worth more money in a few years. We plopped down $ 81.00 plus tax and we were on our way. Jennifer only kept one of the nine and the others went to her friends back in Lafayette. As far as I know she still has it. As I wrote this I paused and looked on e bay to see what the beer was gong for now. There are plenty to be purchased for around $ 7.00 per bottle ( plus $ 6.50 in shipping). Twelve years and no real appreciation in value. the beer (barley wine) has over 17% ABV. and at the time was the strongest alcohol content of any beer made. Sam Adams has actually made other beers that exceeded the aforementioned ABV. I have spoken to a few people who have actually tasted a Triple Bock. It taste's like shit is the consensus.

The bottle is small and is a cobalt blue in color with a waxed/plastic cork. Samuel Adams is scripted in gold leaf on the bottle. It is pretty I must admit. Each bottle had a note attached describing the process of making the beer.

So the Third, why do you write this? Because this was the first "craft beer" I ever purchased.

I shall be on the road for the next week and I shall take a break from my babble. But as I play around with this blog page I find all sorts of new ways to express myself. If you look you will see I have now added a "link" place and for each blog I compose I shall add a new link (or two or three).


Oh yea one last thing. In one of my earlier scribblings, I announced that my favorite pub had added one of my favorite beers on their taps. Descheute's Black Butte Porter. I was there this evening and I ordered one. The owner, , of the pub (Ryan) came over and told me he had to change the tap then he informed me that the new keg would be the last one he had because the distributors were not making it available to him anymore. Damn!


Toodles



The Third

The Pub Crawl . . . . The Beginning

Pub Crawl: [ puayb kra all]. The visiting of one or more "establishments" with the express purpose of absorbing the atmosphere and ambiance of each to create a combined effect.


The intersection of Louisiana Highway 1 (Youree Drive) and State Route 3032 (East Kings Highway) holds a special place in my heart. In such a small area you could find many of favorite watering holes and gathering places of my youth. "The Cell" (Carousel Lounge); The Christian Union Building (The Cub); The Nail (Rusty Nail); The Peanut Gallery; and Sub and Ale (Bayer's) are names from the past with only the Cub still remaining. Although it is still a pub, they now offer a "fine dining experience" as well. A few years ago, a few days before my "oldest's " vows to "The Jim", we all went to the Cub. I walked inside after nearly thirty five years. It was as if I never left. But something happened to me for the only the second time at any bar/lounge or pub. I was asked to leave. My youngest was with us as well and she was only seventeen. In Louisiana, you have to be at least 21 years of age to be on the premises of any establishment that primarily serves alcohol. Jeez!, they have come a long way since the days of my youth. I was perfectly willing to let her wait in the car, but my bride was not happy with that idea. So we were asked to leave. The Cell has gone through several transformations. A few years back (20 or so) I once went inside, for old times sake. It was known as the Zodiac then and now it is known as Fat Cats. I looked on the jukebox and shockingly, I could not find that Johnny Nash's song that seemed to be playing every time I entered the Cell.You really can never go home again. The Carousel Lounge was owned by Boyd Gammel. He was not a very friendly man. The rumor was that he was "connected". Yes it is true that the "Buckle of the Baptist Bible Belt" was tarnished by the "Mob". He owned another bar called the Cotton Bowl Lounge located in another part of town. My next door neighbor had a mom and pop convenience store adjacent to the Cotton Bowl Lounge and Liquor Store. (named the Cotton Bowl Market). I worked for Mr. B. one summer. During that time I got to know Mr. Gammel. He used to hang out at the Cotton Bowl. In addition to stocking shelves, sweeping, and mopping, my job was to see that the "hot links" were put on each morning and to watch for shop lifters. Each day at noon I would hide inside the cooler and look through the rows of beer and malt liquor out into the store looking for thieves. I caught a lot. I used to stack the beer cases into what looked like a fort. I would slip in it and spy at the customer/thieves. I once caught a beer delivery guy stealing large slabs of bacon from inside the cooler. He always wore a large jacket and he sweated a lot. He would bring the Pearl in and slip the bacon inside of his jacket. We wondered why he sweated so much inside of the cooler and I suppose we found out why. Back then it never was a problem getting alcohol when you were actually too young to legally purchase it. I was buying bottles of whiskey from Mr. Gammel at the the Cotton Bowl Lounge when I was a sixteen year old. Back then, I was a good old Southern Baptist kid. I sang in the youth choir every Sunday night. Gary, Phillip or Phil as I called him (the choir director's son), C.L. (his first name is Caroled), Hook (later to be my first college roommate), Chuck and Fish (he got the nickname because he drank like a fish) would each take snorts from my bottles prior to choir practice each Sunday afternoon. We felt that it made us sing better. Damn, I am getting off the subject.

Both the Carousel and the Cotton Bowl had rotating bars. The bar area was in the middle and surround by chairs. The bar it self, moved in a very slow clockwise motion. So in the coarse of an hour or so you could circle the entire place. Mr. Gammel built his his rotating bars to copy the famous carousel bar in the Monteleon Carousel Piano Bar & Lounge which is immortalized in the writings of Ernest Hemingway among others. The Cell was a college bar. If you did not go to college or at least look as if you did, then I suppose it was not the place for you. If you attended the local Loly Poly U (Louisiana Tech) or Northwestern (Louisiana) State you were in good company. If you attended LSU then you received a "few extra feathers in your caps". The Cotton Bowl Lounge was a redneck bar. Back then if your hair even touched your ears, you were considered a dope smoking hippie. Hell most of us were. The Cub was a bar that never truly catered to particular crowd. I once walked in only to find my father and a couple of his friends hoisting a few. It was actually pretty weird. (In the next few years, I "crossed paths with Dear Old Dad a few more times. I gradually got used to it. Besides he always paid) The Nail and the Peanut Gallery were there too. Also close by was Murrel's # 2 (cafe) as was (is) Strawn's Eat Shop. (famous for their strawberry pies).The Nail was located in a building that used to sell four track tapes and tape decks. Yes, I said four track. It later became known as The Killer Poodle. The Peanut Gallery attempted to cater to the bohemian crowd. They had live music (I actually played there a few times). Also they had several foos ball tables and they prided themselves as being a mecca for foos ball players. Bill Sullivan and I were partners. (No, we are not related)We were damn good. Well....lets say he was damn good. I just stood there. Ever so often I would have a flash of brilliance and make a great block or score. The aforementioned bars (except the Cotton Bowl) were all within walking distance. I admit, we usually drove to the Nail since it was across the King's Highway. Bayer's Sub and Ale was a across Highway 1 and access to it required driving for sure. Bayer's was a local hamburger chain. Old man Bayer opened his "Sub and Ale" as a restaurant with a bar attached. His restaurant sold po-boys and submarines and hamburgers. He may have sold more but I do not recall. At some point I remember being told that the pub in the back of the Sub and Ale was the place to be. It was. You could purchase a pewter stein and have your name engraved on it. The steins were hung over the bar and they stopped selling them after they had no room for them. So if you had one it meant you were cool.

My friend Gary used to work with his dad in his machine shop. (actually not far from the Cotton Bowl) Gary worked with an old black man whose name was Stomy. Gary would make fun of me and call me Stomy. ( Stow Me) I was not too fond of it. So you guessed it, the nickname stuck. Hell, my own mother called me Stomy. Nearly all of my friends knew me as it. But then the Classics IV came out with a song called Stormy. It was a follow up hit to Spooky (little girl like My nickname went from Stomy to Stormy and that was the name I had on my stein. I made me seem as a bad ass. I had this tee shirt,(Baseball warm up sleeves actually) that had an Irish flag on the back of it along with my nickname. On the front was printed "Get Drunk and Fight". Everyone began to think I had this horrible temper. I was never much of a fighter but the image followed me. So I really loved the Sub and Ale. Sadly things change. It seems that the bar could not satisfy Mr. Bayer's projections and he seemed to be loosing money on his venture. At one time he worked hard to get all of our crowd to hang out there and then later he went out of his way to run us off. There were a few legendary fights in the parking lot. I never was involved in any of them and for that matter I never witnessed one. But I sure heard about them. And finally, we were no longer welcome. He threw all the steins away. My cool nickname sorta of went away about the same time too. I write all of this because almost every Friday and Saturday night with or without dates, we would make our rounds at the aforementioned bars. Thus the pub crawl concept was begun and embedded into me. So for years when we went out we ended up at several place rather than just one. Of course there were other places in town as well, Mom's on Centenary (a titty bar) was a favorite place. Well it was until someone (connected with the Mob) threw a bomb in it and blew it up. (They sponsored a bowling team I was on.); The Raven, (Formerly Caroline's) on Old Mansfield Road; Mr Crow's;(Still open) on W. 70th; Glen and Glenda's ("I love you Cedar Grove" written on front door) (I once played in a band there. There were more people in our band than actually showed up at the bar);The Stage Door, (North of town , owned by the same people(my first wife's cousins) who owned Glen and Glenda's);The Wagon Wheel (where my first wife's uncle Dean was shot); King's Lounge, (great pop corn);The Spot Club, (pool hall); Tooters,(where I made my football bets with a real bookie); the Blue Note; the Gay 90's (another titty bar)(which was not a gay bar but was next door to one (The Elbow room); The Coachman; Club Westwood; Lake Cliff Lounge (a real shit hole where I once saw Willie Nelson play); the Apollo Lounge;The Afro-American Scene (which was opened before integration was truly accepted in Shreveport. We went there to buy pot.); Pleasants'; and The Orbit Lounge (Where I used to play with a couple of different bands. One night while on break, an airman from nearby Barksdale Air Force Base hit me over the head with a full beer mug. It seems he thought I was stealing his girlfriend from him. I was trying to at least.) were just a few of the places I would go on my pub crawls. There were many more and I am sure but the years has faded them from my memory.

I never have been the type to settle into one place or another. I have always felt the ambiance of many out weighs just one. The concept of pub crawls was with me then and frankly is still . I shall be writing about some of my pub crawls in future musings so stay tuned...



Pic of the old Gay 90's -->

The owner, Clyde Hyde was loosing money
so he drove to Memphis, Tn. and attempted to
rob a bank. He was killed in the attempt.

The bar was completely covered in Silver Dollars.



















Note: As you can easily derive, I grew up in Shreveport, Louisiana (1960-1974). My first wife and I were married there. She lives near there now as well. I currently have two living aunts ( my dad's sister and my mother's sister)that live in the area. I have not visited either of them in a long time. I feel bad about that. I also have two cousins who live near there as well. My oldest and her husband (The Jim) have moved to the Lone Star State. I rarely have a reason to visit my old town. I merely pass through. Some of my writings have centered on the Shreveport area. The pictures I insert are actually real pics of the places I speak of in this rambling. It is a part of my past and shall be subject to recall from time to time. It is a great place to be from. My old hometown is the pedestal upon which my story rests.


Le Bon Temp Rule



The Third