I haven't made any home-brew-yet. When I was a little Kid, 5 , or 6, My Dad and His Buddy made about 10 cases of some foul-smelling beer, drinking Hamms out of the can all the while. This was about 1962, in West Texas, times were different. The resulting beverage was so foul, and so disgusting, that , after a few days in the shed in the back yard, it began blowing the tops off the bottles,it sounded like sniper fire.
After about three days of cooking off, the beer settled down, There were four cases left. My Dad, and His Buddy (both Marine Veterans of Iwo Jima) snuck up on the shed as if it were a Nip, er....sorry. Japanese pill-box. Peering around the edge of the door, Dad determined that the area was secure, and He and Galen popped open a couple of bottles, thinking they may be able to salvage some of their Special Brew.
The brew was too nasty to force down, and the two Men sadly lugged the four cases out to the alley, vowing never to brew again. Hamms was $1.75 a case, much easier. Next day, I was playing in the back yard, and I heard the trash truck coming down the alley. It drew closer, and I could hear the Garbage Men (Sanitation Engineers) laughing and joking as they got closer. As they drew up in the alley behind Our house the jabbering grew much more animated, and .....A bottle cap flew in the air, followed by a foul spray of brown liquid. Another followed. And another. The noisy Trash Truck became silent as the Men enjoyed their found treasure. An hour passed, the trash truck still sat, unmoved, and the laughter in the alley grew louder, and louder.
I sat quietly, on the other side of the fence, wondering how these Men could afford to suspend their appointed rounds to sit in the alley, laughing and telling dirty jokes. Another hour passed, and all grew quiet as suddenly, a white car with a City Of Midland crest on the door pulled up behind the silent truck. A door slammed, then it hit the fan. The Sanitation Supervisor was yelling and screaming, and using language that even My Dad didn't use. I was now scared to look over the fence, but I could hear enough to know that the crew was replaced with a fresh crew, and the truck rumbled off down the alley, to finish its rounds. I have often wondered, in the years since, if My Dads home brew cost those hard working men their jobs? And I have also wondered how bad the hangover, from that long afternoon in the July sun?
