For, even as the owners, the labels and the beer itself may change, the breweries remain the same in our collective consciousness, their familiar brands passed down from one generation of beer drinkers to the next, standing tall and pouring clean. Americans inherit these old beers the same way we receive the shared knowledge of baseball and patriotism.
Consider, for example, Genesee, the Rochester, NY, brewery named for the Seneca Indian word for pleasant valley. Its label proclaims, “One brewery, one great taste, since 1878.”
That’s all very nice… and all very inaccurate:
One brewery? More like 10 or 15. It started with 19th-century immigrant names such as Rau and Reisky and Bartholomay, and grew with the likes of Koch and Shea and Dundee. Today, it makes beer for Blue Point and Narragansett and Labatt, not to mention generic drugstore lager.
One great taste? More like 20 or 30, including everything from hard lemonade to that famous cream ale.
Since 1878? That’s when the Genesee brand name was launched, but the brewery’s true heritage is at least 20 years older, dating to a location just two blocks south of its current facility.
Over the years, the brewery has been sold, closed, reopened and renamed, and with each change came a label re-design. But it matters not a whit for, in a testament to its enduring familiarity, most beer drinkers still refer to the beer as just plain ol’ Genny.
That’s why, in 2011, the current owners found themselves forking over $60,000 to pay for the restoration and relighting of the company’s giant 60-year-old GENESEE BEER sign atop a building in nearby Auburn, NY.
Yes, the sign could’ve been dismantled and no one save a few grumpy preservationists would’ve squawked. And, yes, the company is run by some faceless New York City private investment firm accountable to no one but its shareholders. But even from its 31st-floor offices above Park Avenue, the company understood the value of tradition. So, when a company spokeswoman declared that the sign’s re-lighting “is one way we are showing our continued commitment to our heritage,” everyone applauded.
Granted, that might be little more than a token nod to tradition. But look what happens when a company turns its back on its own history.
In 2009, Iron City Brewing, which had made beer in Pittsburgh since 1861, announced it would auction off its equipment and begin contract brewing out a plant a mere 40 miles away in Latrobe, PA. This is a brand that was so inexorably linked with the people of Pittsburgh, its cans were illustrated with a team photo of the Steelers.
But when the brewery made the move, its once-loyal fans greeted the news with T-shirts that read, “Want an Iron City? Drive to F–king Latrobe.”?
Preserving and honoring the tradition of these old breweries isn’t just benevolent stewardship. It’s actually good for business.
