I just found a couple of old letters, written as letters to the editor of the magazine Zymurgy. Here they are, representing a heady time in my life and a heady time in the early micro-brewing industry. Read them both, first the 10/8/1995 letter and then the 5/20/1996 letter:

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October 8, 1995

Letters to the Editor
Zymurgy Magazine
American Homebrewers Association
P.O. Box 1679
Boulder, CO 80306-1679

Dear Editor:

I would like to thank you for publishing, and Bill Holmes for writing, the article appearing in the Zymurgy Special 1995 issue (The Great Grain Issue). I am writing to follow up on the article about Dave West’s and my own techniques for full grain mashing. At the time I brewed my Bohemian Pilsner, I was brewing 5-gallon batches. By the time the article was written, I was brewing 10- to 15-gallon batches using the Pico-Brewing System that Dave West and Mike O’Brian produce.

Of late, I continue to brew with only grain, but have graduated to brewing in larger quantities. The article mentions that I was considering investing in a pH meter for better brew monitoring. I am happy to report that my new employer has supplied me with a pH meter for use in brewing. In fact, the pH meter comes complete with a 15-barrel brewing system along with two 15-barrel fermenters, one 30-barrel fermenter, six 15-barrel serving tanks and all concomitant equipment. My recipes now call for something on the order of 1000 lbs of grain per batch.

I would like to thank you once again for the article and would like to let your readers know that seven years of serious, full-grain, scientifically oriented homebrewing can, in fact, lead to an exciting new career.

Sincerely,

Alan Pagliere
Head Brewer
Blue Coyote Brewing Company
Lansing, Michigan

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Letters to the Editor
Zymurgy Magazine
American Homebrewers Association
P.O. Box 1679
Boulder, CO 80306-1679

Dear Editor:

This letter is a follow up to one I wrote back in October of 1995, (appearing in the Summer, 1996 issue of Zymurgy) in which I revealed the fact that I had “graduated” from homebrewing to professional brewing. Reading it was bittersweet now that I have left the world of professional brewing, after a mere eight months.

Why, an envious homebrewer might ask, did I leave so soon after entering that world? There are several reasons, but I know that one of the highest on the list had to do with the realization that I am  unable to ride out the sad trend in brewing I have become aware of.

There are many wonderful micros and brewpubs in the US that are truly dedicated to maintaining the history, tradition, and quality of beer. However, there are some that are merely cash production facilities. The people who put together these “projects” have no love of beer, rather they simply have and love money. Just five to seven years ago, many of those who started up micros and brewpubs were brewers. These days, they are entrepreneurs. They, in turn, hire a brewer like they hire a waiter, someone whose expertise can be overridden by the dollar when it benefits the beer ignorant entrepreneur.

I am sad to say that that is what happened to me. I blame myself for being naive enough early on to ignore the signs. I enjoyed brewing very much, but eventually the compromises to the integrity of the beer and to my own were so great that I had to leave. I could say that I was just unlucky and that it was only my specific circumstances that have soured my outlook on the fate of the so-called “craft-brewing” industry. However, I believe, from what I have seen of late of the kinds of people rushing into the industry, that the next five years will see a lot of brewpubs that care much more about money than about beer and the people who support its craft.

Clearly, there will be a shakeout and we can only hope that those interested in quality will be the ones to survive. That happy day will be a few years in the future and, at the point in life I find myself now, I can not afford to wait. I have returned to my previous career. I suggest that new, younger, brewers may be able to stick it out, assuming they do not fall into the trap (set by business people not merely ignorant of beer but, worse, with no interest in acquiring knowledge or appreciation of it) of beer for money’s sake above everything else.

In conclusion, I would like to thank you once again for printing my previous letter, written with all the enthusiasm of a homebrewer who had the opportunity to go professional. I would also like to urge all those who are or long to be in the same position, first, to be careful of who it is you might work for, and second, whether brewing professionally or not, to hold on to your brewing integrity. Brew to the standard of quality, educate everyone you can, stick with the old traditions at the very same time you are creating new ones. Good luck.

Sincerely,

Alan Pagliere
ex-Head Brewer

So, the first few days were spent unpacking boxes, getting at least the kitchen together first, dealing with the animals and their reaction to the new home. Put some plants in the ground in the garden so that they’d survive their transport. Esther was back home, finishing things up at the house and running a zillion errands.

The apartment is fantastic. Garden and parlor floors. Short walk to Fort Greene Park.

Esther arrived Wednesday and we jumped into more unpacking. We have made a ritual of waking up early enough to get Molly (formerly known as The Road Dog) to the park for a reasonable run during the off-leash time before 9 am. I leave from the park to grab the Q to Manhattan for my day at work. A short walk, two stops on the express and I’m near my office.

Take out from the Black Iris (lots of great stuff just a few blocks from the apartment) with Ira the second night I was in the place.My brother Miguel came to visit one night, a few visits from Patrick,

We had wanted to be in New York for the Halloween festivities. We figured we’d hit the big parade in Manhattan, but all our neighbors (who by the way are great), told us that the neighborhood had its own very good activities. We decided to hang in the hood. Two short blocks away from our apartment, Clinton Ave. was cut off so that a group of residents, theater-types it seems, could put on their annual performance. Outside a mansion-like building, large stage, sounds system, music, performers, lights, crazy, big production. Block party.

A half block in another direction, another block cut off so that another group of folks could put on their crazy event. A slightly lower key production, but with lights, music, and much more over the top props. A great time had by all.

So a couple of weeks pass. November 6, I’d had planned for a while to go see Laura Cantrell, singer songwriter, at the First Saturdays program at the Brooklyn Museum (0.9 miles from our apartment). With Esther and friend in from Nashville visiting, we hit it. Great show. Laura was great, her music was great, and her musicians were great.

We keep thinking that everything in the world must be happening just blocks from our apartment. The most obvious evidence of this was the next day, when after taking Molly to the park, as we were walking back to the apartment, we noticed all the streets south of DeKalb were cut off by the police. A quick inquiry and we learned that the route of the New York Marathon was along Lafayette, just a block away. We walked one block from our house and arrived in time to see the a few wheel chair entrants followed by the front-running, world-class women runners. Not long after that came the front pack of the men. We couldn’t help ourselves and we wound up staying for a very long time, to watch what is really the most inspiring group of runners, the everyday folks who decide to run the marathon and do it. I know from experience the magnitude of the effort, the unflinching mental concentration it requires to combat the physical and emotional up and down of the months-long preparation and final ordeal. And that is being played over and over, tens of thousands of times, once with each person who passes by.

Work has been busy, but when I have a chance, I leave my office on Fifth and 22nd and explore a bit.

Esther is looking for a studio to rent for her art work. I’ve made a few contacts but need to pursue further musical outlets for a pedal steel guitarist in New York City.

Everything is great. Everything is right here, close by. It seems to all be a block from our apartment. I exaggerate: It’s all within two blocks of our apartment.

Oh, and of course, though we are in November, the sun is still quite visible.

So, after months of preparation and and multiple freakouts (would we ever find a place to live that was good enough, or find tenants in Ann Arbor that were good enough), after pretty much the most stressful 5 months of my life, it’s done and it’s great. I keep thinking there at least one downside to this move will come up.

It ain’t happening.

Last May there came via email an internal posting for a job a “data analyst” within JSTOR. I looked at it because it was based in New York. Esther and I have been talking for years about moving from Ann Arbor because. I looked at the job description and though the project was a bit mundane, I thought, “I can do that job.”

So, I inquired and applied. I cannot tell you how large the inertia was to take the job. A very small part of it was that it was in NY and wasn’t going to pay more than my Ann Arbor job. Then, when you get to a certain age, you start to be held back by the … it’s comfortable where I am … mindset. But wait, are we supposed to wait another 10 years before we feel more able to pick up and move like that, have this adventure? Yeah, right.

So, after much agonizing over the decision, much, I somehow, literally at the last second, managed to utter “yes” rather than “no.” I expected relief at having jumped off the cliff, having the decision made. But no. Then began the agonizing over what we’d gotten ourselves into, the craziness of trying to move by Sept 1: doing all the work in the house that we’d put off for years. Trying to get rid of a large percentage of our possessions and decide what to take to an apartment that would be much smaller than the house. Then trying to find a place to live in Brooklyn (took three trips to Brooklyn to hunt), and then rent the house in Ann Arbor.

Everyone we told about this idea was supportive, some perhaps envious of the adventure. In many ways, I still can’t believe that we decided to do it, and in no way do I understand how we survived the months of prep and the move.

So, why? Though there is missing long-time friends and activities in Ann Arbor, there are renewed connections to some family in the NY area. But really, we both just needed a kick in the head, and we knew it. Out of every routine, more creative outlets, more opportunities for exciting things to do.

We got ‘em now.