In Wisconsin, for better or worse, drinking can be more than a pastime. It’s a social ritual woven into the state’s culture. In an essay for “Wisconsin Life,” writer Patti See of Lake Hallie takes us on a bar crawl to explore how Wisconsin’s humble taverns shaped our history and built community.
Go Ahead, Have a Couple
I recently went on my fifth (almost annual) Cousins Tavern Tour. Our theme was “neighborhood bars.” Without a beer sign in the window, the establishment might just as well blend in as another house on the block.
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Bobby Schroedel’s mother and mine were sisters. He and his wife Connie live just down the highway from my husband and me and picked us up on a 90-degree afternoon for our first stop: Burly’s in Chippewa Falls.
The four of us step into the cool air of that dark bar and never want to leave. In 1997, Brian Krista bought what was once The Mint, then Pepe’s, and called it by his nickname. Burly tells us the history of the wooden backbar, an intricate beauty that was stained mahogany to cover up damage from a fire long before any of us was born. For Burly’s 20th anniversary here, his buddy gifted him an enormous fiberglass fish head bought on e-Bay. It’s been mounted on the wall for five years. Burly isn’t sure who put the little rubber ducky in its mouth, or when.
Next is Rolly’s Coach Club in Altoona, owned by Rolly Knusalla since 1986. Happy hour attracts 20-somethings in scrubs and 80-somethings in beauty-parlor curls. A round of drinks costs us $10. We play shake-a-day and Connie carries home a sixpack.
We’re old; this summer we can only make three stops in a day. Our final: Amber Inn, the longest running bar in Eau Claire. It was built in 1881 by Walter’s Brewery to sell their product. One hundred years later, Orv and Pat Johnson bought the place. Included in the sale was a 1910 photo of patrons posing on the sidewalk out front. A surprise in the crowd: Orv’s grandfather.
The Johnsons have run Amber Inn the past 44 years. Their current slogan, “You’re a stranger here but once,” has a timeless feel which might have appealed to barflies in the last two centuries. We order fish and burgers, sip our ice-cold beer and watch Orv fry our food in a prep area about the size of my kitchen counter. The menu claims that galley space is “where all the magic happens.” The cheese curds are so spectacular that even my chatty cousins finally stop talking.
Edward Slingerland, author of “Drunk: How we Sipped, Danced, and Stumbled Our Way to Civilization,” claims that 3,000 years before organized agriculture, hunter-gatherers came together “not to break bread but to brew beer.” From an evolutionary standpoint, alcohol helped aggressive, untrusting primates build cooperative and successful societies. In that regard, Slingerland says intoxication is “part of the story of what makes us human.”
I don’t have to point out to anyone that “drinking culture” is embedded in the fabric of our lives, like watching the Packers and Wisconsin Nice. Not all of it has the luster and fun of a summer afternoon at neighborhood bars. Anyone who has lost a loved one to the slow torment of alcoholism has witnessed that firsthand.
Wisconsinites’ relationship with drinking is complicated. Having a few beers together builds camaraderie, decreases inhibitions and increases a flow state for creativity. Turns out, it’s also a part of our biological history. This cheap, socially acceptable drug makes intoxication the basis of what Slingerland calls “the economy of human desires.” Or as Amber Inn advertises: “Go ahead, have a couple. You’ll feel better.”
“Wisconsin Life” is a co-production of Wisconsin Public Radio and PBS Wisconsin. The project celebrates what makes the state unique through the diverse stories of its people, places, history and culture.
