The Art of Drinking Beer
(During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the saloon served as a center for popular culture throughout the United States, not least in those areas settled by German immigrants with a fondness for fresh lager beer. What was it like to eat, drink, and socialize in a typical Cincinnati saloon circa 1890? This excerpt from Over the Barrel, Volume One takes you back in time; you can almost smell the sawdust on the well-worn hardwood floor ...)
Among brewery owners, managers, and laborers, locally-made
beer assumed greater significance when placed into a social setting
where class distinctions were blurred. As a result, the saloon assumed
more importance among beer producers and consumers at a time of heavy
output and consumption. Over the course of several decades the utilitarian
drinking establishment underwent a change in character, and saloons
evolved as a successor to the tavern trade, transplanted to America
from England by immigrants to the colonies. The rise of the saloon as
a popular drinkery encompassed much of what made unique the social life
of mid- to late nineteenth century America, particularly in ethnically
concentrated areas such as the Over-the-Rhine district in Cincinnati,
and-along with beer gardens and hilltop resorts-provided a tangible
link between brewing activity and the beer culture which unified the
two elements in the public conscience, for better and for worse, for
the next half century.
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An upscale Cincinnati saloon
of the 1890s
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By the 1860s, several significant differences had become apparent between the tavern of bygone days and the new saloon. While both were identified strongly as places to socialize, saloons also represented an unlikely source of entertainment, with the presence of live music and such untavernlike activities as dancing, quilting bees, lectures, weddings, and even funerals, over which saloonkeepers were known to preside. Beyond entertainment possibilities, saloons were designed foremost for the procurement of drinks and-to a lesser extent-food; lodging generally was not offered as a service of the newer establishments. Another significant difference between the saloon and its predecessor was the staple presence of a bar, where quick consumption of hard liquor was customary. Patrons who drank milder beverages and desired to eat often did so at a more leisurely rate and at tables, where they also took up personal matters, a trend which gained further prominence with the arrival of German immigrants en masse toward the middle of the nineteenth century. As the Germans settled in Cincinnati, and especially in Over-the-Rhine, it was inevitable that a large number of saloons would be established-particularly by fellow Germans-to cater to the sizeable contingent of beer consumers. The number of saloons in the district grew at a steady rate from the 1840s onward, and by 1890 Court Street had thirty-four saloons; Liberty Street had forty-one; Walnut Street and Main Street fifty-five; Central Avenue 100; and Vine Street the remarkable total of 136.
Known as a people who treasured their free time and their friendships, Cincinnati Germans were afforded an ideal opportunity to combine the two by means of the saloon, in a pleasant social atmosphere well fortified by abundant fresh draft lager beer. In an early and insightful stroke of marketing, Over-the-Rhine saloon owners and operators outfitted many of their establishments in a way that made customers feel at home and among friends, with traditional elements of Germandom utilized in an effort to attract customers. Ornate carved woodwork was a feature of the walls, upon which often hung a variety of paintings of German cultural icons, including statues and busts of the greats as well as female goddess-like figures. Paintings representing the best of German art and artists frequently depicted landscapes or historical events. A large mirror often hung directly behind the bar; one Cincinnati saloonkeeper, Dave Billigheimer, maintained that his saloon was equipped with the largest and longest mirror in the world, a claim which drew customers just to see themselves in it, drinking a mug of beer. An elegant chandelier, centered in the room, added an extra touch of class, and at least one oversized clock-as large as five feet by five feet-ticked away the minutes. Occasional vases, filled with fresh-cut fragrant blooms, added life and color to the interior, and tables were often of heavy oak, with sturdy but comfortable chairs conducive to lengthy discussions.
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Inside Foucar's Cafe, late 19th century
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More elegant saloons, such as Theodore Foucar's "cafe" located slightly to the south of Over-the-Rhine, featured a wrought iron and plate glass doorway flanked by marble columns; carved mahogany, glass, onyx, marble, and bronze statues; and wrought iron grillwork. Local artists received significant exposure at Foucar's: paintings by Duveneck, Sharp, and Farny, among others, adorned the walls of the saloon and stimulated conversation. Art was also a feature of another area drinkery, The Stag, where some twenty-five paintings were put up. The highlight of the Stag collection was The Sirens, an image of three maidens by the sea which was purchased in Paris for $5,000, but the painting emerged worse for wear when on one occasion an evening ruckus endowed it with a bullet hole. Whether elegant or simple, the saloons of Cincinnati traditionally were outfitted by area craftsmen-often from the same neighborhood as the drinkery-whom local observers considered among the finest in the world. Wielert's, a larger establishment than many area saloons, likewise featured Old World charm, decor, and music in a New World setting-along with a steady supply of Hauck beer. Over time Wielert's became one of the most popular saloons in Over-the-Rhine, especially during the summer concert season. For years Wielert's remained a favorite of countless Cincinnati beer lovers, and its passing moved followers to nostalgic memories of its best days:
I doubt whether, in all the many years of its honored existence, it had an equal in the United States. This was because of its emphatic Old World atmosphere, its substantiability, and its rigid respectability. From end to end it was operated under a silent discipline that made for the highest efficiency that could be attained in a place of its character. ... The old place never suffered the ignominity of a police raid until after the prohibition barrier to personal liberty was raised. Then the place drooped, languished and gently breathed its last. Gentlemen and fellow citizens, I would give my right eye at this very moment just for five minutes of the days of old-just long enough, in fact, to surround a sliced tongue sandwich, embellished with cottage cheese, and to wash it down with a standpipe of John Hauck's. As long as I am here to encumber the earth the memory of that combination shall never die.
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Wielert's Pavilion, circa 1890
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Prominent among memories of Wielert's was that of the Cincinnati Grand Orchestra, which in 1876 treated patrons to the music of Wagner and Beethoven while they drank. Customers were charged ten cents to enter when there were concerts, and the performances were so well attended that they spurred competing saloons, such as Schickling's, to hire their own musicians to entertain patrons over Moerlein beer.
As might be expected, the main focus of the Cincinnati saloon, no matter how decorated, remained the food and drink. Over-the-Rhine dispensaries in particular featured local beers on draft, along with choice meats, vegetables, and cheeses to satisfy those with a hunger. While some customers drank wine and whiskey at the saloons, beer was the unquestioned favorite of the majority of patrons. Price was also a factor: a glass of Hauck or Moerlein beer generally cost but a nickel each, or twenty-one for a dollar, an amount which few Cincinnati beer drinkers found prohibitive during the course of an hour or two-and not infrequently more-of good conversation. The quantity of beer consumed by patrons in the saloon setting varied by the individual, but the stereotype that Germans consumed more beer than others, and that dozens of glasses were emptied per session, in many cases was without foundation: according to one observer an expenditure "of fifteen or twenty cents was sufficient to provide an evening's entertainment as a large percentage of the population were Germans who had a habit of lingering a long time over a glass of beer, whereas Americans tossed it down and yelled for a refill."
No less important was the wide cross-section of clients served by the Cincinnati saloon trade and the characters who gave it a unique and beloved reputation. People of all ages and types frequented a given saloon, and seldom emerged without a bite to eat and a beverage to enjoy during the visit:
There are all classes of people that rush into these cheap lunch-houses. Workmen drop their picks and shovels, and go for a beer and come out with a hunk of bread in one hand and a beef-bone in the other. Barefooted children rush in with a dime for a bucket of beer and bucket of soup, and never forget to ask the bar-keeper for a bretzel.
Many day laborers spent a part of their evening together in the front of the noisy, smoke-filled saloons, engaged in conversation over local draft beer before the trip home for supper. Frequently workers augmented their saloon consumption when they took a growler home with them to drink during the evening. Wives also purchased the small pails of beer for the household, and were particularly resourceful in the process: many learned to coat the inside of the bucket with a thin layer of lard, so that there would be less foam and more beer to drink. Children occasionally were given the responsibility of a trip to the saloon to buy beer, to take home and place in the icebox with the knowledge that the product was foremost for their parents. Credit was seldom a problem for good customers who were short on cash, as saloonkeepers regularly kept tabs for their better clients, under the implicit assumption that the debt would be made good on payday. The system worked well for all concerned, and conflicts were few and far between.
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Saloons dominate the landscape of Vine Street during the late 19th century
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The most legendary feature of the Cincinnati saloon trade was the free lunch, a tradition in which customers were given complimentary food with the purchase of beer. Commonly observed around the noon hour, the luncheon began in earnest when patrons streamed in thirsty from work, the sight of a table or two full of food being far too good to pass up especially for hungry laborers:
Sample-rooms generally set a lunch of roast beef, olives, crackers and cheese. The beer saloons have a greater variety, and always greasy food and salt fish of some kind. It is spread on a cheap wooden table. The meat is cut in chunks and piled on a big platter; on others are chopped herring, anchovies, Russian sardines, black bread in pieces an inch square, big fat white radishes, potato salad, pumper-nickel, blood pudding cut in slices. Every customer or lunch grabber is expected to buy a glass or so of beer, or grog. ... A few take a plate and sit down at a table. Some are in their shirt sleeves, some have no hats, and live in the neighborhood or do business near by. Some of these saloons serve vegetable soup and on Fridays fish. Other lunch-houses set out a hot wienerwurst, horse-radish and slices of black bread; others a hard boiled egg, pepper and salt, or a fried oyster with each and every drink.
Such generosity unquestionably had its ulterior motives. The foods provided for the free lunch, such as ham and roast beef, invariably were salty in character, which inevitably led patrons to purchase more beer with which to wash down the food. Customers also had the option to buy a more elaborate lunch in some establishments, where meaty foods were served that went down well with a glass or more of lager:
A hot dog-which was a good-sized bologna sausage-with two slices of rye bread and plenty of mustard, sold for five cents, with a scuttle of suds at the same price. Ham and cheese sandwiches were five cents each, and the ham was not carved with a safety razor but was thick enough to provide a job for your molars and the rye bread was of the dark variety with a distinct flavor not found [later on]. Pig's knuckles and kraut were offered in some saloons-fifteen cents for a man's size serving and with a reasonable amount of foaming balloon juice to wash it down. This was a treat for the gods-anybody's gods.
Customers were far from the only noteworthy characters
who populated Cincinnati saloons during the late nineteenth century.
Among workers the waiters, by nature of their work load, became central
figures, as shown in an 1875 account filled with considerable admiration:
The Transrhenane waiter is above all things a man to be pitied, and a man to be admired. To be pitied because he seems to be perpetually on those not very fat legs of his with never a moment's time for a private dive into one of those glasses he hands about to his thirsty patrons literally by the hundred. He often brings them by the ten or a dozen in each hand. He is to be admired for his imperturbable good nature, for his freedom from flurry, his constant sobriety, and that prompt memory which rarely, if ever, makes a mistake in the precise number of beers, mineral waters, or glasses of wine ordered, or the exact table to which they are to be brought. He is a capital fellow, and probably 'takes his' in the afternoon before his night work commences.
Over-the-Rhine saloons also were frequented by numerous food vendors, who catered to a hearty appetite brought on by long workdays and fresh lager. Simon the Hot Corn Man was one such salesman who made the rounds at various hours, selling corn in the husk accompanied by a generous dollop of butter. Another common sight was the "Wienerwurst Man," a Vienna sausage and bratwurst vendor who did considerable business in the sale of fresh, locally-made pork products to hungry patrons. The occasion for snacks or dinner generated a healthy trade, particularly by afternoon and evening:
The Vienna sausage-man is another well-known character 'Over the Rhine.' He is constantly to be met with, and is known by every body. He carries with him a large tin full of sausages, while a small boy by his side bears the bread, the salt, and the pepper. He is a man not without wit, but of an aspect which the irreverent declare to be bordering upon the ludicrous.
The sausage man made his rounds of area saloons and beer
gardens at all parts of the day-such were the hours of the trade-but
mostly at nine-thirty and eleven in the morning, around six in the afternoon,
and throughout the evening, from seven or eight o'clock to around midnight,
representing the peak sales period to workers on break, meal time, or
who had ended their labor for the day. A later observer told of the
typical sausage vendor in the Over-the-Rhine area, generically known
as "Wienerwurst Mike," including the tale of one such Mike whose luck
was notoriously bad:
One of these Mikes, basket on one arm and can of steaming wieners on the other, was a nightly visitor at all the Over-the-Rhine resorts. ... One night Mike, who had been imbibing, started down Vine Street from Over-the-Rhine. He missed the bridge and walked into the canal. His wooden leg stuck in the two feet of mud at the bottom of the old creek, and held Mike as securely as though the pin had been caught in a bear trap.
Nor were vendors immune from the occasional business dispute. In one such instance, in August 1882, a Covington saloonkeeper attacked a sausage salesman by hitting him over the head twice with a bottle, in an effort to collect a debt of five cents; the transgression cost the barkeeper twenty-five dollars for breach of the peace in the Mayor's Court.
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Patrons enjoy a social session at the Garfield Cafe, 1910
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For the most part saloons were small drinking and social establishments. The bar was the center of activity, although side rooms and shaded gardens offered an area for private discussions and business transactions. The fraternal nature of the bar was particularly noteworthy for the manner in which patrons conducted themselves, while poised atop one leg and with the other comfortably resting upon the foot rail, and the unique sights and smells which they helped to generate:
Nearly all the saloons at that time had their floors covered with sawdust and as tobacco chewing was an almost universal habit, gaboons were placed at strategic intervals for the chewers' use.
But most masticators of the weed were either nearsighted, blind, or just didn't give a damn; they shot the juice in the general direction of the gaboons but seldom hit the target. No matter, there was plenty [of] floor space to take up the slack and the moisture was a factor in keeping down the dust when the porter swept out the joint sometime after midnight. ...
The odor produced by a mixture of stale beer and sawdust was a by-product of the froth-blowers's union, an organization with a ritual that consisted of blowing the foam off the top of the glass onto the floor; this custom was almost universal. The anarchists of that period believed in direct action and considered wading through two inches of foam an extra-curricular activity that paid no dividends.
Sanitation was clearly not a given in the saloon trade of the late nineteenth century. For those who chose to use them, forks left to procure food during the free lunch period were communal in nature, and glasses were "washed" by means of a quick rinse in cold water, with no attempt to dry them during busy hours.
Under such conditions, implicitly accepted as a ritual of the trade, saloons represented the most common gathering place for the common man, business leader, and political figure of the day, a true center of social life for Cincinnati neighborhoods. But although saloons did considerable business with Cincinnati beer drinkers before Prohibition, they were not the only location frequented by those in search of malt beverages. In contrast, beer gardens were places of leisure where an entire family might enjoy a meal and refreshments. Live entertainment often was provided, and the outdoor setting made the occasion more refreshing. Still another place, the hilltop resort, served as a destination for families and friends who wanted a full evening of revelry, in addition to drinks and perhaps a meal. Orchestras and various performers often entertained thousands of patrons, who were seated at long tables to eat and drink and otherwise moved about to socialize or dance. Music proved to be one of the great loves of the Cincinnati German population, with the result that live performances became a regular feature of many Over-the-Rhine establishments. Such music was keenly appreciated, with the performance of popular songs-such as "Wacht am Rhein"-drowned out on occasion by hearty choruses from the patrons. In smaller establishments a band played classical or traditional music, or members of a local German Sängerbund serenaded the crowd.
Beer gardens, in many cases modest establishments located in the rear of saloon property, assumed greater prominence by the 1880s and offered families the chance to spend an entertaining Sunday or holiday with friends, other families, and relatives, over good food, fresh draft beer, and on occasion well-known classical music. At Mecklenburg's Garden in Corryville, north of Over-the-Rhine, interior architecture and decorations were copied from a German castle and included hand-carved panels and woodwork in the grill room. With a grape arbor enclosed outdoor dining area, patrons were afforded the opportunity to get some fresh air and sunshine, as well as a breeze through the wood latticework surrounding the garden, while trees provided needed shade around many tables on hot summer days.
Constructed originally as a private residence around 1865, the building first operated as a drinking establishment and restaurant around 1870, and became a prominent meeting place for German immigrants and several of their singing societies by the late 1880s. In 1883 Louis Mecklenburg began to work and board at the facility, and in 1886 acquired the business that came to bear his name. Mecklenburg's Garden gained particular notoriety among its many German patrons for its service as the "town hall" of the fictional village of Kloppenburg, where recent immigrants were introduced to the American political system in a farcical manner. Mock elections featured parties such as the Sucklingpigs, Turkeys, and Hares; and contests for civic offices, far from limited to a mythical mayorship, included positions such as lamplighter, night watchman, chimney sweep, trumpeter, cannoneer, and gravedigger.
At hilltop resorts such as the Lookout House in Mount
Auburn, and the Highland House in Mount Adams, full orchestras and occasional
stage shows were presented for large crowds, attracted by the atmosphere
and culture as much as by the beer and food. The Lookout House was reached
by inclined plane railway from Over-the-Rhine, but the view of the city
from the hill and frequent cool summer breezes made the journey worthwhile.
The presence of a large garden, a dance pavilion, and nightly concerts
drew several thousand visitors on weekend evenings, but stage performances,
bowling alleys, and tables to accommodate thousands of people-not to
mention highly acclaimed local beer, wine, and ample food-gave patrons
a special sense of anticipation and provided further incentive for Cincinnatians
to make the journey up the hill. The family nature of Cincinnati beer
gardens and hilltop resorts was an enduring source of pride for those
who sought an alternative to the saloon; one contemporary writer spoke
for many who appreciated the refined character of such establishments:
At the summit of [the hills] are immense beer gardens with mammoth buildings, where on stifling summer nights the city hive swarms out thousands upon thousands of all classes and nationalities, who thus come together and alike yield to the potent influences of music and lager. ... [But] the prevalence of music and lager in the city is largely owing to the Germans ... They resort on Sunday afternoons, with their wives and children, to the beer gardens on the hill tops, where there is music, green arbors, kindly skies and soft airs. The utmost decorum prevails.
The serene nature of the hilltop resorts aside, occasional spectacles likewise served to bring large numbers of customers through the door. One of the more bizarre attractions brought to the Lookout House was a giant white whale in June 1877. Housed in a 168,000-gallon exhibit tank of salt water, it more than served its purpose to generate customer traffic, but only for a very brief time, for the mammal died the next month. The whale was embalmed and displayed, but shortly thereafter the carcass began to rot, which in turn necessitated its disposal and a good fumigation of the resort.
The Highland House, located at the head of the Mount
Adams Incline, was opened in 1876 and featured attractions such as summer
night festivals and picnics. With a capacity of 15,000 people, the resort
became a popular destination each summer as well as a favored place
for politicians to gather and discuss the issues of the day. Several
conventions also were held at the Highland House, due to its large size.
Other hilltop resorts, such as the Bellevue House on Elm Street and
the Price Hill House, soon were established when it became clear that
they could generate tremendous business. On July 4, 1878 more than 20,000
customers visited the Bellevue House for holiday festivities, and a
similar turnout was evident at other area hilltop resorts. One observer
cited the incessant flow of lager beer as a primary reason for the throng,
particularly in the case of the Price Hill House, which briefly had
banned the sale of alcoholic beverages on the site:
This pleasant resort-a place that was formerly shunned by the very people who patronize places of recreation, simply because the national beverage was tabooed-was not forgotten by pleasure seekers ... Beer is now allowed to flow there, and, the masses not being left in ignorance of this fact, the result was a crowd of vast proportions.
In the Over-the-Rhine area, the Atlantic Garden was labelled
a concert hall, but its long, well-stocked bar and connected billiard
room made it a haven for beer drinkers and friends as well as music
lovers. Located on Vine Street under the proprietorship of John Lederer,
concerts were held at the Atlantic every evening and included a Sunday
matinee, along with performances by the West-Side Gymnastic Club of
Cleveland, whose regional headquarters was at the facility. In 1904
the Atlantic Garden featured the only genuine electric orchestrion in
the world, built in Freiburg, Germany expressly for the facility. But
despite such regular attractions, at least one unusual event served
to foster an enduring remembrance of the establishment, when the Atlantic
was the scene of a memorable fireworks display to celebrate July 4 during
the 1880s. At one point revelers took an active role in the festivities,
and evidently got too caught up in the moment:
A crowd of the frequenters of Ellis's [Cafe] gathered on the curb and began to shoot off Roman candles. Habitues of the Atlantic Garden did likewise. Suddenly, as if by a preconcerted signal, they began firing the brilliantly colored balls at one another across the street. The stock of Roman candles having become exhausted, the opposing lines resorted to the more vicious skyrockets. They were aimed to hit and a lot of plug hats were ruined by the flying sticks and many holes were burned in expensive clothing. One bright mind in the Ellis crowd hit upon the idea that oranges and other soft fruit would add to the gayety of the occassion and pretty soon both crowds were pelting each other with these. One of Roos's warriors then concluded that the moment to introduce bricks into the fray was propitious. So he got some and the first one that he threw struck a well-known gambolier in the tummy and knocked him kicking. The Ellis army also got bricks and the thing that started in play developed into shambles.
Yet hilltop resorts and beer gardens did not hold a monopoly on unusual events and important clientele in Cincinnati. Quite the opposite, the local saloon trade remained the primary outlet for social activity among beer consumers of the late nineteenth century, and drew a variety of clients from the community, from politicians to prominent brewers to day laborers. Regardless of their social status, most patrons who gathered at Over-the-Rhine saloons were of German heritage, a circumstance that provided an important bonding factor for men who by nature of their ethnic background had much in common. Many frequent saloongoers made use of a side room, a so-called "sitting room," where they sat at a Stammtisch-a table reserved for regular customers-and held sway over beer, some food, and a convivial atmosphere. Others used the quieter area to conduct financial transactions, conclude real estate deals and legal agreements, and establish businesses.
By the late nineteenth century, Cincinnati saloons also
had come to serve as a working unit of ward politics. Among the political
figures who frequented local saloons was George B. "Boss" Cox, who gathered
by evening-Sundays excepted-with his retainers at Wielert's, at a perpetual
Stammtisch. There Cox made plans with his henchmen on how best to run
the city and ensure votes for his party, alternately boosting and ruining
political careers in the process. The local saloon trade was no stranger
to Cox: he had been the first teenage saloonkeeper in Cincinnati, during
his early years running the Mecca Saloon at Central and Longworth Avenues.
The business gave Cox some of his earliest experience with politics,
not least through the second-floor gambling sessions that earned him
new and powerful friends, and the occasional police raids which brought
the activity to a premature close.
George Moerlein, also a Republican, was a regular customer at Harff & Cramer's, where he held political discussions and plotted strategy in an unsuccessful bid to unseat Cox and his political machine. A colorful individual by all accounts, Moerlein was the perpetrator of an unusual stunt upon his return from a trip around the world:
Mr. Moerlein decided to celebrate the return to the good old burg. He owned a very high-spirited and intelligent riding horse, and, astride to this steed, he rode down Vine Street one afternoon, attracting much attention, of course ... Mr. Moerlein drew up in front of Harff & Cramer's. He wheeled his horse and rode straight through the doorway. The thud of the horse's hoofs on the floor of the cafe started its habitues out of their usual philosophical repose. Mr. Moerlein urged the horse forward, rode the length of the barroom, wheeled, rode back and stopped in front of the bar. He called for a glass of his own product, which he quaffed without taking his feet out of the stirrups. Then he rode out of the front door and cantered south on Vine Street.
By no means isolated in the wake of success, Cincinnati brewery owners were notable for their camaraderie with coworkers and patrons. It was not uncommon to see John Hauck at a saloon across from his Dayton Street Brewery, with some of his managers and perhaps a few employees who joined in after a hard day of work. Other brewery owners were just as willing to enjoy the company of their fellow German workers, and often brought a work day to a jovial close over several of their own beers. Such activity in turn was welcomed by the community as a further show of the down-to-earth character of its brewer-barons, the significance of its brewing industry on a social as well as economic level, and the continued importance of the saloon trade to late-nineteenth century Cincinnati.
