The return of legal brewing activity and beer sales in Cincinnati was greeted with a tremendous and almost universal enthusiasm. During the initial weeks of the post-Prohibition period local brewers hastened to restore old equipment to a pristine state, modernize where possible, and catch up with a demand which wholly outstripped supply. Although Cincinnati-area brewers welcomed the new era with anticipation of past successes, the landscape of the local industry had changed greatly over the past thirteen years. Gone were the biggest names of the pre-Prohibition years, along with numerous smaller concerns. Still other area pre-Prohibition brewers made plans to reopen, but never progressed past the drawing board in their efforts. Yet the post-Prohibition period also gave rise to several new brewers, such as Burger, Red Top, and Schoenling, which would become major players in Cincinnati brewing history. Thus the end of Prohibition caused great optimism for local brewers and, despite some early casualties, created the illusion of a return to glory for an industry still remembered for its many accomplishments.

Bruckmann Company offices, 1941

In the wake of repeal legislation, Cincinnati brewers hastened to secure permits to manufacture and sell their product as of April 7, 1933. By mid-March the Bruckmann Company, as the only Cincinnati-area brewery still in production of near beer, had a leg up on local competition, with well-maintained equipment prepared to produce legal beer as needed. In anticipation of repeal, the brewery prepared a ready supply of 3.5 percent alcohol beer, and—on the assumption that state and federal taxes were not to exceed six dollars per 31.5 gallon barrel—publicly speculated on the return of draft beer at the pre-Prohibition rate of five cents per eight-ounce glass. Bruckmann and other area brewery officials predicted a period of approximately one month between the preparation of beer for the public and its readiness for release, but in the same breath acknowledged a number of complications involved in legal aspects related to the business of brewing. To a certain extent breweries were caught in the middle of a governmental debate over licensing; federal officials insisted that they would not issue permits to brewers to package and store beer until their individual states and cities took action to modify limits on the alcohol content of malt beverages. As a result John C. and William Bruckmann made an unscheduled appearance before Cincinnati City Council on March 29 to request an immediate revision of city Prohibition laws. Shortly before the speech of John Bruckmann to assembled council members, and with uncanny timing, the Ohio House of Representatives passed a beer bill by a margin of one hundred to twenty-nine, and cleared the way for statewide licensed production of 3.2 percent beer as of April 7. Most council members, led by Mayor Russell Wilson and aware of their newfound power to alter existing prohibition laws, quickly affirmed their intention to provide emergency measures to permit the manufacture of beer and light wines within city limits, but the motion was not unanimous. One council member, Charles O. Rose, insisted first upon the enactment of pending legislation on the general code of ordinances, which pushed work on a new city beer bill back by one day.

On March 31, the general code put in order, City Council cleared the final hurdle for the return of beer in Cincinnati, and unanimously passed the beer and light wine ordinance, as “an emergency measure necessary for the immediate preservation of the public peace, health and safety.” As a result local brewers were entitled to obtain permits to manufacture 3.2 percent beer, and to sell their wares to licensed retail establishments on or after April 7. Whether due to the overwhelming public demand for beer or a stated concern for the welfare of Cincinnati residents, assembled council members addressed the beer issue with great seriousness; the preamble to the measure urgently noted that “a large number of unemployed citizens of this city will lose both temporary and permanent employment if Cincinnati delays in providing for the manufacture and sale of beer which is already provided for in neighboring states and the Federal Government.” Further provisions of the bill established penalties—of fines between $100 and $500, and one to six months imprisonment—for the manufacture or sale of beer without a permit, yet in at least one case council believed that the sum total of local repeal measures failed to go far enough. One council member, Joseph H. Woeste, stated for the record his belief that the new measure, although well-intended, was inadequate to meet the needs of the public in a new era, and served only as a “breathing spell” before the outright repeal of the Eighteenth Amendment and its restrictions against stronger alcoholic beverages:

I still am a repealist. I believe that it is morally wrong to continue to enforce futile and unsuccessful laws, but since this measure will facilitate the manufacture and sale of good beer for which the public has indicated its demand, I believe that it is best to support it.

The objections of Woeste aside, the Bruckmann family, like other Cincinnati brewers, was elated at the news, and made immediate provisions for the resumption of business. William Bruckmann, present for the council vote on the bill, confirmed after the session that the family brewery already had received “oodles of orders,” and that round-the-clock brewery work shifts would prepare enough beer for repeal day.

Lining up for beer at a northern Kentucky bar immediately after repeal, 1933

As it turned out, the Bruckmann Company was the only Cincinnati-area brewery fully licensed and prepared for the repeal of Prohibition and immediately able to deliver beer shipments; other beer was brought in from Louisville, Chicago, Columbus, and Milwaukee as it became available, to help satisfy the initial heavy demand. At precisely 12:01 a.m. on April 7, 1933, the first Bruckmann truck left the loading docks at Central Parkway and Ludlow Avenue and headed toward downtown Cincinnati, to deliver the first legal supply of beer since January 18, 1920 to the Wheel Cafe, on Walnut Street. The joy of patrons there at the return of beer was diminished slightly by a lengthy wait to purchase the product; actual sale of beer at the Wheel Cafe did not commence until 9:00 a.m. due to delays in the retail sales permit process. Other establishments had better luck with the government; by 1:00 a.m. the Ohio State Liquor Control Commission—which had set up a temporary office in the Hotel Metropole—had granted 138 area permits for the first day of beer sales, to 115 bars, sixteen grocery stores, and seven wholesale distributors. In a later reminiscence a longtime Wheel Cafe employee recalled the typical response when the first glasses of draft Bruck’s Beer finally crossed the counter at area drinking establishments, where overflow crowds consumed a continuous flow that quickly tested the abilities of the bartenders—and the beer supply—to keep up with the rush:

People lined up 10 to 15 deep on Walnut Street between Fifth and Sixth, just waiting to get in to get a taste. We didn’t figure they’d do much eating, so we almost did away with the platter lunches. The only food we served was sandwiches which were wrapped ahead of time. ... We had only the lower floor open when they started packing in. There were at least nine bartenders on the job. Soon [I was sent] upstairs to open up another bar on the second floor. At both bars we would set up a barrel of beer ... open the spigot and let it run. We never had to shut off the spigot, so fast did that beer move. We just shoved the half-liter and liter glasses and mugs across the bars. [The customers] would toss their money on the bar, grab a beer and stand aside. We would throw the money into the open register. It went on like that all day.

A Bruckmann executive poses next to an oversized model of its Crowntainer beer can, early 1940s

The heavy initial demand placed upon Bruckmann overloaded delivery schedules, and necessitated alternate plans for the provision of beer on the first day of repeal. Licensed retail establishments unable to procure beer, and those whose supply quickly was exhausted, sent a steady stream of trucks, automobiles, horsedrawn wagons, and even taxicabs to the brewery to seek undelivered brew throughout the day. Anxious but genial customers in turn waited for the return of the proprietors, and for several days continued to consume large volumes of beer as it came available. The high initial demand for beer soon slackened, as it became evident that legal beer had returned for good; in the words of one local saloonkeeper, “This kind of beer drinking went on for several days, but died down after a while when people realized beer was here to stay. They knew they didn’t have to hide out and drink home brew or any of those things any more.”

But the return of legal beer and the drinking establishments which served it also brought inevitable comparisons with bygone days, particularly in the case of the pre-Prohibition saloon and its successor. Filled with enthusiasm at the renewed presence of beer, few patrons of the early- to mid-1930s were of a critical disposition at the point of purchase, but over time observers acquainted with the old and the new orders made clear that much had changed as a result of the dry years. Almost invariably, seasoned commentators held that, despite its occasional flaws, the Cincinnati saloon trade of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century possessed a certain charm and intimacy which failed to carry over into the post-Prohibition era:

In viewing the bar-rooms of to-day, with their vast array of glassware, numerous bottles of whiskey, gin and cordials, with ornate leather topped stools where one can rest in comfort instead of standing on one hind leg while pawing for the foot rail with the other one, there is only a difference of degree. The decor is the same but on a varying elaborate scale. However, the oldster has a vague sense of something missing, something lacking in the picture. It’s the odor of the old time saloon created by the combination of fresh sawdust and stale beer. It would rise up and smite you the moment you entered the place. It was a homely smell and in time one became accustomed to it.

Serving beer and sandwiches at Mecklenburg Gardens, mid-1930s

The sentimentality that characterized descriptions of the bygone saloon extended further to the people who inhabited it, and with whom patrons felt comforatble and able to discuss virtually any issue of personal importance:

The old saloon with its friendly owners, and the bartenders who were the official repository for the trials and troubles of their customers, have been replaced by glittering glassware, chromium fixings and bartenders with all the dignity of an Archbishop in whom no one, unless in an advanced state of intoxication, would dare to confide his troubles. The old personal touch has vanished; the old “home away from home” is no more.

We can still drown our troubles in the modern bistro but we have to immerse them without benefit of clergy. Some day, before I am relegated to the realm of eternal bliss, I am going to buy a plug of tobacco ... fit up a box with sawdust and indulge in one last chaw: but first I shall pour a foaming glass of beer and blow a little suds on that sawdust—just for old time’s sake.

As the enthusiasm over the return of beer subsided, the impression grew that much had been lost as a result of Prohibition, including a number of time-honored traditions and treasured social customs. The emerging image of modern drinking establishments held that they were places of considerable cleanliness and virtually impeccable in their standing within the communities they served. Yet as time went by, it became clear that remarkably few patrons were satisfied with the materially and morally clean drinking establishment, an entity which seemingly had lost more in personality and intimacy than had been gained in efficiency and decency.