Week 44 of the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge is “Spirits.” There were no ghosts in my grandparents’ cobbled-together home, but tucked into a nook downstairs was a bar surrounded by my grandfather’s vast bottle collection. It was the center of all our family gatherings – the spirit of that space, where coincidentally spirits were liberally served. The adults gathered around that bar during family parties to chat, eat, or mix drinks. The grandchildren loved to sit and spin on the chipped red stools bolted to the floor. I think we all remember crouching behind the bar during a game of hide and seek, trying not to choke on the stench of stale alcohol wafting from the grimy, matted carpet beneath us. Grampy kept the built-in cooler stocked with off-brand bottles of soda and homemade iced tea, and the shelves full of Fig Newtons for the grandkids. I wasn’t a fan of the Fig Newtons, but if little-me was silent and out of sight, that probably meant I was raiding the stash of maraschino cherries and mini-pickles used for the grown-ups' cocktails.
The bar was an integral part of the LaViolet home’s identity, and it was built with the help of good friends. My grandfather’s best friend, Paul Gaudreau, owned the Warren Avenue Restaurant in Westbrook, Maine. When the diner closed, my grandfather helped him dismantle the lunch counter. Paul took half of the counter and bar stools to use in his home and Grampy took the other half to create his bar. Another friend, Guy Libby, salvaged an old Coca Cola cooler which Grampy covered over and built into the back corner of the bar, right next to the sink. On June 29, 1962, the bar was officially opened during a small party. His coworkers from the count and fan room at the S.D. Warren paper mill were in attendance. Guy Libby officially opened the bar by pouring one jigger of whiskey on its surface, which he wiped away with a rag. According to my grandfather, it just about killed Guy to waste good liquor like that. The poor man got loaded during the party, passed out, and had to be carried home! The celebration continued for well over a month. Each new family member or friend who stopped by was invited to have a drink and their picture taken behind the bar.
Grampy loved beer and learned how to make both beer and wine from his father, William, and his Uncle Joe, the bootlegger. In 1973, his children and my dad asked how to brew beer and make wine, so he set out to teach them. In total they brewed 100 quarts of beer, 60 quarts of elderberry wine, 20 quarts of grape wine, and 10 quarts of chokecherry wine that year. He wrote in one of his family history binders, “Not since 1952 have I made so much.” My mother reminisced that the elderberry was her favorite. She also fondly remembers her father brewing and bottling root beer for his children once each year. It was a coveted treat, as the family couldn’t afford store-bought soda for so many children.
Grampy’s bar was welcoming, and his brewing skills impressive, but the most noteworthy aspect of his bar was his extensive bottle collection. Like many children of the Great Depression, my grandfather was a packrat and couldn’t throw anything out. He saved unique bottles from liquors he tried, so he had accumulated a decent collection of bottles before his dream of a home bar became a reality. Once the bar was built, his collection grew and grew until he amassed well over 4,500 bottles, including some fairly unusual crockery bottles from a Scottish brewery, Wm. Younger & Co., which were made before the company changed its name to William Younger & Co. Ltd. In 1887. He donated two such bottles from his collection to the company in 1971 for their museum.
He had an eclectic mix of bottles, from regular glass beer bottles to liquor bottles that looked like sculptures. A few of the bottles had music box mechanisms, including a wine decanter with a brass handle. When the grandchildren were small, he’d cradle us in his arms and dance with us behind the bar holding that bottle as the music played. My favorite piece in his collection was a musical Bols liqueur bottle from the 1950s with a ballerina inside. I was utterly enchanted by it and remember staring at the delicate ballerina as she twirled in circles, trapped within the glass.
Grampy was a practical man. In his old age, he began to cull his collections and either sell or break them up among family members so there wouldn’t be as much to go through when he passed away. After he sold some of his more rare and expensive bottles to dealers, he let each child and grandchild choose five bottles. Because my husband Alex always admired his collection, and we were planning our own basement bar, he included him among the grandchildren. Actually, he gave him first pick because he knew out of everyone in the family, Alex genuinely appreciated his collection the most. He even let him choose more after everyone had their initial turn. Not everyone was interested in his collection, so some family members like my brother (he hates clutter) let us take his share. My mother, who along with my aunt was tasked with washing the 4,500+ bottles and all of my Nana’s fancy dishes and various tchotchkes twice each year growing up, internally recoiled at the thought of taking any of them into her home. We ended up with her share as well. Over twenty pieces from Grampy’s collection are now displayed on shelves behind our home bar, where (and this would please my grandfather so much) they are admired and commented on by our guests whenever we have parties.
Kommentare