BEER BLAST--Trip 2

After leaving the Arch, the Jefferson Extension Museum and the expansive park grounds, we headed for the sculpture gardens and the Old Courthouse. One fountain spewed red, probably in honor of the St. Louis Cardinals. They had just won the playoffs for a match-up in the World Series against the Texas Rangers.

At the Old Courthouse, lawyers had tried one of the most important cases in United States history. A 50-year old illiterate African American slave named Dred Scott had sued for his freedom in Missouri court based upon the fact that he had been held in bondage in a state and territory where slavery was not allowed by law. His second owner, Dr. John Emerson, a military surgeon south of St. Louis, had taken Dred Scott along to forts in Illinois and Wisconsin Territory. On April 16, 1846, after Emerson had passed away, Scott and his wife Harriet filed suit against Dr. John's wife Irene Emerson for their freedom. Missouri courts had previously supported the doctrine of "once free, always free."
The case came to trial in 1847, but due to a legal technicality, a new trial was ordered for 1850, in the same courtroom. The jury ruled in favor of the Scotts under Missouri law. Mrs. Emerson, however, appealed the case to the Missouri State Supreme Court, which reversed the decision, stating "Times now are not as they were when the previous decisions on this subject were made." Political reasons returned Dred and Harriet Scott to servitude. The trials began a complicated series of events that culminated in a U.S. Supreme Court decision in 1857 against Scott, led to the election of anti-slavery Republicans like Abraham Lincoln, and hastened the start of the Civil War.
Andy sat in the judge's chair behind the podium. Here it all started, and history was made.

But the St. Louis Courthouse represents much more than the Dred Scott Decision. Architecturally dominating the early skyline, it greeted river travelers in the 1800's and set a standard for other government buildings. The impressive iron-framed dome, winding staircases and ornate rotunda exemplified 19th century civic pride, the interior art and murals preserved local and national heritage, and the building served as the center of activity for a developing city that became America's "Gateway to the West."
We meandered up and down the spiral staircases, in and out of display rooms, floor to floor. I read some statistics from one interpretive sign to Andy, "Look at this. During the golden age of cast iron from 1850 to 1880, St. Louis was the leading commercial center of the Trans-Mississippi West," I said. About 60 percent of the inhabitants were foreign born. "What a melting pot!" I said. Colonized by the French, ceded by treaty to the Spanish, purchased by the Americans, St. Louis was dominated by the Germans via immigration. Steamboat traffic peaked in 1860, interrupted later by the Civil War, and by 1874 Mark Twain wrote of the "drowsy St. Louis Levee." But in 1900, the city had the fourth largest population as a major rail and industrial hub in the gas-lit, horse-drawn "good old days." The details amazed me. An average worker made 22 cents per hour for a 59-hour workweek. And life expectancy for men was 46.3 years; women, 48.3 years. "Good old days didn't last long," I told Andy. "We're dead!"
Following the map, I guided Andy along back streets to the Anheuser-Busch Brewery. We read the pamphlet and lined up for a tour, prepared to learn from Matt and Kelsi how beer is made. "I know you are all anxious to get to the end of the tour for the stop in our Hospitality Room," said Kelsi, "but first we will share some of the history of this company, now the largest global beer producer." It all started in 1852, when an entrepreneur named Eberhard Anheuser and a young German immigrant named Adolphus Busch started a small local brewery in St. Louis."
"The horse stalls are cleaner than most people's houses," whispered Andy, as we joined the tour group of about 100 in the stables.
Using a microphone, Guide Kelsi told us the story of the stables and answered questions. We learned that Clydesdales weigh 150 pounds at birth and grow to an adult weight of 2,000 pounds by consuming 20 quarts of grain, 50 pounds of hay and 30 gallons of water daily. Used to pulling the beer wagons, the Clydesdales had been kept in these stables, then private, since 1885.
"The hitch you see there," said Kelsi, pointing toward the tack room, "weighs 130 pounds per horse, and it takes five hours to completely rig an eight-horse hitch." Kelsi continued her talk. "Not all Clydesdales make the cut as beer wagon horses. Anheuser-Busch Brewery owns about 200 Clydesdales. To pull a wagon, a mature Clydesdale must have a chestnut brown coat, a white blaze, four white stockings and a black mane and tail. Dalmatians joined the wagon teams in 1950 to guard the beer."

Guide Matt led us into the secondary aging room of gigantic stainless steel lager tanks . We shivered. It was 50 degrees. "This is the only brewery in the world to use natural beechwood aging for flavor and color," he said. "Beechwood shavings and chips line the bottom of the tank about a foot deep and provide more surface area for the yeast to work. It keeps the yeast from going directly to the bottom of the tank," said Matt. He continued with an explanation of how chips could be washed and reused three to five times before being recycled as park mulch. "That tank holds 3,600 barrels of beer," said Matt. "Do any of you think you could consume one tank full in a lifetime?"

Two younger women raised their hands.

"You could consume that?" he repeated, pointing at the tank. "It holds 200,000 six-packs."

"Well, in a lifetime? Yeah," answered one.

"You're wrong," he said emphatically. "You could not consume the contents of that one tank in a lifetime. At the rate of one 12-ounce beer per hour for 24 hours a day, you would be drinking for 137 years."

We all laughed.

"Okay," said one of the women, "but I like beer."

In the Brew House, Guide Kelsi took the microphone. She explained that ingredients for Anheuser-Busch beers are hand selected by the brew master: barley from Idaho and Utah; rice from Arkansas and California for lighter body; hops, the specially grown buds of a flower, from Idaho and Germany; water from St. Louis; and yeast from the original 1876 culture of Adolphus Busch. "It takes about 30 days to complete a batch from start to finish," said Kelsi, "and to ensure consistency, samples from all U.S. brew locations are tasted here daily and all international locations, weekly, in this plant."

"That sounds like a good job," said one man in the tour group.

"Unlike wine tasters," said Guide Matt, "the tasters have to swallow. That's because taste buds for bitter are at the back of the tongue."
The Bevo Packaging Plant took the name from Bevo the Fox, the wisest animal in the forest in Grimm's Fairy Tales. Gargoyles of Bevo graced the front corners of the building, and the name was used for a nonalcoholic product produced during Prohibition. "This structure has 27 acres of floor space in one building," said Matt. "I'll walk you in and out quickly; please keep up and snap pictures as you pass." We saw the can line sweep by on a fast-moving conveyor belt. "Beneath us is a ten-acre warehouse that holds 500,000 cases. How long would you guess that would last here in the Midwest?"

People in the group guessed a week... two weeks... five days.
"You are all wrong again," said Matt. "This warehouse lasts 18 to 20 hours in the Midwest, the highest consumption area in the U.S."

Guides Kelsi and Matt escorted us to the Hospitality Room for two 12-ounce samples and pretzels. "The sale of Anheuser-Busch to a Belgian company with a Brazilian CEO hasn't changed the hospitality in this world economy," said Matt, as he said good-bye.
It was time for lunch: pretzels, raspberry wheat beer, orange wheat beer and Michelob dark.
Different backgrounds and opinions strained relations between Ulysses S. Grant and his father-in-law "Colonel" Frederick Dent, mirroring tensions throughout the country that would eventually tear the nation apart in the mid-1800's. Grant's wife Julia was caught in the middle, torn between her husband's and her father's opposing philosophies about slavery. Grant was born and raised in the free state of Ohio. His father Jesse was an outspoken opponent of slavery and instilled in young Ulysses the belief that it was morally wrong. Julia Dent was born and raised in the slave state of Missouri and taught by her father that slavery was the proper relationship between whites and blacks. Dent owned 30 slaves, a vital part of his wealth and status, but his son Fred fought for the Union, while his son John sided with the Confederacy.
"Is there a reason for the name of the house?" I asked Ranger Sherme, as we walked around the outside of White Haven, Dent's and later Grant's 850-acre plantation home south of St. Louis. The lime green house certainly wasn't white.

She laughed. "That IS the color Grant's wife chose, and life here WAS a microcosm of national issues in the years preceding the Civil War," she said. "But the family actually painted the house three different colors over the years." First, White Haven, owned by Julia's father Frederick, was white with a bright orange door. The color of the door symbolized welcome, since it attracted visitors and invited any traveler to enter. As the nation's political turbulence escalated, the southern Democrat and secessionist, painted his house Confederate grey. After the war, Julia chose the lime green, because she liked bright colors."

Ranger Sherme pointed out the ice house, slave laundry and chicken house. She said, "Grant had a dog named Leo. When an older slave named Mamie needed chickens for dinner, Mamie ordered Leo to go after the chickens. He would catch the ones she indicated, only he wouldn't stop. Grant had a good laugh, watching Leo capture chicken after chicken."
He returned to White Haven in 1854, following his resignation from the army, and worked side-by-side with the Dent slaves in the fields. In 1859, he was forced to abandon farming after several bad weather years and a severe economic depression. When responsibilities forced him to leave the plantation for Washington, D.C., he hired caretakers and always hoped to return and shift the farm focus to horse breeding. After his second term as President and a two-year world tour, Grant and Julia settled in New York to be closer to their children. But White Haven remained the place they called home emotionally.
Grant Farm, home of the Clydesdales from the Anheuser-Busch Brewery, swarmed with people out for a Sunday afternoon in the country. We drove past the white-washed fences to the parking entrance. Andy noticed the gate closed, and I saw the sign, Parking $11.00. It was already 4:15 p.m.
"The tourist guidebook said there would be a token parking fee," said Andy, "but I don't consider that token, and it's late to start exploring here for that price."

We edged past the fences a second and third time, turning around when we had reached the residential streets on each end of the farm. I snapped pictures, and the horses posed. Accustomed to people with cameras, they stood coyly waiting for attention.

Laumeier Sculpture Park offered a relaxing and beautiful way to end the busy day. We strolled around the grounds, browsing at the outdoor sculptures and trying to guess what each one might be titled before checking the identity and creator.

"From a distance that one seems like a pile of pick-up-sticks," I guessed. I certainly meant no disrespect.

"I beg to differ," commented a nearby visitor.

"No way!" contradicted Andy. He read the label. "It's called The Way by Alexander Liberman, and it consists of 18 salvaged steel oil tanks." A couple teenagers climbed up the rounded surfaces in spite of the signs that warned NO CLIMBING!

"That one looks like a jumble of tree roots," said Andy as we passed through the Northern Grove area of the park. Sure enough, Walking Roots by Steve Tobin was created of cast bronze.

The Children's Sculpture Garden attracted a much younger set, but we found the whimsical sculptures delightful, like the chain of 55 steel marine buoys called Ball? Ball! Wall? Wall! by Donald Lipski. Down the hill through Trova Woods, we followed the paved path and strolled across the expansive lawns. The sun dipped behind the trees, leaving a pleasant coolness after the 85-degree day. "It won't be so nice tomorrow," Andy warned. "A cold front follows that rainy weather that is due in overnight."

"Then I'm glad we can enjoy our last day of warm temperatures in such a beautiful place," I told him.