Chuck Swain's "Bier Garden" Draws All Sorts
By ANN Editor Pete Combs
At a wooded lot in Camp Scholler, adjacent to Oshkosh's Wittman
Regional Airport, one of the 30,000 or so campers who come to
AirVenture each year is Chuck Swain, owner of Beaver Aviation.
"I've been at Oshkosh since it was in Rockford (IL) in 1963," he
told me during the big fly-in. "I have been in this campsite since
1970. If you look around, you'll find all kinds of bottle caps
buried in the turf." He laughs contagiously. "We dig them up every
once in awhile just to remind us 'that was a very good year.'"
In fact, this story actually centers on -- beer. For Chuck, it's
a religious experience.
"We take this very seriously," he said, beer in hand, surrounded
by about a dozen friends. "We have the beer prayer."
Really.
Beer has become the focus of Chuck's campsite here at Oshkosh.
And you know how a lot of people will tell you 90-percent of life
is "all in the presentation." Well, for Chuck Swain, the
presentation is -- well -- kind of macabre.
"Well," he says, choosing his words carefully. That doesn't
work, so he blurts it out, "it is, as you see, a casket."
That's right. A casket. You know, the long box you put dead
people in.
"It has been modified somewhat," he hastens to add. "I packed
lots of insulation in it. We had a pool liner put in it and a drain
put in it.... The rest of it is absolutely stock."
What do you do with a somewhat modified casket in the middle of
a campground at AirVenture in Oshkosh? Why, you put beer in it, of
course. To Chuck, that makes perfect sense.
"See, a when a coffin's sitting on a stand, the stand is called
a bier," (pronounced "beer") he said, in perfect earnestness. "The
assembly of the stand and the coffin is also called a bier. I
thought, how appropriate! I mean, you can't take things too
seriously here. The whole object here is fun, right?"
Right.
"We've just had a ball with this thing."
This... coffin thing.
"We had a great time driving this up from Beaver (WI)," he said.
"It was in the back of my 'hillbilly hearse (his Ford pick-up
truck). I had a state patrolman follow me for five miles. He just
shook his head and roared off."
Well, at least Chuck didn't get arrested. Good thing the trooper
didn't know what was in the casket -- er, cooler, eh?
The casket, which sits on a bier and is full of beer, is now so
heavy that six people can't pick it up. Inside are all kinds of
beers from all over the world. I was especially taken by a nice
little pale ale from Chicago with a great finish.
In any case, that's a lot of beer and, of course, it draws a lot
of people to Chuck's campsite.
"Ever get any luminaries?" I asked.
Chuck laughed his infectious laugh. "Oh, jeez. I had the whole
shuttle crew in a couple of years ago -- Hoot Gibson and company. I
dragged them all over here. They went through a whole week's beer
in one night."
Oddly enough, no one seems to get wasted at Chuck's campsite.
That would be sacrilegious.
Which brings to mind the fact that Chuck's beer ritual has
become a rite of Oshkosh for his closest friends -- and just about
anyone else who wanders into his camp. Why, Chuck has actually made
a religion of beer. He's even a minister in the Church of the
Mighty Six Pack. While that may not be enough to get him a tax
exemption, he CAN perform marriages in Canada (or so he says). And
he has a prayer that he recites, along with his followers, at the
end of a long summer's night of drinking and fellowship:
Our lager, which art in barrels,
Hallowed be thy drink.
Thy will be drunk.
I will be drunk
At home as in the tavern.
Give us this day our foamy head
And forgive us our spillages,
As we forgive those who spill against us.
Lead us not into incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers.
For thine is the beer
And the bitter
And the lager
Forever and ever.
Bar-men.
FMI: (You really don't want to know
any MORE, do you?)