by L. M. Fortin
Callie passed by the corner where her homeless friend Jacob usually resided, but he wasn’t there. Since the mayor’s garden had been dug up and not replanted, she assumed he had found another corner better equipped to provide him lots of foot traffic for his panhandling.
Callie got to the Barley and Sheaf Taphouse just a few minutes before noon and found the door locked. There was a bench, so she sat there to wait for Walt and Yuki Eckman, the bar’s owners.
She noticed a young man on the corner across from her. He was dressed well, wearing black corduroy pants, new brown boots and a dark blue parka. That’s what made her notice him. It was too warm for a heavy coat and the knit ski cap he was wearing. He didn’t seem uncomfortably hot. It wasn’t just the clothes, but his stillness that caught her eye, as he stood almost motionless and stared off at something in front of him. She realized he was staring at his reflection in the window of an empty storefront. It was a thousand yard stare and Callie wondered if he were ill or maybe on drugs. He took a deep breath and raising his hands, began moving them as if conducting an orchestra, watching himself in the window at all times.
His gestures were precise, and it was obvious he had trained as a conductor or had played in an orchestra at some point in his past. Callie wondered what path led someone from an orchestra to out of their mind on a street corner in Skinner. For a moment, she wished she could hear the music he thought he was conducting.
The lock on the door rattled, and a middle-aged man pushed the door open. “Callie?” he asked seeing her on the bench. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“No, just a few minutes. People watching in downtown Skinner is something not to be missed,” she said, rising and shaking his hand.
“I’m Walt Eckman, come on in,” he said, leading her into the bar. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the logo of the tap house emblazoned on the back in yellow. His thinning brown hair was brushed back from his forehead, but he had smile wrinkles around his eyes and that offset any aging look from the lack of hair.
The main room of the Barley and Sheaf was filled with farmhouse style wooden tables with sturdy wooden chairs. There were large decorative beer casks around the perimeter of the room, each branded with the names of Skinner’s local breweries. Walt led her through the tables to the back where a black marble bar ran the length of the room. From the number of tap handles she could see, Callie estimated there were around thirty different beers being offered.
A woman emerged from a door behind the bar. “This is my wife, Yuki,” he said. Yuki was also dressed in a taphouse t-shirt, but on her it seemed inappropriately informal. Yuki Eckman’s somewhat Asian features and her waist length coal black hair made Callie think more of a teahouse located in the Far East rather than a taphouse in Skinner.
“Miss Stone, it is good to meet you,” Yuki said. She had a slight accent Callie couldn’t place and spoke precisely, enunciating the words. “May I get you something to drink?”
“For me, it’s a little too early for beer, but a glass of water would be nice,” Callie replied.
Yuki filled two glasses with ice water and poured a beer from the tap for Walt. The beer was a luminous chestnut color.
“Does that taste as good as it looks?” said Callie. “I’ve been a wine drinker most of my life, but maybe I should spend some time getting to know beer better.”
The three of them sat at a corner of the bar. Walt nodded. “We’re in a new age for the beer industry. There are dozens of producers in this area alone making really good and unique beers. This is a nut brown ale from one of Skinner’s fastest growing breweries, Sylvan Ales. All the ingredients are organic and locally sourced.”
“Are you locals?” asked Callie.
“No,” said Walt. “I’m originally from Kansas. We came here rather serendipitously. I met Yuki when I was in the army stationed in South Korea. We married and she’s followed me around from place to place, without complaining. I did one combat tour in Iraq and decided I’d had enough of the military life. Yuki’s dad was from Oregon, so we randomly decided to move here about five years ago.”
“I can understand that,” said Callie. “I came to town to be near my mom and grandma. Does your dad live in town?”
Yuki looked at the glass in her hands, turning it around slowly. “No, my father served in South Korea many years ago, but left my mother and I when his military time was up.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” Callie said. She thought it was a good time for a change of subject. “Jeremy told me you are running some kind of brew fest?” asked Callie.
“Some kind of brew fest is right,” said Walt. “Right now it seems like the unsuccessful kind.”
Yuki nodded, agreeing with him. “For about ten years, the Skinner Bru-topia was organized by a local civic group,” she said. “Year before last, a major sponsor pulled out at the last minute and the group ended up losing so much money they decided that would be their final year.”
“How did you two get involved?” asked Callie.
“You may not have noticed, but we don’t brew any of our own beer,” said Walt. “My idea when we moved here was to create a bar featuring small batch beers. We don’t serve the big producers. When the brew fest became available, I thought we could re-envision it as a chance to celebrate those craft beers, so we bought the name from the previous hosts.”
“But if you are focusing on small batch producers, who’s the major sponsor of your event?” asked Callie.
“You just figured out in five seconds what it took us all of last year to figure out. How do we pay for the event if we don’t have the support of any large breweries?” asked Walt.
“Was the event a success last year?” asked Callie.
“Yes and no,” said Yuki. “It went a long way to establishing the event as a place to showcase small breweries. Everyone who participated wants to return, and through word of mouth we’ve heard of a few more who also want to get a display space. From a cash perspective, we almost broke even, but that’s it.”
“I can tell you from my experience, you may not think you did well last year, but you did fine,” said Callie. “Most first year events don’t make any money and many of them are so poorly run they can’t survive their own bad press to have a second year.”
“Do you have any suggestions for how we do more than break even?” asked Walt.
“I would need to see your budget from last year, but as you don’t have a large cash sponsor, I’d try to figure out a way to get every single item you use, from printing and signage to glassware and event space, donated as a small sponsorship or an in-kind gift. That way the sponsors get advertising at the event they can afford and you don’t have to put out any cash. It certainly takes more work than a large sponsorship, but that’s what happens when you are short on funds.”
Walt nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Next, as you say the festival was successful last year and the breweries want to come back, I’d add fees for tables. Not a lot,” she added, as she could see Walt about to disagree, “But maybe have several levels of table rental and the higher fee ones get better placement or a spot in the Premium Showcase.”
“What’s that?” asked Yuki, puzzled.
“That’s an area where you offer, let’s say, five of the most unique or prestigious beers and have a tasting competition on opening night. One of those beers gets a blue ribbon or some fancy title. This way you create a desire for people to come the entire weekend and try the ‘most unique beer in Skinner.’ It’s a way to drive attendance, which is my third way of increasing revenue. Get more people to the festival from the start.”
Walt nodded. “I like the sound of that. The brewer also wins because he can continue to sell that beer the rest of the year. I could even offer it on tap here as an added prize to the winner.”
“Exactly,” said Callie. “One more thing. Drinking is sometimes seen as an indulgence or a vice, so it can be helpful to partner with a local charity. You gi
ve some portion of the proceeds to them and that encourages more people to participate because they are drinking for a good cause. It balances out the bad karma in a way.”
“I have to admit when Jeremy suggested talking with you,” said Yuki, “I didn’t see how you could improve things, but these are all great ideas.”
“It still doesn’t guarantee success,” said Callie. “But with all the small sponsorships, you at least stand to come much closer to breaking even before you count in any fees your attendees pay. Then that money is mostly profit.”
Walt looked at Yuki and they silently seemed to come to an agreement. “Would it be possible to hire you for the event?” he asked.
Callie rapidly came to a decision. “I am still so new in town, I can get a lot of networking out of something like this. I’m ok with volunteering. Or how about this? I can be your first in-kind donation and Stone Events Management can be your first sponsor.” Stone Events Management existed only in her mind at this moment, but this might be a good start.
Walt reached out to shake her hand. “That sounds like a deal. We’ll put that at the top of the sponsor’s list. We’re going to have to celebrate with a beer. You have a lot to learn about beer in the next couple months.”
“Ok, pour me some of that gorgeous stuff you have there, but just a small glass. When do you want to hold the event?”
“It’s always been in November, so we thought we’d stick with what people expect.”
“Then I guess that leaves us about two months to plan,” said Callie. “I’m glad it’s been done before. Otherwise, two months would not be enough time.”
Yuki pulled a half glass out of the cooler and poured beer from the tap. “We use these glasses for our tasting trays. You can get several small tastes at once to see how well you like them before committing to a full glass.”
Callie held the glass up, marveling at the beautiful chestnut color that was glimmering with a golden light. “You said this was a nut brown ale?”
“Yes, this one is called Forever Filbert. It’s made by Sylvan Ales. Usually a nut brown ale only refers to the color and doesn’t contain any nuts, so technically this is an American brown ale and not a true nut brown,” said Walt. “But the brewer at Sylvan mixes in a roasted hazelnut flour with the toasted malt and comes up with a slightly different flavor. Are there any healing properties to hazelnuts, Yuki?”
Yuki smiled fondly at him. “Looking for another way to market the beer again?” She looked at Callie. “My mother was a traditional healer in Korea and I learned a lot about herbs and the properties of all sorts of things that now seem to be used as ingredients in beer. Although hazelnuts are good for you, I can’t imagine there’s enough in the beer to make an impact. Sorry, honey.”
Callie wondered if the hazelnut trees around her mom’s farm had provided any of the hazelnut flour for the beer. She took a sip. It was sweeter than what she was used to drinking and, although it had a strong nutty odor, the nut flavor was very subtle. “I like this,” she said. “It’s very smooth.”
“I know we’ve just started planning the event, but I’m certain Sylvan Ales will be getting a place in our Premium Showcase,” said Walt. “Chris Ashton, the owner and brew master there has a sixth sense when it comes to compiling exotic flavors. He’d love the challenge of creating Skinner’s most unique beer.”
“I look forward to meeting him and drinking his latest creations,” said Callie.
“Maybe we can get you to meet a whole bunch of the brewers at once,” said Walt. “The Skinner Brewer’s Guild meets once a month and you could come to the October meeting. Could you give a presentation on the brew fest?”
Callie blinked and thought for a moment. “Well, I’d need more background on the event before that, but sure.” And then, Stone Events Management would be a reality, she thought.
Callie left the Barley and Sheaf, her mind in overdrive. What was she thinking? Although it was an established event, it hadn’t been successful for a couple of years. Sometimes an event had sunk so low and had such a bad reputation that no amount of marketing would make it better. Although she had reassured Walt on the timeline, two months was very tight. She banished those thoughts from her mind. Of course, this happened to her at the start of every event. Before she had the plans on paper, before she had the lists created, there was always this doubt. In fact, she often thought the difference between those who were event planners and those who were not was this moment in time. She handled her doubts by making lists and coming up with solutions to problems she could barely imagine. Other people let the doubts get them, let their inner editor persuade them it wasn’t even worth making an effort.
Callie supposed that if you were working on an event, such as, say, the Olympics, you might have an inexhaustible list of tasks to complete. Most events, however, were truly finite. That’s what she liked about event planning. Once she got over her initial trepidation, the whole process was controllable. She could look at her time line and understand if she was ahead or behind. The trick of it was to never get behind.
Skinner was definitely not suited to large scale events that needed open square footage. She knew there were many places, such as a high school gym, that would be large enough and appreciate a rental fee (provided she could find cash to pay it; however, they might not feel it was correct to host an alcohol focused beer fest in their building. Schools were definitely out.
The university had one or two large spaces, but it was always so busy with on campus events, Callie felt a brew fest wouldn’t make the priority list to even get scheduled. There was a large hotel downtown with several ballrooms that would be big enough, but Callie considered them the last resort. With most hotels, one could negotiate free use of space if the event had enough attendees using sleeping rooms or buying large amounts of food and beverage. As most attendees for the event would be local, and they’d get plenty to drink with their entry fee, Callie knew she’d pay a lot to rent a hotel ballroom. Of course, one didn’t have to pay upfront and, as she would be collecting attendee fees, she could probably afford to rent space in the long run. She just wanted to make sure she got the best deal for Walt and Yuki.
Then she remembered the county fairgrounds. The week long fair held there in the middle of August had always been a highlight of Callie’s summer when she was growing up. In the days when her dad was still alive, the fair brought a family outing where they went on rides, ate caramel apples, and spent hours wandering through the multitude of farm animals on display. It was as if, for one day, her parents were kids again and could see the world through her eyes. Her father had especially liked the chickens, with the exotic birds one didn’t see in the average chicken coop. He made Callie laugh when he would crow at them and walk around their cages with his arms folded into wings. She was pretty sure the chickens were not as amused.
Callie thought of her mother’s favorite part, the grange displays. Local farmer’s collectives would bring their best fruits and vegetables to compete for largest squash or best looking onion. They would always create some large scale display as well, such as laying out the entire United States in different types of nuts or parsnips.
The grange displays were held in what Callie distinctly remembered as a large, round, and cold room. She and her dad would leave her mother for thirty minutes or so to get snow cones as Coral perused the displays and oohed and ahhed over the first-prize winning tomato or potato some home gardener had brought in. The inside of the building had few windows and a conical shape that reminded the child Callie of the inside of a Native American teepee, with numerous large round poles heading up to a point at the top of the dark wood ceiling. Callie always imagined some sort of terrible creature lived up in the rafters of the building where the light didn’t reach.
So the fairgrounds definitely had numerous spaces in which a brew fest could be held. Callie wasn’t sure if it there were any spaces she’d actually like, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. As the space was owned by the county, sh
e could hope the costs were subsidized somewhat or that at least she’d pay less than at a hotel.
She pulled up the website to the fairgrounds on her laptop and was surprised to see a well-made website, with updated information. Her experience with government entities was that they were often behind in creating easy ways for users to access their space. Often it was because they barely had the staff to maintain the space, much less a website.
She scrolled through the available spaces. The large warehouse style rooms, where the farm animals were displayed during the fair, looked to be much too large for what she envisioned. Plus, the event would be very chilly in those rooms, as they were tough to heat. There was a large convention center that Callie remembered as festooned with quilts and homemade cakes during the county fair. Although the prices were not as high as a hotel’s, they were out of the range Callie would feel comfortable with at this event.
The Johnson Pavilion, home to multitudes of grange displays, would be her best bet. The price wasn’t too high, the space was adequate without being too large, and from the few photos there were on the website, it looked like it had been repainted inside. She’d have to go over and tour the space before renting it.
