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PAGE 6 - WATERLOO CHM. WEDNESDAY. FEBRUARY 27. was Second Class Mnil Registration Number 5500 Tuesday's lockout of 3,500 workers by ontarid's three major breweries tosses yet another ironic twist at the saga of suds in the Twin Cities. It is, for the moment, a chance for a local David to chop Goliath down to size. The irony comes with the discovery David wants no part in the slaying. __ You see, one-of the intriguing sidelights to Tuesday's province-wide lockout is that the spotlight here shifts to little non-union Brick Brewery. - - Willing or not, Jim Brickman, founder and president of the immensely popular Brick Brewery on King St. S. in Waterloo, has become the overnight toast of the town. In fact, his may soon be the only game in town. And that, while encouraging for him in a competitive light, likely didn't enter Jim's thoughts during six long years of strategy planning and honest hard work leading up to the opening of his brewery just prior to Christmas. Nor, likely, does it thrill him now. ”mm . . an m a; pun-u 'ri9tta33'tteirq'lWt.r'ra.1i_', MO' tV _ilfa'iiitttgttitttitt ' 1rlr' . W a" '.d I3llM!l 1fi1'f2l'Mell "WM 'ttfl's1tttli' _ " H ., rr'r,,1c,rsst/j,rs"i'.) Vi/é/Iaygfiy/gfl/jfi/x; WT "lil - BillrllBBal W.W.;5W.,.,â€"A1 ‘1 'ri'cr,'ikfs, $¢¢Mw 4", LFaMPcPs88:?'a"t ':%Ehrgri1, w, MII . fi‘flr All along, Brickman has insisted that his company is not interested in tackling the industry giants, that he is happy as a lark to accept a miniscule market share built on quality, not quantity, of his German-style brew. This should be a time for Jim Brickman to bask in the glory of his entrepreneurial gamble, not cater to the every whim of desperate guzzlers interested in bulk loading the ice box. Take it easy, Jim. Enjoy your popularity and have pride in your early accomplishments. And don't ever lose sight of your belief that quality is what counts most. It is. But now, having given local tipplers a first-rate product with demand constantly exceeding supply, Brickman has become a prisoner of sorts of his own success. And that shouldn't be. Strange as it may seem, especially in this, our time of want, we must be patient in allowing this local success story to chart its pattern of growth. Brickman is dedicated to producing a quality product in limited-sized facilities, has already commenced plans to double the company's current output, and is sensitive to the need to strike a balance between consumer demand and his ability to produce. Tuesday's announcement of the lockout had even greater ramifications locally when Canadian Brewery Workers president Gordon Plenderleith expressed worries that Labatt's might close its Waterloo plant. The lock-out manoevre is being used by the three major breweries in an attempt to force a settlement with workers, who are worried the increasing popularity of aluminum cans and other technological advancements will create massive layoffs and present a major threat to job security within the industry. It is a classic confrontation pitting management's right to streamline and maximize production operations against workers' right to safeguard against their own obso- lescence. Both arguments have merit. Our only hope is that when a solution is being hammered out, consideration be given to the history and tradition of brewing and brewery workers in the Twin Cities. The closing of the Labatt's Waterloo plant would be a sad day for all of us. Too many of our cornerstones are collapsing as it is. What't brewing'? published every Wednesday by Fairway Press. a dMsion of Kitchener-Waterloo Recdrd Ltd., owns! 225 Fairway Rd. S., Kitchener. Ont. address correspondence to Waterloo ofnce: as Ed: St, Fr, Waterloo, (Jul NN ILT. leleplpne mm Walonoo cum om Is madman ”any. White make Budding (can: enhance, - Boor) Punting at the nu of the ttulMNtq Open Monday to Hm, 9:00 am to 5:00 p m Publisher: Paul Winkler Manager: Bill Karges Editor: Rick Campbell established 1 854 Just struggled home through about the tenth blizzard of this year. You could see your hand before your face, if you had a large hand and good eyesight. ' Found my street more by feel than sight. turned off with a skid, went through the routine of getting into the garage. It's rather like launching a small boat in a Iargesurf. It takes a lot of skill and a fair bit of nerve. At the entrance to the driveway are the boulders. These are huge gobbets of snow thrown up by the snowplow. which then freezes them bigger than a large man's head. You have to hit the driveway. and there is a large maple a foot to one side, at about 24 miles an hour. There is a great rending noise from beneath. just like rocks tearing the bottom out of a boat. Then there is a flat space. shovelled, about the length of a car. Then. just at the entrance to the garage itself, there is a sort of reef of ice, built up to a foot or so of frozen snow. But you don't even slow down. With a judicious touch of brakes here and accelerator there, you sashay past the maple, line her up for the middle of the garage, and goose her just a little on the flat patch. There is six inches clearance on each side. All being well, you then ride up over the reef of ice. with another rending noise, this time part of your roof peeling away, slam the brakes at the last minute so that you don't go through the end of the garage, switch off, and sit there wiping your brow. I enjoy it. I feel like a skipper whose ship is sinking, and who has launched a boat, taken her through the surf, over the rocks, through the reef, and beached her on golden sand. But inevitably, on such occasions, my thoughts turn to the poor devils, our pioneer ancestors. who had to cope with the same weather and snow conditions, with a pittance of what we have to work with. It is written We were Just the opening act Surviving Bill Smiley Syndicated columnist ' the Pope was the headliner." The refrigerator is one of our modern gods, and one of the most popular. I think it takes precedence even over the car as a twentieth- century deity. We kneel before it, contemplating its innards. We place offerings of food inside it, much as the ancients proffered food to their gods. the woodpile, or ashes to carry out. All I have to do is sit down with a drink, unfold my daily paper, and raid the refrigerator. - A And just like the ancients. we are smart enough to take food back and eat it. after the god has been placated. Not for us the pioneers' meagre fare. We have fresh (frozen) meat to hand. We have fresh vegetables, nothing from the root cellar. We have cheese and fruit and eggs and orange juice and a myriad other exotics that would make our ancestors blink in awe and fear. On the shelves in the kitchen we have another host of luxuries: canned fruit and vegetables and soup, coffee and tea and sugar and smoked oysters and sardines and salmon and tuna. In the bread-box, cookies and cakes and bread that cost money but no labor. After a meal that would appear to a pioneer as food for the gods (even though half the stuff in it is going to give us cancer. according to the quacks). we don't have to sit huddled by the stove trying to read a week-old newspaper by the light of a kerosene lamp. We can sit in comfort and read a book from among thousands in a library five minutes away. Or we can listen to music or drama from hundreds of miles away. Or we can watch the same, or the news of the day, from thousands of miles away. By merely twisting a dial. How did they stand it, those sturdy forebears of ours? Wouldn't you think that they'd have gone starkers under the burden of never-ending toil. never-ending cold and snow, never-ending monotony and loneliness, in winter? _ Not a bit of it. They thrived and multiplied. (Maybe the latter was the answer. There's nothing like a bit of multiplying to pass the time.) Many of them didn't survive, of course. Chil ren died in infancy. Women were old at 30. But it was a life-long test course in survival. and the tough ones made it. But I'm sure glad I don’t have to go out to the barn. put hay down tor the horses, milk the cows. and drag In a quarter-cord of wood to keep the stoves going. tonight. Whatva lot of complaining, complacent slobs we on: today! - - _ 'et,? mIIRgf‘: Paddy 'l',trt', of the Chief. tains mus c group, who [rented an appearance by Pope John Paul H. -SEE PAGE 18