“Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”
By all accounts, Scott LaFollette did just what the ‘Follow Your Bliss’ playbook told him to do when he opened a local brewery called Blank Slate in 2012. And here’s where it led him on Monday:
Closed abruptly. Social media accounts shut down. No response from Scott to media requests for an interview.
I’m no beer connoisseur, but I’ve tried most of the local brews, and the Blank Slate beers were consistently a notch or three above the competition. Blank Slate got great reviews too.
Other local brewers looked up to him, respected him, admired him.
“We had long talks along the way about life, business and beer. No one has ever done it the way you (LaFollette) have. No one respects the craft the way you do. No one is a better guy in the industry than you, Scott. I wish nothing but the best for you and your family,” — Kevin Moreland, the former head brewer for two local breweries.
“Scott has been a great friend to the brewery since he started. We are two breweries that have always been the underdog. So we have shared a lot of common bumps along the way. We have collaborated on more beers together than I can even remember. He is always willing to put down what he is doing to answer any/all questions someone would have about beer.” — Jason Brewer (yes, real name), GM of Listermann Brewing Co.
“There were few things that weren’t special about Blank Slate,” Breeden said. “Beyond the fact that Scott was a super nice guy, he was also super creative. He was kind of like Cincinnati’s ‘mad beer scientist.’ I would say Cincinnati truly lost one of its most artistic voices when Blank Slate closed down — in beer, art or otherwise.” — Chris Breeden, GM of local bar Arnold’s.
Here’s a tweet from MadTree Brewing:
MadTree recently expanded and opened a gigantic $18 million bar/brewery. Scott closed his doors forever on Monday, probably with a fistful of bills, and likely with tears in his eyes.
What now, O Mighty Dream Peddlers? What do you do when the dream blossoms, and then withers on the vine and dies?
Guess we’ll have to take solace in the words of the Gnarly Gnome, who insists that Blank Slate didn’t fail.
As I sit down to write this, it’s 10:40 a.m. on a Sunday. Normally I’d be at Mass right now, sitting in the same pew as my wife’s uncle Neil, and his wife Gayle. They were with us on vacation in Florida July 1-8, along with a bunch of Neil’s relatives, and everyone rolled back into town late last Saturday night. After every Sunday Mass, all the family members in attendance always gather and talk for a bit, with Neil at the center of the conversation.
A week ago, it was just Neil, Gayle and me. We chatted for a bit, and said our “see you next week” goodbyes… Neil had a heart attack later that day, and passed away on Thursday. Yes, he was 78, and overweight, and had already had a heart attack and heart valve replacement several years ago… but I still feel like he was stolen away from us way too soon. That’s the way it always is with great folks, and he was a fantastic human being.
There are so many stories I could tell about “Real Deal Uncle Neil” as I called him, but to me the one that best epitomizes his character and caring is this: for nearly 40 years, Neil would dress up as Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, and spend several hours visiting the homes of dozens of relatives, friends and co-workers, spending a few minutes at each house talking to the kids that lived there, having them sing a Christmas song, reminding them to go to bed early, asking them to leave a snack for his reindeer… totally getting into playing the part of Santa Claus. Our house was one of the stops when our kids were younger, and I’ll never forget the look on our kids’ faces when “Santa” showed up and spoke with them. Pure magic.
Think about that for a bit. For 40 years, Neil sacrificed his Christmas Eve to make others happy. It was no fun riding around dressed up in a sweat-inducing Santa suit, with heavy boots and an itchy beard… but bringing some magic into the lives of others superseded that.
Here’s the thing – the Santa suit was just a prop. Honestly, Neil was the type of person that brought magic into the lives of others every day – kids and adults alike. He had the Irish “gift of gab” and never let the facts get in the way of a good story. He was comfortable talking to anyone and everyone, and always left you with a smile on your face.
In hindsight, as we look back at a few things Neil did on vacation that were a bit more sentimental than usual, we think he knew his time on earth was drawing to a close. We’ll miss him dearly. But I’ll also take solace in the words of Ray Bradbury, from his beautiful story about dying called “The Leave-Taking“:
Important thing is not the me that’s lying here, but the me that’s sitting on the edge of the bed looking back at me, and the me that’s downstairs cooking supper, or out in the garage under the car, or in the library reading. All the new parts, they count. I’m not really dying today. No person ever died that had a family.
Today is the first day back to work after a vacation (heavy, audible sigh).
I was off for two weeks, so it’s especially tough to get back in gear.
I suppose I could make this photo from vacation my computer desktop pic:
But somehow it’s not the same as being there.
Oh well, only 350 more days until I get to do it again.
Welcome to the working week Oh, I know it don’t thrill you, I hope it don’t kill you Welcome to the working week You gotta do it till you’re through it, so you better get to it
Happy Summer! June 21 is the Summer Solstice, the official start of summer and the longest day of the year. It’s also the wedding anniversary for my lovely bride and me. That’s not a coincidence. I had to pick a day that I’d remember, and I love Summer so June 21st made sense. (It also helped that the church was available on that date.) I tease Tina all the time that “the longest day of the year” was also “the longest day of my life” – but really we both know it was the luckiest day of my life.
This year is our 20th anniversary. Two full decades. A “score” in Abraham Lincoln’s parlance. 1997 seems like a long time ago (4 kids will do that to you) but it also seems like just yesterday in many ways.
My man John Hiatt captures the daily adventures of married life quite well in this pretty little ditty. It has some great lines, like “I always thought our house was haunted ’cause nobody said boo to me” and
“Now I’m in my car I got the radio on I’m yellin’ at the kids in the back seat ‘Cause they’re bangin’ like Charlie Watts”
But my favorite lines are here:
Time is short and here’s the damn thing about it You’re gonna die, gonna die for sure And you can learn to life with love or without it But there ain’t no cure
While we’re on an Americana jaunt, let’s keep the momentum going with a great duet from Steve Earle and Lucinda Williams.
Last weekend I went back to Arkansas for the first time in nearly 30 years, for a high school reunion. While I was there, I just had to drive past my childhood home in Hagarville, Arkansas (population: 129). I hadn’t seen it since 1985.
It’s changed a bit.
You can barely see the front of the house from the road in front of it.
And there’s cattle fencing all around the house. Because my dad sold the house to the farmer next door, and when my dad moved out (circa 1999) to live with my older sister in Brooklyn, Farmer Ocil just extended the cow pasture that used to be next to our yard, and used the house to store feed and supplies. Ocil died in 2012, and whoever took over is just letting the place go to seed. So the house is abandoned, and falling down. I had to peek through the overgrowth by the fence line on one side of the house just to try to snap a few photos.
Did it make me sad to see my old childhood home in such a sorry state? Sure. But then again, it was never a showpiece, even in its prime. And in an “ashes to ashes, dust to dust” way, it’s fine. That house served its purpose for many years – as a safe harbor for Herb and his four young kids after his wife died. The yard was a place for us to play football, and basketball, and baseball, and catch frogs (and run from snakes), and feed persimmons to the horses next door. But we outgrew it, went to college in Boston and and Omaha and Cincinnati, and really never looked back.
Who cares if cows (and bulls) are now roaming our old stomping grounds?
The house can fall, but the home lives on. And that’s no b.s.
May 30th was my dad’s birthday. A couple of years ago, I wrote a post about him on Father’s Day. Since only 2 people knew of this blog’s existence back then, I’m doing a “rerun”:
I think of my own father, Herbert, who also was the father of four. His wife died at age 33, of leukemia, just a few months after the diagnosis. Dad was left to raise four children under the age of 7 all by his lonesome. How do you survive that gut punch, that heartbreak, that total meltdown of your world? In many ways, my dad never did fully recover. But he did the best he could. We moved from Jersey City, NJ to Hagarville, Arkansas – from the big city to the tiniest speck on the map in the foothills of the Ozarks. “Culture shock” doesn’t do it justice. However, it was a great place for us to grow up with a single parent, and has made my life experiences richer.
We were dirt poor, but our dad bestowed gifts upon us that were priceless: kindness, integrity, compassion.
Herb passed away in 2010. I miss him every day. To anyone who has lost a father, this beautiful song by Billy Bragg is for you.
And to add a bit of “bonus footage” to the rerun, there’s another great song about missing your old man below. My friend Tim Condron (check out his Second Takes blog) lost his father, a Norwood, Ohio firefighter, while we were in college together. His dad contracted Hepatitis B on the job, while coming to the aid of an overdose patient.
(You can read the entire article Tim wrote for Cincinnati Magazinehere.) Tim and I took several classes together at Xavier, as we were both communications majors. Shortly after his father passed away, Tim put together a video of still photos of his father with this song as the soundtrack. It was one of the most moving pieces I’ve ever seen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6BB1FbCA2I
Here’s to you, Herb and Jim, and all the other good dads who are no longer here, yet always present.
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
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