Beyond the Margin

By Joe Spear

Toasting the ghost of Andrew Volstead…

and other things

December comes with the holiday traditions of toasting the successes of the year past and the hopes for the year ahead.

The toasting tradition has been with us a long time.

A fine article by Rebecca Rupp at NationalGeorgraphic.com says 30-gallon pottery jars with barley and oats were found as far back as the Neolithic Age, about 2,300. B.C.

The cocktail was topped off with a “hallucinogenic handful of deadly nightshade, henbade and hemlock.”

Builders of the Pyramids of Giza had a beer ration of more than a gallon a day. Tutankhamun’s tomb held 26 wine jars, with red and white vintages from 15 different vintners. Mayans made “pulque from fermented corn” and “Celts got tipsy on mead,” and “Mongols drank kumis from fermented mare’s milk.”

Wine for ancient Greeks was a pillar of civilization, according to Rupp.

“Water drinking, the Greeks believed, made people surly, curmudgeonly and over earnest. Wine drinkers, in contrast, were convivial, creative, passionate and fond of intellectual discourse,” writes Rupp.

The Old Farmer’s Almanac notes drinking traditions go back to medieval times, 476 A.D., particularly the clinking of glasses as it was a way to ward off evil spirits, or spill some drink on the floor to leave for the demons. Germans banged their beer mugs on the table loudly and yelled to ward off evil spirits.

If you’ve ever been to New Ulm, you know not much has changed.

The Almanac further postulates toasting each other was a way to ensure your friends weren’t trying to kill you by putting poison in your drink. When you clinked glasses everyone got a share of everyone else’s drink in their glasses. A toast was kind of an insurance policy.

The term “cheers” comes from the French word chiere, which originally meant face or head, but in the 18th century came to mean “gladness” and cheers eventually evolved to be a wish for good health and prosperity.

The lifting of the glasses comes from the Greeks as they toasted to the gods above. But you don’t see people toasting regularly much these days, even though the need is great. Maybe our Minnesota Scandinavian heritage makes us just too reserved to be cavorting and spilling our drinks. Or maybe we think the ghost of Andrew Volstead is watching.

Volstead, of course, is best remembered in history for the Volstead Act, or more commonly known as Prohibition.

He represented Minnesota in Congress and grew up just down the road in Kenyon, near Faribault. He later moved to Granite Falls where he was a prosecutor and mayor and then came to represent the vastly conservative 7th District in Congress in the early 1900s.

Volstead, a Republican, was chair of the House Judiciary Committee and helped Wayne Wheeler, of the Anti-Saloon League, usher in Prohibition in 1919, according to Wikipedia. President Woodrow Wilson vetoed the act on technical grounds but was immediately overridden by the House and Senate.

But liquor and legislators are mixing better these days. Having passed a law to allow liquor sales on Sundays just a few short years ago, Minnesota legislators have been arguing where liquor should be sold with bipartisan support for grocery stores and convenience stores.

Shortly after Prohibition ended, Minnesota legislators figured the government could control liquor use better than the private sector and authorized cities to open municipal liquor stores that could sell on-sale as well as off-sale. The fact the state has 200 plus municipal liquor stores likely has Volstead turning in his grave.

So the toasting comes with a storied tradition that we would do well to carry on.

We offer these toasts to you and yours for the year gone by:

For getting through a year of the pandemic where hope arose with the speedy rollout of the vaccine and even though 40% rejected it, the vaccinated were emancipated to go to the theaters, restaurants and public houses.

Vaccines saved lives.

Despite the biggest shock to business and the economy since the Great Depression, the resilience of some businesses was nothing short of astounding. Bars and restaurants reopened and entrepreneurs made plans to build their dream structures.

We toast the return of outdoor concerts including fantastic shows at the Vetter Stone Amphitheater including the Mavericks — not the MSU teams — and Steve Earle, a great singer and musician who swears a lot. RibFest ribbers brought back their terrific delectables from Chicago, Texas and Kansas City.

Maverick hockey returned with a vengeance to full houses and the boys beat three of the top 10 ranked teams in the first six games. And we can toast Maverick goalie Dryden McKay for breaking the alltime NCAA goalie shutout record at 27, just a few games into his fourth season.

Vaccines saved lives.

While Prohibition died a happyhour death in 1933, Volstead’s greater claim to fame was more likely the Capper-Volstead Act of 1922 that allowed farmers to form co-ops without worry about violating the Sherman Antitrust Act.

The law had more staying power than the Volstead Act and still exists today giving birth to organizations such as CHS, the Minnesota-based biggest cooperative in the U.S. with $32 billion in revenues. Minnesotabased Land O’ Lakes comes in third at $14 billion. It’s likely the grain handled by CHS and other co-ops is used by Portland, Oregonbased House Spirits which makes Volstead Vodka, described by the company as “a grain-based vodka, which is filtered for 96 hours through charred coconut husks for clarity and smoothness.”

One could argue farmers gained much collective bargaining power by joining cooperatives and many are probably more prosperous today because of Volstead.

So farmers should toast the ghost of Andrew Volstead each and every year they can join together to produce a bountiful harvest with fair prices.

Vaccines saved lives.

Joe Spear is editor of Mankato Magazine. Contact him at jspear@mankatofreepress.com or 344-6382. Follow on Twitter @jfspear.