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?)