Eulogy for a Pub

It was almost a year ago... and it was tonight

Tonight I had my last pint of Piper’s Pride Scottish Ale, and took home my last growler of 85 IPA. Lafayette Brewing Company (LBC), an OG (by American standards) brewpub, which started brewing the year I graduated high school (a long time ago), is closing its doors for the last time. Maria and I joined our son, who now lives within walking distance of LBC, for a final pint.

It is good to give due respect to a proper pub. I’m a person who thinks we need more proper pubs here in the land of my sojourn. LBC was the first brewery, and the first pub I ever spent time in. I’ve heard some great music in this pub. I’ve seen some great homegrown improv comedy in this pub. I’ve laughed with friends and had some of those transcendent, long, lingering dates, filled with deep but delightful conversation, with my wife at this pub. I am grateful for the years of having LBC and grieve its passing.

Nearly a year ago, we lost our hometown pub, Backstep Brewing. I’ve had a partial, or, better stated, interrupted essay, written on the final night of Backstep, tucked away, and, honestly, forgotten until the closing of LBC reminded me.

So, I present to you, Eulogy for a Pub - A Reflection Interrupted.

I’m sitting at the corner of the bar at a pub on its final night in my hometown. Dee is working on a stout that will last the next two hours. I don’t exhibit the same moderation. I’m working on a Shotgun Wedding ale and dram of Thomas Moore, the first of a few I’ll have tonight.

We all drink differently here.

My photographer friend loves this place. A recovering alcoholic, he loves the fact that every time he has come in here, whether to bring his wife on a date, photograph an event, or attend a church book study, there is never judgment or even a skeptical side-eye for the fact that he chooses the craft NA.

For the past eight years in my hometown of Crawfordsville, Indiana, we had a proper pub. Before I ever got to travel abroad, my priest and his wife explained to me that a pub in Ireland or Scotland is different than an American bar.

“A pub doesn’t have the same darkness,” I recall J saying. Fr. D added that a pub is a place where the community gathers, “You don’t want to get out of hand because to be banished from your pub was to be ostracized from your community.” Kids are allowed into pubs, at least until a certain hour. And there is always music.

We interrupt this reflection interrupted for some music… recorded at a proper Scottish pub… lads and lasses… the brilliant Bobby Nicholson

A technicality in Indiana law prevented our pub, Backstep, from ever being all ages (no entrance that did not pass by alcohol, and no room to cordon off an aisle to pass by… Indiana is weird). But everything else about Backstep was a proper pub. Purposely not serving pitchers of cheap beer or pushing cheap shots, having hours that ended, at the latest midnight, and supporting activities like original music, fundraisers, and bingo instead of karaoke or party bands sent a message that this place was meant to be different.

I spent a good deal of time at Backstep, and I rarely encountered a situation that got out of hand. I was comfortable having our church book study, “Patristic Pints,” here. I would always bring friends or family from out of town here. I also had the joy of hosting a monthly original music night at Backstep, something I had hoped for many years could happen in my hometown. It was neither too divey nor pretentious. As a native Crawfordsville resident, I was proud of our pub. And over the years our pub gave us plenty of reasons to be proud of it.

When Backstep Brewing Company purchased the historic Monon Hotel building in 2017, I showed up immediately at the soft opening. The attention to detail on a space that, for a few decades, had been a revolving door of cheap bars immediately set it apart. Within the first five years of Backstep’s opening, my hometown brewery boasted numerous national beer awards. We got spoiled for those years. I love good beer. We had some really great beers. Florian, Black Hat, Three Vows, Helvefesfonster, Lost Season, 451, Dunkel Witz, By Necessity, Quinn, Nine Daughters, Frisch… and the rare ones, Tropicoat and the glorious Crawfordsville Monster, named after our little known hometown cryptid.

This pub had music too. I asked Jimmie, one of the owners, who had stood on a table on the official opening night and declared that Backstep was there to provide good, fresh beer and a place of community to Crawfordsville, what he thought about having a songwriter night. Jimmie told me that was exactly what he wanted Backstep to be. They didn’t want it to be a place for karaoke or cover bands. There were places for that. Backstep would be different, and it was.

For seven years, we brought in songwriters from all over the Midwest. Within two years, it became a sought-after destination. ,I was booking a year in advance. Songwriters would tell other songwriters that this was a place that not only provided a space for original music but also took care of artists. Backstep consistently paid artists a generous guarantee plus drinks, food and tips. This set it apart in an important way from spaces that invited artists in but didn’t show that it valued what bringing original music into a space and community meant.

Dee told me she thought she recognized me. She and her husband came to the music nights. Her husband was a craft beer fan, and he won her over to the brews at Backstep. Dee lost her husband to cancer. This proper pub opened up privately to have a celebration of life for him. She reflects that this pub became her safe place, the place that cares. When my brother knew he only had a year to live, we did an event at Backstep too. I asked if I could take over the music and bring my turntable in to play John Prine and Elton John. We had folks visit from every point in my brother’s life that day. Tonight Dee and I raised a glass to her husband and my brother.

A proper pub is an important thing for a community.

the final Song Matters music night (photo by Andy Chandler)

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The original essay, written on January 25, 2025, abruptly ends at this point. As I recall, I got engrossed in conversation with my fellow mourners, and I ended up staying until last call. I tucked it away to finish and publish at some point. A year went by, and it wasn’t until another pub got its terminal diagnosis that I had the heart to revisit it.

What makes a place like this matter so much to some of us? Why do we miss it when it’s gone? It may seem silly, but there has not been a week that I have not driven past Green Street and looked over at the spot that was, at least for a few years, our proper pub. I did the same when my favorite coffee shop, The Bowery (where Song Matters got its start), closed.

Places that invite connection and community, not only commerce and consumption, resonate differently. The thing is, commerce and consumption are kind of necessary for places like this to stay afloat. Makes me think of the conversation between George Bailey and Clarence the Angel in Its a Wonderful Life. Clarence asks what George needs. George says “You wouldn’t happen to have 8,000 bucks would ya?” “Oh, we don’t use money in heaven,” Clarence responds. George retorts “Well it sure comes in handy down here, bub!”

So, as a conclusion to this eulogy to two pubs, I encourage you to support your local pub, or coffee shop, or gathering place that works to build not just profit but community. The kind of place Dee can call her safe place. The kind of place that supports artists, conversation and mutual support. The kind of place that does a thing very well, and that a town can be proud of.