Healing through Storytelling

Transform nightmares into stories of growth. Our narrative therapy empowers your healing journey.

Part 3 Finding a home.

Before you can build a brewery, you need two pretty important things.

Money and a place to put it.

I had the dream. I had the plan. I was doing the research. Now I had to figure out how to actually make this thing happen.

And finding the right building was going to be a huge part of it.

THE GLASS BUILDING

One of the first places I seriously looked at was a large glass building near the stadium.

I loved it.

The building had been home to several car dealerships over the years, so it had this huge open area that I could immediately picture becoming a brewery.

It wasn't going to be cheap.

I would need to put in a kitchen. The floors would need work. There were plenty of things that would have to be changed before I could ever brew the first batch of beer there.

But standing inside that building, I could see it.

And that's something you're going to hear a lot throughout this story.

I could see it.

I could picture the brewing equipment. I could picture the taproom. I could picture people sitting there, drinking an Adler beer while the brewery operated right in front of them.

Even better, the building could be seen from the highway.

For a new brewery trying to get its name out there, that kind of visibility was huge.

Yes, it would take a lot of work.

Yes, it would take a lot of money.

But I thought it could be worth it.

Actually, I was convinced it could work.

MEETINGS, MEASUREMENTS AND PLANS

I set up a meeting and started working with the realtor handling the lease for the property owner.

At first, everything went really well.

He was accommodating. He allowed me to come into the building, take measurements, and start figuring out how everything could be laid out.

That's when my mind really starts going.

Give me an empty building, a tape measure, and an idea, and pretty soon I'm mentally moving walls, placing equipment, and figuring out where everything is going to go.

I really liked this building.

The lease was a little higher than I wanted, so I needed to spend some time thinking through the financial side of it. Building a brewery is expensive enough without putting yourself in a hole before you ever sell your first beer.

Still, I wanted this place.

Eventually, I met with the property owner.

He was actually very easy to talk to.

But here's a little advice I've learned along the way:

Not everyone is necessarily what they seem to be.

I'm not saying this particular guy had some hidden motive. I'm saying that when you're chasing a dream, it's easy to believe that the person sitting across the table, nodding along with you, shares your excitement.

They might not.

They might understand your vision.

They might not.

They might just be listening.

I sat there with the property owner and the realtor and explained what I wanted to do. I remember basically telling him that the building had been a car dealership forever, and obviously, that hadn't worked there long-term.

Maybe it was time to try something completely different.

Maybe a brewery could work.

I walked into that meeting excited.

I didn't walk out feeling the same way.

There wasn't necessarily one thing I could point to. I just didn't have a good feeling when we left.

Sometimes you have to trust that feeling.

And apparently, my gut knew something I didn't, because after that, the realtor suddenly seemed to forget how a telephone worked.

A few calls weren't returned.

Then a few more.

I was pissed.

But I wasn't going to sit around waiting for somebody else to decide whether my dream was worth a phone call.

Time to move on.

So I did.

"HEY, THERE'S A PLACE ON HAMPDEN..."

A friend told me about another building.

There was a place available off Hampden Boulevard that I should take a look at.

I got the information and contacted the owner.

I'll admit it—I was still pissed about the other building.

But whatever.

I'll give it a look.

I made an appointment to see a property at:

2210 Hampden Boulevard.

Remember that address.

We're going to spend some time there.

THE PART I HAVEN'T TOLD YOU YET

And yes...

I know.

I left you hanging in Part 1 with me standing in that basement.

I haven't forgotten.

I promise you I'm going to tell you everything.

There's a reason I'm telling this story in order.

Writing this has actually become therapeutic for me. There are things I've carried around for a long time, and putting them into words feels good.

It's especially interesting telling the story when, even as I'm sitting here writing it, more shit is happening.

We'll get there.

For now, I want you to understand the person who was about to walk through the doors at 2210 Hampden Boulevard.

Because I wasn't angry.

I wasn't bitter.

I wasn't expecting problems.

It was the complete opposite.

I was excited.

I WAS READY

I kept this part of the story relatively short because there's only so much I can say about looking at buildings and trying to put financing together.

But I loved this process.

And I hope you can actually hear that in my writing.

I was genuinely excited.

The people around me were excited too.

My family offered to help. My friends offered to help.

Well...

I got plenty of:

"Hey, I'll be your beer tester."

And:

"You know what you should make..."

Everybody suddenly had a beer recipe.

But it was fun.

I felt genuinely proud and elated that I was finally starting this project.

And I wasn't afraid of the work.

I was ready for it.

The first batch couldn't come fast enough.

I would play that moment over and over in my head.

The first customer.

The first person sitting at the bar.

The first conversation about an Adler beer.

I wanted to know everything I possibly could before that happened.

So I worked at it every day.

If there was something I didn't understand, I researched it.

Then I asked somebody.

Then I researched it again.

Then I asked somebody else.

I sat at bars and talked to people about the beers they ordered.

I'd ask what they liked about them.

What they didn't like.

Why they ordered that beer instead of another one.

I wasn't just trying to learn how to make beer.

I was trying to learn why people loved breweries.

THE BUCKET LIST

Somewhere along the way, I came up with something that went onto my personal business bucket list.

It wasn't about money.

It wasn't about selling a certain number of barrels.

It wasn't about winning an award.

It was something much simpler.

Someday, I wanted to walk into a place where nobody knew who I was and see somebody order an Adler beer.

I wanted to sit there quietly and eventually ask:

"Hey, how's that beer?"

Hopefully, they'd tell me they loved it.

Then I'd pick up their beer tab and introduce myself.

"I'm Mike. I own Adler Brewing. That one's on me."

That was the dream.

It still is.

Because everybody needs things like that.

Everybody needs goals that aren't written on a spreadsheet.

THE BUSINESS BIBLE

This was also around the time I started putting together what I called my business bible.

I already had the basic idea for Adler.

But now I started building the backbone.

What kind of brewery did I want?

What kind of experience did I want people to have?

What would make somebody come back?

What beers would we make?

What would Adler look like?

What would it feel like?

What would make us different?

I researched.

I asked questions.

I listened.

I wrote things down.

Then I changed them.

Then I researched some more.

The little brewery idea in my head was becoming something much bigger.

The vision for Adler was taking on a life of its own.

And I was ready.

I just needed the right place to build it.

So...

Let's go take a look at 2210 Hampden Boulevard 



No Doubt, this is the place

I found my dream spot -Part 4

 

I didn't just drive by 2210 Hampden Boulevard once.

Or twice.

Honestly, I probably drove by that building twenty times.

I had already spoken to the guy about the property more than once, but before I ever scheduled the real walkthrough, I kept finding myself driving past it.

Looking.

Thinking.

Planning.

The place needed work.

Actually, that's being generous.

From the outside, it looked like it had been sitting empty for twenty years.

There were weeds everywhere. There was junk around the property. The parking lot needed attention.

Nothing about it screamed beautiful new brewery.

But that's not really what I was looking at.

I was looking at what it could be.

And every time I drove past, I noticed something else.

Wait... there's an exhaust fan.

That must be for a kitchen.

And it actually looks kind of new.

Okay.

That's good.

Then I noticed the back.

Ohhhh... now we're talking.

One of the things that bothered me about the glass building was that I couldn't figure out a good way to create the outdoor area I wanted.

Here?

I had one.

There were weeds everywhere, but who cares?

I got this.

There was junk.

More weeds.

A lot more weeds.

Whatever.

Clean it up.

There were also stairs lying outside the building. I was told there was going to be an apartment upstairs and those stairs were for the apartment.

Okay.

That explained those.

I wasn't really worried about any of that.

Because I was already looking past it.

I was looking at the space.

Could this be the biergartenI I wanted?

Now my mind really started going.

I had been thinking about using a Conex container and turning it into an outdoor bar.

Could I put it back here?

Absolutely.

Maybe I had a thousand square feet to work with.

Tables...

Concrete?

Maybe.

A deck?

A deck.

Yeah.

I liked that.

Then another thought hit me.

Wait. ADA.

I was going to have to learn all of that too.

Okay, Mike.

Details later.

Keep looking.

There was a back door with an open landing.

Perfect.

Deliveries could come right through here. Ingredients could come in. Kegs could go out.

Then I noticed windows.

Where do those go?

Was there another room on the other side?

Sweet.

The more I looked at this place, the more I wanted to see inside.

So I finally did it.

I contacted the owner.

THE MEETING

The texting started.

Then the phone calls.

Then the back-and-forth trying to find a time when we could both meet at the building.

And I was excited.

Really excited.

But I was nervous too.

I had done all this research.

I had visited breweries.

Bars.

Restaurants.

I had already owned my starter place, Mike's Taste of Philly. I had learned from that experience.

I had a plan.

I had the HELOC from a great location.

The money side was starting to come together.

And now I might have the building.

Okay, Mike. Relax.

I hadn't really seen the inside yet.

What if it was horrible?

What if everything had to be replaced?

Ugh.

Then it's a no.

I wasn't going to completely remodel somebody else's building just so I could rent it.

So stop getting excited.

Just go look.

I had also been told that the owner had originally wanted to open his own bar there.

He'd even had plans drawn up.

I didn't think anything of it.

I see blueprints all the time.

I didn't know what he'd spent or how far he'd gotten with his plans.

All I knew was that those drawings could help me picture Adler Brewing in the building.

Then the day finally came.

I walked through the door.

Well...

Almost.

WALKING THROUGH MY FUTURE BREWERY

One of the first things I remember was this huge white PVC tank sitting in the vestibule, practically blocking the entrance.

Okay.

Walk around it.

Once I got inside, I realized just how much stuff was in this building.

There were pieces of equipment everywhere.

Equipment in crates.

Equipment sitting on pallets.

Boxes.

Things covered with blankets.

Things covered with tarps.

Some of it I could see.

Some of it I couldn't.

And you know what?

I didn't think twice about any of it.

I didn't ask what every piece of equipment was.

I didn't care.

Whatever it was, it was leaving.

At least that's how I looked at it.

I wasn't there to inventory somebody else's stuff.

I was there because I thought I might have found the future home of Adler Brewing Company.

I met the owner.

First impression?

He seemed really nice.

No bad feeling.

No voice in my head telling me to get out of there.

No initial cautious Mike.

Nothing.

He was accommodating, answered my questions and walked through the building with me.

And honestly?

I was just happy to be doing this.

After all the research, all the planning and all those trips looking at possible locations, I was finally standing inside a building where this might actually happen.

So the PVC tank?

The crates?

The pallets?

The boxes?

The equipment buried underneath blankets and tarps?

Whatever.

That stuff could leave.

My brain was already replacing it.

Where there was equipment on pallets, I saw brewing equipment.

Where there were boxes, I saw tables.

Where there was junk, I saw customers.

There was so much stuff that getting from room to room meant weaving around equipment, pallets, boxes and whatever else was in the way.

Then I saw the pool table.

Oh no, thats a huge decision.  It'll have to go.

He told me he'd get rid of it.

Great.

Because I looked at that space and immediately thought:

That's where I'll brew.

Drain here.

Equipment there.

Boom.

Easy.

Next.

Then I saw the bar.

I loved the bar.

It was huge.

And that was something I had always pictured—people sitting around a big bar drinking beer that was brewed only a few feet away.

Then another thought jumped into my head.

Oh... and drinks.

I wonder how much a liquor license is really going to cost? I knew I had done the research and its in the papers somewhere. No how much was that? Never mind, keep going.

I'd heard there were different kinds. Maybe there was a cheaper option. Come on Mike stay on task. 

Okay.

Another thing for the list.

Keep walking, Mike.

So far I had a stage, a huge bar, multiple rooms and enough space that I could actually start seeing Adler Brewing taking shape.

THE ESQUIRE LOUNGE

Then we started looking at the Esquire Lounge.

And, of course, my mind immediately went back outside.

How were people going to get from inside the brewery to that biergarten I was already designing in my head?

The owner and I looked at the possibilities together.

We talked about possible ways to get from the Esquire Lounge directly to the outside biergarten. It got detailed fast. Removing a window and turning it into a door to the outside. I was thinking of cement steps from a place i saw on rt 61. We could just do that. It was actually his idea to have the entrance and exit right at the last window.

I liked the idea. We left that area with the one agreed idea and it was the access to the outside was needed. It was a very good start and I was felling good about what was going on.

Actually, I really liked it.

But I wasn't sure I wanted to remove a window. 

Hmmmm.

I'll definitely look at it.

Maybe there was another way.

Maybe removing the window would make perfect sense once I started laying everything out.

Whatever.

It didn't matter right then and there.

There would be plenty of time to figure out those details.

Because right then?

I was fulfilling my dream.

Keep going.

THE KITCHEN

Then we reached the kitchen.

Now I understood where that outside door and loading area went.

Perfect.

I started asking questions about everything.

There was a 90-degree sink under the exhaust hood.

And then there was the hood itself.

Oh wow.

A commercial exhaust hood was already there.

That was huge.

There wasn't a completed Ansul system yet, but he pointed out the equipment associated with it. I was told it was all there and that he was going to finish the hood.

I was elated.

Another major thing I thought I wasn't going to have to build from scratch.

Hood.

Exhaust.

Kitchen.

There were also walk-in coolers in the kitchen.

This was getting better and better.

We talked about plumbing.

Drains.

Sinks.

He even pointed to an area outside a walk-in cooler and said it would be a perfect spot for a vegetable-washing area.

I agreed.

Then we looked at where a handwashing sink could go.

Next came the dishwashing room.

I was taking pictures as we walked because there was absolutely no way I was going to remember all of this.

My brain was moving too fast.

The dishwashing room was already largely covered in stainless. There were still some areas that needed to be completed.

The automatic dishwashing equipment was something we discussed and agreed would be completed by him. Again, he said he was going to do it anyway..

Some areas of the kitchen still needed finishing too.

I was told those would be finished.

Okay.

Good.

Then there was an enclosed stairway leading to the second floor.

He told me he believed those stairs needed to be removed and the access closed off.

That made sense with what he'd already told me about the apartment upstairs and the stairs lying outside that were supposed to serve it.

I didn't know the rules regarding second-floor access.

Apparently he did.

Okay.

Another thing I didn't have to figure out today.

Keep moving.

Then we headed toward the basement.

DOWN THE HATCH

We walked around the bar to a hatch in the floor.

He lifted it.

And he seemed pretty proud of it.

Being the type of guy I am, I was actually impressed.

He told me he'd made it.

It wasn't completely finished. The handle at floor level was missing, but he assured me he had the handle and would finish the hatch.

Then he started down the stairs.

At one point, he seemed to lose his footing.

For a second it looked like he might actually fall.

I reached out, grabbed him and helped steady him.

Okay.

Downstairs we went.

And I'll tell you what...

The basement wasn't bad.

I had expected worse.

We walked toward the far end, and that's when he told me something that really got my attention.

When he had planned to open his own place, he was going to put a walk-in cooler down there for the kegs. There was this really cool slide next to the stairs from the biergarten area down to the basement floor. Ok, I'm not sliding brand new kegs down that. my kegs will get scratched up. Ill figure out a system for this. Ok, he told me he already had the cooler.

It had come from Blind Hartman's Tavern.

Then he told me he was going to install it anyway so he will put it in. We just had to find the spot for it. He pointed out that it would go in one spot or over by the bilco doors.

If I decided to lease the building...

the beer cooler would be there and installed.

Wow.

I tried not to get too excited.

I really did.

But come on.

I was looking at a building with a huge bar, a kitchen, walk-in coolers, an exhaust hood, a stage, space for my brewery, a potential outdoor area, loading access—and now I was being told there would be a beer cooler in the basement.

I pulled out the little notebook I'd brought with me.

I barely used the thing because I was like a kid walking through a toy store.

There were a thousand thoughts running through my head at once.

But I wrote that one down.

Beer cooler. Basement.

Then we went back upstairs.

THIS COULDN'T BE WORKING OUT ANY BETTER

Seriously.

Think about it.

I wanted a brewery.

There was a perfect area for the brewing equipment.

I wanted a big bar.

There was already a huge bar.

I wanted food.

There was already a commercial kitchen.

I needed refrigeration.

There were walk-in coolers in the kitchen.

I needed somewhere for the kegs.

He had the walk-in beer cooler for the basement.

I wanted entertainment.

There was already a stage.

I wanted an outdoor biergarten.

There was space out back.

And I wanted to build something that was mine.

Well...

I had plenty of that ahead of me too.

The place wasn't finished.

Not even close.

But that didn't scare me.

Because we went back through what needed to be done and who was going to do it.

The parking lot? The Lights?

Him.

The business sign?

Me. All of the wiring was there. That's what i was told. Great, perfect!

The automatic dishwashing equipment?

Him.

The beer cooler in the basement?

Him.

The missing handle on the basement hatch?

Him.

The air conditioning in the Esquire Lounge?

Him.

The air conditioning in the dining area by the stage?

Him.

The kitchen exhaust hood?

Him.

My brewery, the kitchen, the water running to the brewery and all of the  plumbing not done?

Me.

Absolutely.

I told him I would take care of it.

No problem.

I could handle that.

And the outside?

Give me the outside.

That was mine.

The weeds.

The cleanup.

The design.

The tables.

Concrete?

Maybe.

A deck?

Probably.

That Conex bar?

I sure hoped so. I will look at it. Maybe one that was already made.

I wasn't expecting somebody else to build Adler Brewing for me.

Are you kidding?

I wanted to build it or at least direct and do some work.

That was half the fun.

I was already thinking about drains.

Piping.

Brewing equipment.

Tables.

Kegs.

Deliveries.

Customer flow.

Where people would sit.

Where they would eat.

Where they would drink.

Where the band would play.

My brain wouldn't stop.

And the owner?

So far, he seemed great.

He answered my questions.

He walked the building with me.

We looked at the future biergarten together.

We talked about how people might get outside.

He showed me things he'd planned for his own bar.

When I asked about something that wasn't finished, there seemed to be an answer.

And when something needed to be completed, we talked about who was going to handle it.

There wasn't some alarm going off in my head.

There wasn't a moment when I thought:

Mike, get out of here.

It was almost the opposite.

Every time I found something that could have been a problem, there seemed to be an answer waiting for me.

How much better could this get?

A PERFECT MATCH

Sure, the place was a mess.

There was that huge white PVC tank practically blocking the vestibule.

There were crates.

Pallets.

Boxes.

Equipment.

Blankets.

Tarps.

Stuff everywhere.

I didn't care.

Not even a little bit.

Whatever all that stuff was, it was leaving.

I wasn't looking at what was sitting inside the building.

I was looking at what was going to replace it.

Adler Brewing Company.

That's what I saw.

The building wasn't beautiful.

But my brewery was.

At least it was in my head.

And for the first time, I had a place where I could actually see that picture becoming real.

Everything seemed to fit.

Almost strangely well.

He had wanted to build a bar.

I wanted to build a brewery.

He had already started putting pieces of a restaurant together.

I needed a restaurant.

He had plans.

I had plans.

There was a stage.

A huge bar.

A kitchen.

Walk-in coolers.

A basement.

A loading area.

And outside was this overgrown mess that I couldn't stop looking at because all I could see was a biergarten full of people drinking Adler beer.

It really did feel like a perfect match.

Maybe even a match made in heaven.

OKAY, MIKE. STAY CALM.

Things happen.

Things change.

And as I always say...

“I've seen this movie, and I know how this could end.”

You know what I mean, Jelly Bean?

Yeah.

That's another one of my phrases.

Get used to those.

You'll probably hear a few more before this story is over.

But even cautious Mike was having a hard time finding a reason to walk away from this one.

I had spent so much time researching.

So much time visiting breweries.

So much time thinking.

Planning.

Dreaming.

I had Mike's Taste of Philly behind me.

I had the HELOC.

I had the ideas.

And now...

I had the place.

2210 Hampden Boulevard.

Was there a ton of work ahead of me?

Absolutely.

Did I know exactly how I was going to do all of it?

Not even close.

But I wasn't afraid of work.

I was ready for it.

And standing there that day, I wasn't thinking about what could go wrong.

Why would I?

Everything I was being shown made me think about what could go right.

The brewery.

The bar.

The kitchen.

The stage.

The coolers.

The biergarten.

The whole thing.

I looked around one more time.

Mike... I think you found it.

After all the research, all the brewery visits, all the planning, all the dreaming and all the what-ifs...

I was fulfilling my dream.

I had an address.

2210 Hampden Boulevard.

I had a building.

I had a plan.

And it felt like I had found the perfect person and the perfect property to make that plan happen.

Okay.

Deal.

I walked into 2210 Hampden Boulevard looking for a place to build a brewery.

I walked out believing I'd found the perfect one.

I HAD A BREWERY IN THE MAKING.

And I couldn't wait to get started.

It was time to build Adler Brewing Company.

Buckle up

This situation gets very personal and down right complicated.  This is an ongoing court case so names will not be included and I have to keep somethings off this blog for now. My financial issues will be talked about and the intense situations. Yes proof will be shown at the end unless things change with the story. This is not meant to harm anyone but rather to tell the story. I hope everyone can learn from this and remember that in this world , oh hell, take it from Norm. "Its a dog eat dog world and I'm wearing milkbone underwear.. 

Part 5- Hit The Ground Running

 

Well, I have to say it.

This was exciting.

It was going to be great.

Actually, that's something I kept saying over and over again.

It's going to be great.

Maybe I was saying it because I was excited.

Maybe I was saying it to keep myself on track.

Probably a little of both.

Since I started telling this story, I've received a good amount of comments, questions and suggestions.

And I really do appreciate the support.

People have asked about the building.

The brewery.

The owner.

What happened.

When things changed.

And, of course, everybody wants to know about the stuff that eventually caused this major catastrophe for my family and me.

We'll get there.

Actually...

We're getting there now.

But I have to be careful as I tell this part of the story.

There are things I can tell you.

There are things I can show you.

And there are a couple of surprises along the way.

I'm not going to hide from telling my story.

But I'm also not going to be stupid about how I tell it.

So before we go any further, maybe you should know something about me.

A LITTLE SOMETHING ABOUT MIKE

I'm certainly not the smartest person in the world.

I'm not going to pretend I am.

But I know enough math.

I know basic plumbing.

I know how buildings work.

And I know the difference between honesty and dishonesty.

I've also lived long enough to understand people.

People can be incredibly kind.

And people can be incredibly mean—especially when they want something that you have or something that you've built.

Life teaches you that.

Sometimes the hard way.

And somewhere along the way, I learned something else:

There's usually a wolf hiding somewhere in sheep's clothing.

I guess that's just how I'm built.

I don't automatically believe everything somebody tells me.

But I also don't want to go through life assuming everybody is trying to screw me.

Trust is a funny thing.

You have to give some of it to people or you'll never get anywhere.

And looking back?

This is probably where I should have been a little more cautious.

Because what still amazes me about this entire roller coaster is how quickly things could go from kindness and cooperation to something completely different.

It really was like somebody flipped off a light switch.

But we're not there yet.

Right now?

I had a brewery to build.

THANK GOD I DOCUMENT EVERYTHING

There's something else about me that turned out to be pretty important.

I document things.

I've always done it.

Maybe it's from my years in the security business.

Maybe it's from watching too many detective shows.

Who knows?

But I do it.

Emails.

Texts.

Pictures.

Videos.

If something needs maintenance, I document it.

If I'm working on something, I'll take pictures.

If there's something I might need to remember later, I'll save it.

And believe me...

I documented this place.

At the time, I wasn't doing it because I thought I was going to need to prove something someday.

That wasn't what was going through my head.

Most of it was for my own reasons.

I wanted to be able to look back and verify something.

I wanted to remember where something had been.

I wanted to keep track of what was happening.

And I'm also a big communicator when it comes to work.

Now, I can't promise you I'm that good everywhere else in life.

But at work?

You're going to know what I'm doing.

I'll probably tell you so much you'll feel like you're standing there doing it right next to me.

Why?

Because I don't want someone coming up to me afterward saying:

Why didn't you tell me you were doing that?

Or:

I could have done that.

Or, more importantly:

I really don't want that done in the building.

Those problems are pretty easy to avoid.

Communicate.

Be straight.

Be honest.

Ask the question.

Get the answer.

Then move forward.

That's how I operate.

And all those emails, texts, pictures and videos that I was collecting simply because that's the way I work?

Let's just say I'm pretty happy today that I did.

I have booklets full of it.

Maybe all those detective shows paid off after all.

Okay.

Enough of that.

Back to the brewery.

NOW I ACTUALLY HAVE TO BUILD THIS THING

I had a lot to do.

A lot.

The goal was to bring in some contractor help and get the building where I needed it.

But first I needed plans.

I was told I needed prints for the township.

Okay.

I'm on it.

I asked the property owner where he'd gotten his plans done for the bar he'd intended to put there.

He gave me the company's name.

Perfect.

I contacted them.

They already had his blueprints.

That was great for me because they weren't starting from nothing.

The building was already drawn.

Now we could make the changes necessary for Adler Brewing.

And in my head I'm thinking:

This should make things easier.

Maybe cheaper too.

Beautiful.

One more piece falling into place.

Now I was getting everything together.

I knew where I was getting the blueprints.

I knew I was going to have to deal with the township.

And I was getting pretty close to knowing where my brewing equipment was coming from.

Okay.

Equipment next.

BLICHMANN

I had done my homework.

I eventually settled on a Blichmann 3.5 BBL, three-vessel brewing system.

I wanted enough equipment that I could grow a little bit.

The system was called 3.5 BBL, but I knew I could push it and get around four barrels out of it.

That worked for me.

So I set it up.

I ordered the three-vessel brewing system and two Uni-Tanks.

There was only one problem.

The equipment was in Indiana.

I started looking at what it was going to cost to have everything delivered to Berks County.

Ugh.

Then Mike's brain started working again.

Wait a minute.

What if I just go get it?

When I went through the numbers, it made more sense to fly to Indiana, rent a truck, load the equipment myself and drive it home.

And I'd save thousands.

Okay.

Road trip.

INDIANA

In February 2023, my best friend Steve and I flew out to Indiana.

We rented a box truck and headed to Blichmann to pick up the equipment.

But if I was going all the way to Indiana to buy a brewing system, I wasn't just going to throw it in a truck and leave.

I wanted to learn.

Remember all those brewery visits?

Same thing.

If somebody knew something that could help me build Adler better, I wanted to hear it.

That's how I ended up meeting my new friend Cody at My Science Project Brewing.

They were using the same equipment.

Cody invited me over.

What a night.

I got to see the system in operation.

I got to ask questions.

I got to learn from somebody actually using the equipment I had just bought.

And during all of that, I learned something else.

Mike... you need another tank.

If I wanted somewhere to mix beers, let flavors sit and do some of the things I was already imagining doing with Adler's beer, another tank was going to make life a whole lot easier.

Okay.

Makes sense.

So what did I do?

I called and ordered another tank.

After a great night of learning, we went back to Blichmann the next morning.

And loaded another one.

Now I had my brewing system.

Two Uni-Tanks.

Another tank for mixing, conditioning and whatever crazy beer idea I was eventually going to come up with.

This was getting real.

There was just one little thing left to do.

Drive all of it home.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

No big deal.

Indiana to Berks County.

Ten hours or so with stops.

Right?

Nope.

I swear we hit fifteen or twenty construction zones on the way home.

And this box truck wasn't exactly a Mustang.

It wasn't going over 65 MPH.

And apparently the truck had one other feature that somebody thought was a wonderful idea.

Lane departure warning.

If I got a little too close to the line:

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Okay.

I got it.

Move over.

A little while later...

BEEEEEEP!

Yes!

I know!

Move back toward the middle.

Then again.

BEEP! BEEP!

And again.

BEEEEEEEEEP!

The whole damn ride.

Steve was going to kill me.

I'm the only one driving, and every time I drifted anywhere near a line, that truck made sure both of us knew it.

At one point Steve looked at me like he didn't just want me to stop swerving.

He wanted me to stop breathing.

I don't think I've ever seen somebody so happy to get out of a truck.

And before anybody gets worried about Steve...

We're still like brothers.

He survived.

Barely.

FOURTEEN HOURS LATER...

What I thought was going to be about a ten-hour trip turned into roughly fourteen hours.

Construction.

That slow box truck.

Stops.

And, of course...

BEEEEEEP!

By the time I finally walked through the door of my house, we'd been traveling all day.

I was exhausted.

But here's the thing.

I had just driven my brewery home from Indiana.

There was something pretty damn cool about that.

I had saved thousands of dollars.

I had learned more about my equipment.

I met another brewer.

I bought another tank.

And now the equipment that had existed in my head and on pieces of paper was sitting in a truck in Berks County.

I probably should have slept for about two days.

Instead...

I had to get up first thing the next morning and go to 2210 Hampden Boulevard.

Because now I had to unload a brewery.

WELCOME HOME, ADLER

It was February.

It had been a long trip.

And there I was at 2210 with a rented lull, getting my brand-new brewing equipment off that truck.

There was no normal doorway big enough to just roll this stuff through.

So we brought the equipment into the building through the window opening.

One piece at a time.

Careful.

Slow.

Get it through.

Move it into position.

Back for another.

And somewhere during all of that, I had one of those moments.

Look at this.

A few years earlier, Adler Brewing was an idea.

Then it became research.

Then drawings.

Then brewery visits.

Then financing.

Then searching for a building.

Then I found 2210 Hampden Boulevard.

Now?

I was standing inside that building looking at my actual brewing equipment.

I had flown to Indiana for it.

I had picked it out.

I had paid for it.

I had loaded it.

I had listened to that damn truck beep at me for fourteen hours while I drove it home.

And now it was here.

My brewery equipment was inside my brewery.

Tell me that wouldn't make you smile.

There was still so much to do.

I needed the prints.

I needed the township.

I needed contractors.

I needed plumbing.

I needed drains.

I needed electrical.

I needed to turn that mess of a building into the brewery I could already see in my head.

But I was moving.

Every day, Adler Brewing was becoming a little less of an idea and a little more real.

And remember what I kept telling myself?

It's going to be great.

At that moment, standing there looking at that Blichmann system inside 2210 Hampden Boulevard...

I believed every word of it.

Adler Brewing Company was no longer just something I was planning.

I had started building it.



Getting to Work -Part 7

 

 

I started working in the building before I had a lease.

My brewing equipment was already inside. About thirty-five thousand dollars’ worth of equipment, sitting there waiting to become Adler Brewing.

As far as I was concerned, that should have been a pretty good sign that I was sticking around.

But I hadn’t been given a key yet.

While I waited for the lease, I had to ask him to open the door every time I wanted to come in and work.

My equipment was already inside, and I was ready to move forward. Ready to sign. Ready to get this brewery built.

I guess no lease, no key.

So I waited. And whenever he opened the door for me, I got to work.

At that point, things seemed to be going well. The owner and I had agreed on so much.

He said he was putting in a beer cooler and bringing over an ice machine from his barn-like storage building. I had been there before. He had offered me a gold beer tap system, some red chairs, and a cooler, but those pieces didn’t fit what I pictured for Adler, so I passed.

Still, we were making plans.

Texts and emails kept going back and forth. Blueprints were being drawn up using his existing prints—the ones marked with his name and the word “bar” after it.

For now, I was keeping the same walls and working with the existing layout. I wasn’t looking to change everything. I needed to get the plans done so I could keep moving.

Plans in progress. Check.

Working on the PLCB license. Check.

Working with the township. Check.

The township official was a tough guy, but he did his job. He helped me a lot by answering my questions.

Maybe some of those questions were repetitive. But I needed help, and I wanted to make sure I did this right.

Each time, he steered me in the right direction.

Straight and to the point.

There wasn’t much casual conversation, but I was getting the answers I needed.

My understanding at the time was that the average turnaround for the PLCB license was twenty to thirty days.

So my plan was to get my ducks in a row and have the proper paperwork done for both the township and the PLCB by the end of June. I expected that to give me July to work through the approvals and be ready to open in August.

That was the schedule I was working toward.

I’m moving and grooving.

Starting in February, I went to my regular job, finished my day, and then went to the building to work some more.

Sometimes I went home for dinner first. Then it was right back at it.

Eight o’clock became nine. Nine became ten. Some nights went much later. On some weekends, I didn’t get home until two in the morning.

Eventually, I went home, got some sleep, woke up, went to work, and did it all again.

Nights. Weekends. Holidays.

Whatever time I had, I spent building the brewery.

The property owner and I discussed so much during those months. We met over and over, especially about the outside bar and biergarten.

I wanted him to understand my plan. And when it comes to this kind of stuff, I’m a good communicator. I had pictures, plans, and ideas to share. There was a lot to go over.

Drains. Electric. Ground covering. The bar itself. How everything would fit together.

It was all part of the process.

I had been emailing back and forth with an overseas company that built bars out of shipping containers—Connex bars. I had fallen in love with the style and had already given the owner a picture.

Now I needed to figure out how to get it here.

I had the money. In my mind, it was only a matter of time before I ordered it and brought that part of the plan to life.

The owner told me he didn’t think getting Muhlenberg’s approval would be an issue because, according to him, a large, approved shed had previously stood back there.

That sounded encouraging.

Another box I was working toward checking off.

I had a buddy come by to look at what we would need for electric at the outside bar. I showed him the overseas plans, and he shrugged it off like it was a straightforward job.

I understood that reaction.

It’s what we do.

He knew what needed to be done, and I felt like we were on our way.

Around that time, the owner was digging near the building. There wasn’t time for me to get the electric run before that work moved ahead, so we discussed the route it would need to take.

He said he would put a sleeve in.

I saw where it would go. He had dug down pretty far, and the ditch stayed open for a while.

Long enough that I started wondering whether he had forgotten about it.

To bring things into the building, I had to lay large wood planks across the ditch and move everything over them.

It felt dangerous, but I still needed to get things inside.

There was work waiting for me.

And when I say I was working on getting the inside done, I don’t mean I was almost finished.

I wasn’t even close.

The owner asked when I wanted to open.

“August,” I told him.

Only a few short months away, but I believed it was possible.

He said okay.

And it wasn’t just the word. It was the confidence he seemed to have when he said it. His mannerisms made me feel like we were on the same page.

Okay. August. We could do this.

He was a busy man. I could see that.

The ditch was still open. His tools were still around the building. There were things waiting to be done.

But I kept telling myself he would get to them.

I knew what it was like to be busy.

A man after my own heart, I thought.

I understood.

Still, August wasn’t far away.

Where was he?

I had seen little things get done, but nothing major. Nothing that made me feel like we were catching up to that opening date.

Every day, I kept working.

Day and night.

Okay, I thought. I’m losing time. I’ll work harder.

I would keep moving. Get ahead where I could. Finish more before bringing someone in to help me.

I had wanted to handle the smaller things myself, but bringing in help was starting to make sense.

So I worked.

Then, after months of working in the building, the lease finally came.

I believe it was April when I received it.

I started reading.

Wait a second.

SOMETHING’S NOT RIGHT

I looked at one number.

Huh?

Then another section caught my attention.

Wait.

That’s not what we talked about.

I went back a few pages.

Read something again.

Then again.

Okay...

Now I had questions.

Remember, everything up until this point had been moving forward.

We had talked about the building.

The brewery.

The work that needed to be done.

The outside area.

The beer cooler.

The kitchen.

The plans.

The August opening.

I had been working inside this building for months based on those conversations.

And now I finally had the lease sitting in front of me.

Some of it wasn’t matching what I thought we had agreed to.

There were numbers that caught my attention.

There were things I hadn’t expected to see.

And there were a couple of things that made me put the lease down and think:

Wait... where did THAT come from?

This was the first time during this entire process that I remember getting that feeling.

Not panic.

Not anger.

Just questions.

And that little voice in my head:

Mike... slow down.

Read it again.

So I did.

I asked questions.

We talked.

And eventually I had a decision to make.

Because here’s where I was:

My equipment was already inside.

I’d already spent months working on the building.

I’d spent money.

I’d spent nights and weekends there.

Blueprints were moving.

The township process was moving.

The PLCB process was moving.

And that August opening date was sitting in the back of my head like a clock that wouldn’t stop ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Starting over at that point would have meant walking away from months of work, money and planning.

And I certainly didn’t want to start over.

I wanted to open Adler Brewing.

So I did what I’d been doing since February.

I kept moving.

But those questions?

They didn’t disappear.

At the time, I had no idea how important some of them would eventually become.

I would.

I started reading the lease.

Wait a second.

Something's not right.

I looked at one number.

Huh?

Then another section caught my attention.

Wait.

That's not what we talked about.

I went back a few pages.

Read something again.

Then again.

Okay...

Now I had questions.

Remember, everything up until this point had been moving forward.

We had talked about the building.

The brewery.

The work that needed to be done.

The outside area.

The beer cooler.

The kitchen.

The plans.

The August opening.

I had been working inside this building for months based on those conversations.

And now I finally had the lease sitting in front of me.

Some of it wasn't matching what I thought we had agreed to.

There were numbers that caught my attention.

There were things I hadn't expected to see.

And there were a couple of things that made me put the lease down and think:

Wait... where did THAT come from?

This was the first time during this entire process that I remember getting that feeling.

Not panic.

Not anger.

Just that little voice.

Mike... slow down.

Read it again.

So I did.

I asked questions.

We talked.

And eventually I had a decision to make.

Because here's the problem:

My equipment was already inside.

I'd already spent months working on the building.

I'd spent money.

I'd spent nights and weekends there.

I had blueprints moving.

Township moving.

PLCB moving.

And that August opening date was sitting in the back of my head like a clock that wouldn't stop ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I didn't have time to start over.

And I certainly didn't want to start over.

I wanted to open Adler Brewing.

So I did what I'd been doing since February.

I kept moving.

But that little voice?

It wasn't completely gone.

And looking back now...

maybe I should have listened to it a little more closely.

Connect with Me

Reach Out

Attach Files
Attachments (0)

This site is protected by reCAPTCHA and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.

Get ready to learn from my story and soon others.

Once my story is completed, lets hear yours

My Dream Became a Nightmare

2210 Hampden Blvd, Reading, PA 19604, USA

Transform Through Stories