Written January 16, 1970 in a letter to Doll and Matt Smith
The brewery was located in Etna, California, not Yreka. It was established well before the turn of the century by Charles Kappler, a young man who had migrated from Germany to Scott Valley and who brought with him outstanding qualifications as a brewmaster. All during the 1880's and 1890's, as well as the early 1900's, he turned out a brew which the local yokels gurgled in quantity, but without adequate appreciation for the quality of the product. Most of the guzzlers looked with disdain upon the local brew, and in their infrequent periods of prosperity turned to Budweiser, Pabst Blue Ribbon or Schlitz. I recall that in the first decade of the present century (20th century) most of the local beer bibbers expressed a preference for Ruhstaller's Gilt Edge Lager, or Buffalo Beer, put out by the Buffalo Brewing Company - both in Sacramento. I remember these details because my father ran a bar, and being a precocious child, I took an interest in the business at an early age, even sampling the stock when the old man wasn't looking!. I can't say that I noticed great differences among the beers, but that is understandable since my sampling was carried on under circumstances that were not conducive to leisurely sipping.
But to get back to the Etna Brewery - I have a dim recollection of old Charles Kappler. He had a good Bavarian wife who bore him many fine children - one of his great grand-children turned up in Reno High School when I was principal there. Old Charles' son, Joe, was the brewmaster in the days of my youth. His father had trained him in the art with painstaking care and Joe had been an apt and diligent pupil. I recall also that Charles had instructed another son, Victor, in the art of sausage making. Victor turned out superior sausage for many a year and before he passed away he gave to Henry Short the recipe that had made him famous in the Valley. Henry produced sausage for the Etna meat market for many years but commercial production stopped when Henry died about three years ago.
The day of triumph for Etna beer came in 1915, when the product of the Etna Brewery was awarded the gold medal at the Panama-Pacific Exposition at San Francisco: the finest beer in the world! In the period between the awarding of the medal and the advent of national prohibition in January, 1920, there was no effort to exploit an honor upon which any of the major breweries would have immediately capitalized. Etna was a sleepy little town, and though its sudden claim to fame was recounted to traveling salesmen and occasional visitors by the local yokels, the fame of Etna beer was never commercially heralded to the outside world. Joe was a phlegmatic soul: a master brewer but an indifferent entrepreneur whose expanded waistline proclaimed the excellence of his product. He kept the even tenor of his way through those World War I years when anyone of German ancestry was the object of bigotry, prejudice and persecution. Then came the "Noble Experiment" that terminated the legal production of alcoholic beverages and marked the inception of Mafia power in the United States. The error or prohibition was corrected in December of 1933, with the repeal of the Eighteenth Amendment, but the noble experiment gave the gangsters a start in illicit operations that have been continued and expanded. Unfortunately, the repeal of prohibition didn't bring back the Etna Brewery - perhaps it is just as well that it was not revived to capitulate shortly to the giant brewing enterprises that are a part of the modern American economy.
As a brief epilogue to the foregoing brief history of the Etna Brewery, I remember that my father attributed the excellence of Etna beer to the quality and purity of the water - the run-off of the Salmon Mountains, a spur range between the Sierras and the Coast Range. The water of Etna Creek still supplies the town with "city" water; the same water that old Charles, and then Joe, used for the brew that won a gold medal. It's the water! - a slogan that brings to mind the best beer that is presently extant. I'll bet it is almost as good as Etna beer, even though its water runs up instead of down.
I think I told you, Matt, of my one official visit to the Etna Brewery, but since I am in a relating mood I shall again recount it. It was during my senior year at Etna High School, in late May or early June, 1916. As chairman of the committee for the senior banquet, I had incurred some bills around the village for supplies, including a couple of cakes of ice from the brewery. The school principal, whose memory I still revere, gave me time off to pay the banquet bills and I set forth with cash requisite to that purpose. I still look with pride upon the youthful forethought and acumen that prompted me to liquidate bills at the grocery, the drug store, the dry goods store and the ice cream parlor before calling at the brewery. Joe stood near the entrance to the establishment, near a wooden keg, from which visitors and the brewmaster were refreshed. I explained my mission and Joe promptly assured me that there was no charge for the ice. He was happy, he said, to contribute something to the kids' party. Since there was no one else around, and since Joe was a gregarious soul, he engaged me in conversation after he had drawn me a schooner of foaming suds. After he had fixed my identity as the son of a customer who retailed his brew, his hospitality knew no bounds. We worked together at the brew until after school was closed and I then trekked unsteadily to my boarding house, where I explained I had already had dinner with a friend. I slipped up to my room and slept sweetly. I suffered no ill effects from my youthful indiscretion, though I did rise once or twice during the night, because of "the water". When I returned to school I extolled Joe's generosity to the principal and he did not question my extended absence from school the preceding afternoon. The incident will be a cherished memory, always, because it involved only Joe and me and I was smart enough not to discuss it with anyone - not even my schoolmates.
So ends the tale of the brewery - I shall continue my letter on another sheet.
Scott's Note: Unfortunately we do not have the other sheet of the letter to which Roger refers.