When McNeill’s Brewery burned down three years ago, it left people heartbroken. They grieved the tragic death of owner Ray McNeill in the fire, the loss of a much loved communal space, and the disappearance of a defining staple of downtown Brattleboro, Vermont. There was little chance for reflection, remembrance, or goodbyes. Because of the extensive damage, city officials immediately condemned the building and tore the pub down.
In one night, McNeill’s Brewery was gone, with nothing physical left to remember it.
Well, almost nothing. Some locals managed to save McNeill’s iconic sign, with its large, ornate gold letters in dramatic gothic typeface, bookended by two heraldic griffin figures, reinforcing the place’s historic tavern aesthetic. A week later a group paraded it down the street to the Stone Church, a funky Victorian Gothic structure turned concert hall, where they celebrated Ray’s life. Little else remained of the place, or so I thought.
A month after the fire, a small, unassuming package arrived at my office. Addressed from someone I didn’t know, I opened the package with care. Inside was a simple pint glass and a note from its owner, a man named Daniel Ruttan. The note reads in part:
“I just finished reading your excellent article about Ray McNeill. I have visited McNeill’s a few times in the past although not for quite some time. I always enjoyed my time there and found it to be like no other brewery/brewpub. I agree that you felt like a regular even on your first visit.”
Mr. Ruttan used to visit Brattleboro when he lived in eastern New York and on one occasion in the early 1990s, he bought a pint glass for his collection. After reading my remembrance of Ray McNeill, Mr. Ruttan went looking for the glass and did some thinking.
“I’ve just turned 78 and figured I should start passing on my pint glasses to deserving others. So, you are the lucky recipient of my first gift.”
Unwrapping the bubble packaging revealed a vintage shaker pint glass with McNeill’s original logo. The distinctive diamond shaped outline frames a quirky artistic rendering of the familiar little red firehouse building, with its peaked roof and distinctive chimney. The fanciful brewery sign is depicted and a ribbon banner unfurls the brewery’s name: McNeill’s. The glass is a classic, hand drawn remnant of the bygone era of 90s brewpub life. Beyond its vintage feel, it grounds the memory of the pub in something real, a small way to feel close to what vanished so suddenly.
Even in death, Ray still brings people together over their shared love of beer. Ray once told me, “I didn’t choose Brattleboro, that bar chose me.”
He truly felt that way and gave the bar his everything. His life had a meaningful impact on others, including the ability to bind strangers together over a shared affection for his pub.
Whenever I think of McNeill’s and start to get a bit rueful, I remember the pint glass that rests among a half dozen or so other cherished glasses in my cabinet, each with their own story and personal meaning.
And I think back to the conversations Ray and I had at McNeill’s and how much the place meant to him and others. “It seems like everyone that walks through that door wants to be my friend, and that’s kind of nice,” he said.
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Andy Crouch is the Publisher of All About Beer. He is the author of two very outdated books, Great American Craft Beer and The Good Beer Guide To New England. He is a devoted lager enthusiast and pilsner apologist. Drop him a line at andy@allaboutbeer.com.