The Professionalism of Beer

On our summer vacation, my nephews and I took a brewery tour that made me realize we should turn the conventional definition of “professional” on its head. The “Growler Boys” are home brewers. I bought them all sixty-four ounce vessels ("growlers") to store their creations. We have visited more than one craft brewery as they progress in their hobby.

At Founders Brewery in Grand Rapids, Michigan, Mike Willcox, the roguish head of education, informed us about the processes and the products. He gave us advice about what to try, with the warning that with their higher alcohol by volume (ABV) products one should not try to finish a six-pack in a sitting.

“Well, I can,” he said, “because I’m a professional.”

His quip is insightful. Here's someone who wants to be doing what he's doing.

A dictionary definition of “professional” is someone who is paid to perform a task. They are distinguished from the amateur. The title also might require a license. Doctors and lawyers pass exams to enter their occupation.

Yet it is exactly the opposite that matters.

It is not at the end of the day the compensation that defines a calling or the regulations that ought to guide a career. The individuals who achieve consummate success are not generally admired for their salary or test score. They are role models because of their determination and passion in pursuing a single-minded goal with requisite self-sacrifice.

People who would do what they do without pay or praise are the ones who make a difference and change the world. The remuneration and approbation are worthwhile, but they by definition will not be effective encouragement toward ideals. 

That is no less true, perhaps more so, of vocations that arouse anxiety among parents and spouses. The founders of Founders (named in homage to its old-time predecessors in a beer town) were recent college graduates with respectable day jobs. They quit to pursue their dreams without enough background in business. Probably everyone who defies the odds does so without quite comprehending their chances.

According to company lore, they were headed toward bankruptcy making bland beers — competent but too similar to what dozens of others were offering. Their lenders no longer regarded it as cute when they tried to pay back in beer. With loans about to be called, they bought bolt cutters to be able to break into their own factory if needed. After they became profitable, they commemorated their escapades by blending a complex, tasty “barleywine” called “Bolt Cutter.”

Now that’s "professional."

Everything turned around with the radical decision to be original and to do what they knew would be best. Founders has since become one of the fastest-growing craft breweries, boasting the highest-ranked line-up of suds.

The company continues to promote its image as your feisty kinfolk. Its motto is, “Brewed for Us,” to suggest that they are appealing to a clan of expert enthusiasts rather than catering to the faceless mass market. Their website shows photographs of all their three-hundred plus employees, most of whom are recent hires, many of the males having grown out their beards since joining. They somehow maintain a wholesome character, with families enjoying their taproom alongside hipsters (they'll sell you a onesie for your infant with their logo); I am reminded of our nation's colonial era, when the days often began with a breakfast stout (water not being potable).

The Founders strategy has been effective. They have another enormous expansion underway in their downtown headquarters. They claim their retail operation pours more draft beer than any other venue in the state except Detroit metropolitan airport with its dozens of vendors. They recently sold a minority share of the enterprise to Mahou San Miguel, among the leading European breweries, which they have presented to fans as unlikely to dilute their spirit.

At the outset of any venture, you take more risk but have less at stake. When you’re young and it seems as if you have all the time in the world, you always have the backup plan of starting over and that prospect holds a certain appeal.

As a company becomes mature, however, its leaders are compelled to become more responsible. The consumers who look forward to refreshment remain indispensable but as individuals become increasingly less important. Suddenly there also are employees who are depending on the organization for their livelihood. The municipality may come to hope that it will revitalize the neighborhood.

A professional takes on these challenges. They do right by others.

My nephews and I have ordinary 9 to 5 roles. They, like many other home brewers, would like to take their experiments such as “Boozy Uncle” (a red ale) to the next level. We aspire to be authentic professionals. That means much more than receiving a paycheck or having a framed diploma on the wall.

Professionals love their work. There is no substitute for their internal motivation.