Previously: 40 Years in Beer (Book II), Part 78: We just had to get to Merry Old England (1998).
“It was from the hunt for le Baron that I first came to learn the value of narrative ― the rich fabric of truth, supposed facts, misinterpretation, delusions, myths, legends, and inventions that makes up the history of a place ― or a person. I learned that perhaps it didn’t matter which tale was authentic.”
— John Hanson Mitchell, from The Rose Café: Love and War in Corsica (2007)
Down those ancient streets
Down those ancient roads
Where nobody knows
Where nobody goes
I’m back on the corner again
Where I’ve always been
Never been away
From the healing game
— Van Morrison, “The Healing Game” (1997)
We’re hanging out and we’re hanging on
We’re trying the best we can to keep keeping on
We got messed up minds for these messed up times
And it’s a thin, thin line separating his from mine
Trying to hold steady on the righteous path
Eighty miles an hour with a worn out map
No time for self-pity or a load of crap
Trying to stay focused on the righteous path
— Drive-By Truckers, “The Righteous Path” (2008)
—
I’m writing these words in June of 2025, but first, a reintroduction is in order: Hi, I’m Roger. Welcome to “40 Years in Beer.”
This is a personal memoir focused primarily on my career working in (or near) the “better” beer business, because by sheer cosmic accident, my adulthood on this planet neatly paralleled the period in American history when imported beers, then microbrews, and finally “craft” beers rose from being a negligible blip in the beer market to comprise a viable economic sector .
More importantly, better beer provided me with an all-encompassing philosophy of life, merging most of my interests into one handy soapbox that I’ve seldom hesitated to mount.
Or, to put it this way: Beer has been an excellent way to kill a few decades until it finally dawns on me what I might like to do when I grow up.
As this narrative crawls into 1999 and 2000, it’s worth a reminder that the title “40 Years in Beer” refers to the year of my very first beer business gig: 1982, at Scoreboard Liquors in New Albany.
Admittedly, it’s a tad confusing at this stage.
If I could start over, the title would be “My Life in Beer,” and if you recognize the inside joke pertaining to British television character Lionel Hardcastle, all the better. Does anyone around here offer a well-turned custard tart? You do know they’re remarkably good with a pint of Mild, right?
Granted, I’ve accomplished little with “40 Years in Beer” during the past six to eight weeks. That’s because my life outside of beer has constituted the sudden enforced enrollment in an advanced course that I never wanted to take: “These Are the Times that Try Men’s Souls.”
For a month or more prior to the Kentucky Derby (yes, we measure time strangely here in the Louisville metro area), a number of relatively minor annoyances merged with two or three bigger ones, not to mention an historic Ohio River flood, to create the sort of full-court pressure inside my cranium that we all experience from time to time, pinning us down with soul-crushing minutia when we’d prefer to be elsewhere, doing anything but this.
We slogged through them, and the brain fog finally began lifting in early May. Then the Grim Reaper tragically intervened.
- On May 13, Jeff Lewison died after a short illness at the age of 50.
- On May 29, Russell “Roz” Tate died unexpectedly at the age of 64.
Jeff was the husband of my former co-owner (and ex-sister-in-law) Kate. He worked at the New Albanian Brewing Company for just shy of 30 years and was the third successive minority male face of management and ownership (after Richard O’Connell and me) of a business that has been majority woman-owned since its inception in 1987.
In Cheers-speak, Jeff was a composite of Sam, Coach and Woody, a rock of durability behind the bar and a distinctive personality all his own. From NABC’s standpoint as a New Albany food and drink institution, it’s important to recognize just what an important role Jeff came to play.
To me, it seems as if I was inside that building on the knoll off Grant Line Road for 90% of all waking moments from about 1990 through 2008, when work began in earnest toward launching the ill-fated Bank Street Brewhouse project in downtown New Albany. But from that point forward, all the way through my departure from the company during the period 2016 – 2018, my working hours at the original pub dwindled to almost nothing.
That’s because of Jeff’s workhorse physical presence. He pulled thousands of hours at the pub, making possible my sales and support commitments elsewhere, and filled the roles of general manager and co-owner while consistently refusing these titles out of personal principle, with only one known exception: “Professional Manager of a really good team of slackers,” which for years adorned his Facebook page.
Jeff’s tenure of nearly three decades was about the same as mine, with a first-half overlap, and he was the publican of record for an entire generation of customers I never got to know. There were times when I’d stroll in, walk behind the bar, pour myself a beer, and observe strangers (well, to me) looking at Jeff, mouthing the words: Who the hell does that guy think he is?
Which of course was the following-era duplication of my own experience, which seemingly lasted right up until the final day signing papers in the lawyer’s office in 2018.
- Question: “Say, whatever happened to Rich (O’Connell), anyway?”
- My answer: “He sent himself into permanent exile.”
Now all three of us are gone from the company (and one from the planet).
I feel nothing whatever for Rich apart from profound indifference, but I liked and respected Jeff. We may have been separated by 15 years, and the two of us were whole worlds apart in terms of our respective temperament and interests (know that Jeff fiercely guarded his autonomy as it pertained to his sphere, and understandably so).
I was fond of him, and he’ll be sorely missed.
Conversely, Roz quite clearly was the Norm Peterson of NABC. The character of Norm appeared in every episode of Cheers, and Roz might well have purchased the first pint of Guinness ever served to a paying customer at Rich O’s BBQ in 1992. I can’t prove conclusively that he did, but I wouldn’t bet against it (and you’ve probably already noted the irony of actor George “Norm” Wendt’s passing on May 20.)
However, I first met Roz long before the Public House, at an Indiana University Southeast party around 1980. We chatted for several minutes, and when he stepped away, I remarked to all and sundry that this fellow Tate was a complete asshole.
The friendship commencing that same evening lasted 45 years.
Roz was a musician, a thinker, a gourmand, a lover of ale, and a friend and confidante to many. Sadly, he found true fulfillment an elusive proposition in life, and struggled in recent years with housing and overall financial security. Bad luck was involved, as well as poor decisions.
I wish it could have been easier for him, and always remained hopeful that it would, some day. Fate had other ideas.
If NABC had a hall of fame, Jeff and Roz would be unanimous first-ballot inductees in their respective worker and customer roles. Of this there can be no doubt. Consequently, I’m interrupting the “40 Years” chronology and taking this short detour to the present as a tribute to them.
I can only scratch the surface in this installment, conceding from the outset that whatever powers of perception I’m usually able to muster as a writer are failing me as I’ve sought the proper words to remember Jeff and Roz. Consequently, I’m relying heavily on the testimony of others. Emotions are raw, and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. Their absences are huge gaps in the fabric of NABC’s extended family.
I’ll begin with the official published obituaries.
Jeff Lewison (August 18, 1974 — May 13, 2025)
If you’ve landed here, you’re probably looking to remember someone truly unforgettable—or you were trying to order pizza and clicked the wrong link. Either way, we’re glad you’re here.
This site is dedicated to celebrating Jeff Lewison, the music-loving family man, and server to the masses. He may have left the building, but his spirit, stories, and legendary dance moves live on.
For our family, in lieu of flowers or gifts, it means the world to us to see your photos, hear your stories, and share in your songs and videos.
Stuff you may already know: Jeff loved Kate, Lilly and Seth; all things Gators, Vikings, Wild and Reds. He knew how to get people dancing; he wasn’t called DJ Jazzy Jeff for nothing. Stuff you may not know is that he loved to decorate the Christmas tree with meticulous, almost spy-level precision—perfect ornament placement was a yearly tradition—was an ocean-wave-punching expert, loved his Grandma’s rhubarb pie, could quote Star Wars lore like a Jedi master, and harbored an intense obsession with 007 James Bond (right down to wanting to own a tuxedo), with an encyclopedic knowledge of every Bond film.
Now tell us something you know.
Jeff will be missed ever so much, especially by (but not limited to) his wife and best friend Kate, children (Lilly and Seth), his mom (Barbara) and dad (Syd), “baby sister” Angie Kay, mother-in-law (Sharon), sister-in-law (Amy), and a plethora of friends. All who knew him, loved him. If there’s something you want to share, do it here.
Russell “Roz” Tate (March 7, 1961 — May 29, 2025)
Russell “Roz” Tate Jr., born on March 7, 1961, in Louisville, Kentucky, passed away peacefully on May 29, 2025. He was a beloved figure whose life resonated through his passion for music. A gifted singer, songwriter, and guitarist, Roz’s contributions to the musical world were profound, reflecting his deep commitment to his craft. Music was not just a hobby for him; it was the very fabric of his existence, an outlet through which he expressed his emotions and connected with others.
Roz leaves behind a loving family who will remember him fondly. He is survived by his brother, Gary (Jeanne) Murphy Sr.; his nephews, Gary (Michelle) Murphy Jr. and Tom (Jeanette) Murphy; as well as his great-nephews and great-niece, Gary Matthew Murphy, Ben Murphy, Thomas Murphy, and Emily Murphy; along with numerous cousins.
Roz is preceded in death by his parents, Russell Tate Sr. and Pearl Fess Tate.
As we celebrate the life of Russell “Roz” Tate, we honor a man who brought joy through his music, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of all who knew him. His spirit will continue to resonate through the melodies he created and the connections he forged.
(and the testimony of others)
Kate Lewison on Jeff Lewison
Our love story: we met in 1996 at STP/NABC at the ripe ole ages of 22 & 24…and yes, I do not like that I robbed the cradle.
He was fresh up from Florida, temporarily living with his Dad & Stepmom, Syd & Cory, who were regulars at the Pub…so of course, he had a seat at the Pub bar (where Cory shared with me one night, he’d watch me walk by every single time). Funfact#1 He actually had a courier job in Florida and delivered to the hospital where I was delivered. I always said whomever I was gonna marry was going to have to be “delivered” to me🤩and he was. I hired him immediately as a dishwasher so we were technically coworkers first… But I had my eye in him and his cute lil bummy!
Our first time going out together was going to be a couple of us to watch Sunday afternoon football at Bluegrass Brewing Company (when there was the one & only location) but fate had other plans. A date that never ended!! From an epic moth eating house party to a dramatic rainy night car accident (nothing or no one hurt) we never slept apart from each other from that night on. We dated, traveled, worked, and played together for five years and in that time we also bought our first (and only) home in 1998.
We married each other in 2001 which played out more like a 3-day music & beer festival including Syd’s 50th birthday party! We brought our daughter, Lillian home in 2003 and our son, Seth home in 2006. To fall so deeply in love, that effortlessly and sustained that long…(obviously not long enough💔) is truly what fairytales and romcoms are made of, except it was our real lives❤. The way he loved Lilly, Seth and I is the hardest piece to this jumbled up puzzled world we now move through. I feel him though. I don’t even think death can separate a love like ours.
The World will keep spinning and I will live out my remaining time on Mother Earth filled with as much happiness, laughter, humor, love, appreciation, humility and kindness that my husband would have wanted for his crew! But for now, we grieve. We mourn together. We shed tears. We sit with only memories & pictures. I love you all and appreciate your love and support. Go Vikes💜Go Gators chomp chomp🧡Go Reds❤️
Jeff’s wife … May 29, 2025
Bob Gunn on Roz Tate
“I will miss your contagious laughter. I will miss cracking jokes with you that only you and I thought were funny. I will miss talking about Scotland and our shared ancestry. About the Borders. The Highlands. Drinking Skull Splitter and Belhaven Scotch Ales. Sipping on Laphroaig or Lagavulin or some other single malt scotch. Talking in our hideous Scottish accents. Dreaming of the day we could travel to Alba together. I will miss your delightful cooking: the chili, meatloaf and jambalaya you could prepare as well as any chef at a five-star restaurant.
“You were there for me after not just one, but two divorces. You were the best man at my second wedding. You cared about how others felt. How they were doing. Your empathy skills were off the chart. What you probably didn’t realize was how much everyone cared about you.
“I know you are now sitting at an eternal pub with a Guinness in your hand. You are showing the guy at the next barstool a photo of an aerial view of a Planters peanut or perhaps a Lay’s potato chip. Or talking about the lives of the squirrels you used to feed in your backyard. I was honored to have known you. You will be missed, my friend. Not just by me, but by the countless others whose lives you touched during your time upon this planet.”
Ronnie Dreistadt on Jeff Lewison
Jeff, you turned me on to so much great music. We went to see the V-Roy’s back in 1999 and I had never heard anything like it… there was no looking back: Old 97’s, Son Volt, Bare Jr. and of course the Drive By Truckers. I loved running into you and your entourage at shows. Most of all, at the pub, you were always the best and I was always glad to see you when I came in. I hope you know the positive impact you had on so many people, and thankful that I was one of them.
Roger on Roz Tate
Roz’s death brings to mind an afternoon that I haven’t thought about in years, during which beer was barely involved, and unfortunately there is no photographic evidence, so you’ll have to trust me.
It was probably 1993 or 1994, late summer, and I finagled my way out of the Public House on a Saturday so Roz and I could go to the Ethnic Festival at St. Michael Orthodox Church on Hikes Lane in Louisville and eat, because we could get the sort of food at the fest that at the time wasn’t very well represented by restaurants in the area, like Greek, Middle Eastern, Slavic and lots more.
We were on site by 3 or 4 in the afternoon; it was cafeteria-style, and we started pointing at things and filling plates, requiring multiple trips back and forth to carry all of it back to our seats, and spent $30 or $40 apiece when the average ticket was $10-$15, primarily because we got just about two of everything, but no beer, seeing as all they offered was mass-market dog shampoo.
The feeding frenzy commenced, and for a few minutes I was concerned that our eyes may have been larger than stomachs (I’d have never admitted this aloud by reason of the trencherman’s honor code), but once we got in a rhythm, throwing back stuffed grape leaves, pierogis, shawarma and who knows what else, the mound gradually began subsiding, and finally I could see the people sitting on the other side of the table.
Leaving behind the debris, it was decided to go back to the Public House for beers. We went inside, got our pints and took a few sips; eyes got heavy, and I recall we pretty much simultaneously said okay, maybe not tonight. We adjourned to our respective homes, were in bed before 8:00 p.m., and slept something like 15 hours each.
Next day I had a food hangover.
When I think about Roz, lots of shared interests come to mind: music, beer, history. But he was definitely a kindred spirit when it came to eating.
—
Roz was huge Bruce Springsteen fan, and Jeff loved Wilco.
—
A wake was held for Jeff in the Public House parking lot on a Saturday evening after working hours. I missed it because we attended Molly Ottersbach’s wedding somewhere down in Kentucky; her parents are Barrie and Beth, my dear friends since high school, and in retrospect being on hand for their daughter’s happiest of days in the company of dozens of younger people who didn’t know me from the man in the moon proved to be very good medicine, indeed. A reminder, if you will.
I complain frequently about today’s youth, but strongly suspect that in fact the kids are alright.
Roz’s brother and his family arranged a more conventional funeral home visitation at Newcomer, a facility across Grant Line Road from NABC, and afterward quite a few friends and acquaintances adjourned to the Public House to toast Roz with pints of Guinness.
Of all the things said that evening — funny, poignant, melancholy, touching and every mood in between — the one certain to linger the longest in my memory came when our former bartender Corey told me about a past conversation with Roz, who said that he came to the pub almost every day because he had to. There was beer and food, yes, but the overarching point was that even when Roz had a living room of his own (he lost his house to a sheriff’s sale in 2018; finances were a problem), the pub was his living room and the pub’s customers were his family in a quite literal sense.
Now, a career in beer needn’t involve literary pursuits, or a love of music, or even a reliable recipe for Székelygulyás, although I would argue that well-rounded interests never go out of fashion. They might even help to make friends.
Taken together, Jeff’s and Roz’s untimely passing has me thinking about hamartia as an element of theatrical tragedy.
Hamartia, in literary terms, refers to a protagonist’s tragic flaw or error in judgment that leads to their downfall or the unfolding of tragic events. It is a key component in Greek tragedy (discussed in some detail by Aristotle) and represents a character’s inherent flaw or weakness that contributes to their ultimate downfall.
I’ve established that if Cheers is to be useful as a template, then Jeff was an amalgam of the bartenders, and Roz the personification of Norm Peterson; allow me to briefly explore the latter.
The genius of Norm as a scripted television character is that he is epitomizes comedy and tragedy, together as one. The comedy derives from wit and humor, but also predictability; Norm comes to the same bar every single day, is greeted the same way, occupies the same bar stool, and drinks the same beer.
And the tragedy?
Norm comes to the same bar every single day, is greeted the same way, occupies the same bar stool, and drinks the same beer.
A bar or coffee shop might well be one’s chosen third space, with work as the second. But by all such reckonings, one’s own home is supposed to be the first space.
What if the first space is entirely supplanted by the third? Norm proved this can be a humorous situation. I’d suggest that in such an instance, space-swapping is intrinsically tragic, because it must mean one doesn’t have a home, whether literally or figuratively. A place to live, maybe, and yet not a home.
Roz was from Southern Indiana; he continued to live in his childhood home after his parents died, but couldn’t or wouldn’t do what was necessary to keep it, and he experienced housing instability for the last six years of his life.
The ancient Greeks were shrewd judges of the human condition, and their thoughts about hamartia prove it. However, they did not and could not know what modern medical science has learned about the genetic factors that contribute to a predisposition for alcohol use disorder (AUD), or the extent to which neurobiology contributes to depression and mental illness.
And in both instances, as well as numerous others, our contemporary world can treat diseases and conditions that are not attributable to hamartia, lapses of character, melancholia, or demons.
It should come as no surprise to anyone that the list of health care issues experienced by hospitality industry employees include alcohol-related diseases and conditions like liver disease, diabetes, cancer, cardiovascular disease, pancreatitis, gastrointestinal problems, and mental/behavioral disorders.
Sadly and maddeningly, in both instances those affected by these diseases must seek treatment, and to at least ask for help.
And, while being the owner of a pub is the best job on the face of the planet (because of the people) except when it isn’t (because of the way people abuse toilets), our business sector as a whole doesn’t exactly have a stellar track record of moving with the times and recognizing the warning signs, whether they’re to be found in employees or customers.
I understand the pushback; people have to live their own lives, and there’s only so much we can do to help, and so on. I wasn’t by any means a paragon of virtue, either. Still, can’t we all do better working together?
That remains my hope for future generations, whether realistic or not. Maybe they won’t have to watch their friends die slowly, over time, in front of their eyes.
—
Amid these challenging weeks, I’ve found myself thinking back to those times during the pub’s earliest days when I made more new friends, faster, than at any point in my life. I’d assumed that having better beer in common would jibe with other shared interests, but was amazed at how often this proved to be the case. Chief among these commonalities was music.
During the past spring, as the news about Jeff’s health gradually turned less promising, Counting Crows released a new album. Know that it is my custom to devote attention to what is most recent (I strive mightily to avoid listening in the past), but in this instance my internal jukebox kept insisting I revisit August and Everything After, the band’s debut from 1993.
At first, I wasn’t sure what my subconscious was trying to tell me, although as ridiculous as it might seem, I also began thinking about Ms. Adams’ 8th grade music classroom, when I was 13 or 14, and she would let us come in before school to listen to our music on her classy turntable.
We’d each bring albums and vote for which songs to play during the scant 20-30 minutes we had for listening before the bells began ringing. Almost all my friends had older brothers and sisters, and accordingly, access to a seemingly unlimited supply of great vinyl.
For me to win control of the turntable, I had to make really good choices, with a winning example being Elton John’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road; specifically, the song “Funeral for a Friend/Love Lies Bleeding,” which for several weeks beat out Black Sabbath, Yes and Deep Purple.
Fast forward twenty remarkably short/impossibly long years. See me now as a business owner in my early 30s during the early 90s, behind the bar at the pub, surveying the regulars for their music suggestions, this time with my own sound system but utilizing compact discs and cassettes, not vinyl (and “streaming” back then had something to do with fishing, didn’t it?)
In 1993, two of the biggest fans of August and Everything After were Roz Tate and Syd Lewison, Jeff’s father; obviously, Jeff had yet to arrive to meet his destiny with Kate, and had Syd not heard about the pub and started coming ‘round here, who knows what would have happened?
@thealmanac77 SNL Host Sara Gilbert, Musical Guest Counting Crows, If they aren’t your cup of tea is ok but, hey! what a performance! (01-15-1994) #snl #snlmusicalguest #universalplus #universalplusafrica #universalpluslatinoamerica #90s #90skids #90smusic #snlseason19 #malaysiatiktok #philippinestiktok #tiktokindia #tiktkokphilippines #tiktokaustralia #fyp #fypシ゚viral #tiktokbrasil#thealmanac77 #countingcrows #mrjones #90srock ♬ original sound – thealmanac77
Call it heads, tails, serendipity, or kismet; fate or destiny; or maybe at last call it’s testimony to “Cheers Meets Fleetwood Mac,” the creation of an unconventional and interchangeable extended family at NABC that has shifted and been reconfigured, but endures and perseveres in spite of the pain and loss.
The family of man survives ― at least so far ― because birth and death occupy a continuum. The same can be said about NABC, for now. As Roz the musician surely would remind us: The show must go on.
I’m optimistic that it will.
—
Two postscripts: Todd Smith (Roz) and Jon Reiter (Jeff, who was a Viking fan).
Next: Running Gravity Head’s daunting gauntlet (the first 10 years).
