Let's not mince words. Porching was the fine art of taking someone's beer for

your own personal consumption. That the 'someone' was usually one's neighbor,

made the act even more reprehensible. But we did it anyway because, damn it, it

was free beer.

In the 1960s (and long before) many home owners would find that they lacked

adequate storage for their beer and malt liquor purchases. Wives in those days,

and today too I guess, frowned on beer cans using up their limited refrigerator

room. Fridges were smaller then and barely held the necessities such as milk and

Royal Crown soda. The refrigerator in my house was simply a cold space for

leftovers. Leftovers stayed in my fridge long after the memory of the original

meal had faded.

The first week of each month would be fresh home-cooked meals. The following

three weeks would be the leftovers of those meals. At the end of the month, the

fridge would be emptied and the cycle would restart. I sometimes think, looking

back on it, that there was a store somewhere that sold strictly leftovers at

reduced prices, because I swear that more than once I was eating food that my

mother never cooked.

In our house, only two beers at any given time were allowed in the fridge. The

remaining beer had to be hidden in a relatively cool spot within the house. Our

basement had a small secured ash bin in the basement wall directly beneath the

living room fireplace. During the warmer months of the year it became the

perfect hiding place for my father's stash.

Of course my brother and I found it. It turned out we had the same idea, but my

father beat us to it. We ended up hiding our ill-gotten liquor in the woods by

our house. The problem with that was that by the weekend we'd forget under which

rock we put the stuff. It was rough enjoying a beer in the '60s.

The winter months were a different story however. Then you could simply put your

beer supply on the pack porch and let mother nature take care of the

refrigeration. In Northwood, practically every home was part of a row of

connected houses whose backyards faced alleys.

Unlike today, there were no decks out back and no gas grills. During the summer

the back yards were used for hanging wet clothes on lines and possibly tending a

small garden. The yards were too small for much else. Back porches were tiny

cast iron things that provided quick access to the alleys.  If you wanted to

socialize with the neighbors, you'd hang out on the larger concrete front porch.

The rear porch was good for one thing only.....beer storage.

To add to their charm, wives and mothers never went out back during the cold

months. My mother in particular would forget we even had a rear house entrance.

Sometimes in February I would catch her staring at the back door as if it were a

foreign object.

The main reason any of the teenagers in my neighborhood looked forward to the

winter time (besides snow days) was we could finally drink cold beer.

The problem was getting it.

The art of porching beer was not for the faint of heart or the weak of mind. I

personally witnessed many a teenager give in to their desire for a 'cold one'

only to be caught by an irate neighbor or, worst yet, the police.

The concept of porching was simple enough. One or two guys would be appointed

as porchers on any non-school night. Any more than two would look suspicious.

The designated porchers would walk the dark alleys glancing at back porches as

they did so. The first target was always beer cans or bottles, but brown bags

and cardboard boxes would also be scrutinized.

Once an object fitting that description was seen, a practiced porcher would

always walk past the house to map a strategy. Inexperienced porchers who 'jumped

the fence' at this juncture usually paid a stiff price for their haste. Many a

porcher would abandon their fellow 'jumper' when the porch light came on and all

hell broke loose.

Once a strategy was mapped out, the actual porching would commence. Things

happened quickly at this stage. It was an unwritten law that if you couldn't hop

the fence, grab the stuff, hand it off, then hop the fence again in under 10

seconds, you were probably going to be unsuccessful.

Greed also played a part. Young and foolish porchers would sometimes try to jump

start their reputation by grabbing a case of beer. Big mistake! Experienced

porchers knew to go light and fast and take no more than two six packs at a

time. One six pack was the best bet. More often than not the resident never

realized it was missing.

But even good porchers got waylaid from time to time. I remember one party where

we sent out our best porcher and all he came back with was a dead goose. He

excitedly swore that it had some use, but our group could find none. He was made

to take it back to its final resting place while we reluctantly filled ourselves

on Coca-Cola.

The most extreme instance of porching to my recollection, was my friend Jimmy

who porched a case of beer from his next door neighbor in broad daylight. One

minute our gang was in his back yard eyeing the case, the next minute it was in

his hands on our side of the fence. His quickness was such that no one had even

seen him commit the act.

If there was ever a porching hall of fame, Jimmy's name would certainly be

there.