Some objects become woven into family life so completely that we hardly notice them until decades later. For many Michiganders, Stroh’s wasn’t simply a beer. It was there at backyard barbecues, campfires, horseshoe pits, dock parties, and countless summer afternoons with family and friends.
That’s the essence of American Material Memory.
From the Artist
I remember my Dad showing me how to use this bottle opener when I was a kid. Not to open a Faygo Red Pop, but so I could grab him—or one of my uncles—an ice-cold Stroh’s from the galvanized watering pail they used as an ice chest.
Basically, they taught me how to use a bottle opener so they wouldn’t have to get out of their lawn chairs while watching everybody else pitch horseshoes.
It took me a few years to figure that out.
Hahaha.
Some objects become woven into family life so completely that we hardly notice them until decades later. For many Michiganders, Stroh’s wasn’t simply a beer. It was there at backyard barbecues, campfires, horseshoe pits, dock parties, and countless summer afternoons with family and friends.
That’s the essence of American Material Memory.
From the Artist
I remember my Dad showing me how to use this bottle opener when I was a kid. Not to open a Faygo Red Pop, but so I could grab him—or one of my uncles—an ice-cold Stroh’s from the galvanized watering pail they used as an ice chest.
Basically, they taught me how to use a bottle opener so they wouldn’t have to get out of their lawn chairs while watching everybody else pitch horseshoes.
It took me a few years to figure that out.
Hahaha.