The Ermold Corker was a dinosaur contraption. Powered by an ancient electric motor it drove a leather belt over a highway of flywheels and pulleys all the while making a thunderous roar. You could hear the thing running from the parking lot.

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My dad got me my first cellar job. He was managing Buena Vista Winery and I was pumped and ready to learn how to make wine there. It was old school. No stainless steel or refrigeration then. There were less than 250 wineries in all of California and today there are over 2500. I was 23. Enologists were pretty rare and generally seen as not all that necessary. I reported for my first day of work on April 1, 1972 to winemaker, Al Brett. He was Irish, tough as nails and a merry prankster at heart. I hated him and I loved him and never knew anybody quite like him. He taught me how to make wine.

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My whole life I have endured having a difficult name to pronounce. My earliest childhood recollections are of that horrid first day’s roll call at school – painfully waiting for the teacher to ascend alphabetically towards my name – waiting for it to be verbally butchered in front of my sweet little classmates. It made me cringe because I knew the insults from the wisenheimers were only moments away.

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