His name was Paul. As he gathered us around himself, his name tag clearly said "Paul". No last name, just "Paul". I didn’t know what to expect from him. Was he a Tennessee hillbilly? A volunteer from the little town of Lynchburg? An off-duty plant worker? Someone who made the barrels or maybe someone who inspected the bottles before they were filled? Or better yet, someone who tasted the brew before it went into the bottles? I thought only time will tell.
My girlfriend thought she remembered the exit she had taken to buy the last lottery tickets. By the time she realized she had missed her usual turn we were miles into Tennessee. "If we don’t turn off the interstate soon we will be in Nashville", I thought.
"How about this next exit? I see they have go-go girls", I said. She gave me a dirty look but didn’t say a word or make the turn. The next exit would have to do. The service station had all the lottery tickets anyone could want. Then I spotted the sign. Jack Daniel’s Distillery Tours......9 am until 4:30 pm. And it was only 2:30 pm now. We had missed the tour one time before. Maybe this time we could make it.
Paul was a tall man dressed in overalls, t-shirt, ball cap, with a beard. Several items of clothing he wore had Jack Daniel’s logos on them. His first remarks were meant of be funny but no one was laughing. Then his demeanor changed and off we went when he said, "Follow me!"
"Our first stop will be in the ‘Rickyard’ for a group picture", he said. "If you don’t want your picture on the ‘World Wide Internet’, you might want to stay off to the side. You know, if you’re on ‘America’s Most Wanted’ or if you’re with someone you don’t want to be seen with......you know".
Paul wanted to be taken for a Tennessee hillbilly but the information he gave us said otherwise. He turned his ball cap to the side at one point but then began to tell us about all the countries that bought Jack Daniel’s whiskey. And the number of barrels per day, and the past owners, and the current owners, and all about the water, and the wood, and the process, and more numbers for this and more numbers for that. He was no Tennessee hillbilly.
He had worked at the plant in several different areas. He said his favorite was the barrel house. He was a leak checker. When he found a leak he would stop it with bee’s wax. That is after he sampled the brew with his hidden shot glass.
He anticipated our questions. He joked. He educated.
He left us with the company farewell speech. Something about being responsible with any alcohol we might consume.
Then at the very end he made it clear: "I sure miss my job in the barrel house".