Excerpt from Chapter 9, “A Beer with Local Characters.”

        I pulled into Bisbee late at night and first thing found “Electric” Dave Harvan at the Bisbee Grand Hotel. I didn’t expect Electric Dave to look so  clean- cut. His short, gray hair is misleadingly  distinguished- looking, and his  baby- fat cheeks showcase a relentless smile, as he cracks jokes nonstop. An expression applies well to him: It’s funny because it’s true.

        He might embellish his stories, but I embrace their veracity. Like the one about his probation officer, who, before that, had been his coke dealer.

        Considering the sizzling Arizona heat, you’d think the desiccated desert would be a fertile place for breweries to quench all those parched mouths. Think again. My two guesses as to why not are, first, hot climates such as the Southwest’s provided no opportunity to harvest ice, which meant beer would spoil faster than Wyatt Earp could draw his pistol. Second, all the good Bavarians had already settled elsewhere.

        Americans are rediscovering these parts, and Phoenix has become a metropolis, not just of retirees and golfers galore but young families. Bisbee, encamped in the Mule Mountains at around a mile-high elevation, is enjoying its own renaissance, in relative

terms. Founded in 1880 when copper, gold, and silver mines opened, the onetime boomtown instantly turned into a near ghost town when the last of the mines closed in 1975. As a result, homes sold for four figures and the Bohemians discovered it. Nowadays, it’s considered an artist colony, but might as well be a penal colony, since its real cash crop isn’t the art. While it is experiencing some gentrification, it generally boasts a population unburdened by affluence.

        That poses a problem for Electric Brewing. Many Bisbeeites don’t or can’t shell out the extra fifty cents for a pint of his draft at the bar.

        Now see if that has him feeling down about his brewery, which I almost feel like putting in air  quotes—“brewery.” Dave works on a homemade  thirty-barrel system, selling half as much beer these days as he did when he opened. “Most of my best customers are dead.” Puzzle solved.