Craft beer is a beautiful thing. It has the power to bring people together from all walks of life, creating connections that may have otherwise never existed. I have personally experienced this in my own life, meeting incredible individuals who share a passion for stouts, IPAs, bottle releases, and line shares.

One individual in particular stands out among my craft beer friendships – Chris Von Wahlde. Chris and I go way back, even before our love for beer developed. We actually met through our shared interest in gaming, spending countless Monday evenings with a small group of friends, immersing ourselves in complicated games of make-believe. Chris quickly became my closest friend, and we never ran out of things to talk about. From pro wrestling and music to art and dogs, our conversations were always filled with laughter and genuine connection.

As time went on, both Chris and I found our way into the craft beer industry, and our shared passion only grew stronger. Chris eventually became the beer and wine steward at a local Kroger, but his love for craft beer extended far beyond his professional responsibilities. Each year, he and his wife Lynette made sure to attend the Cincy Winter Beerfest, securing connoisseur tickets to fully indulge in their shared love for craft beer. Chris was not the type to let his hobby become a burden – he genuinely enjoyed every moment of his beer journey.

Unfortunately, I find myself writing about Chris today due to the tragic news of his passing. He was found unresponsive in his home, and despite the efforts of the ambulance crew, they were unable to revive him. Chris was only 47 years old, a shockingly young age to say goodbye to someone so full of life. I can already imagine him expressing his disbelief, as he believed that even Jimmy Buffet had been taken too early at the age of 76.

Truthfully, I hadn’t seen Chris much lately, as life tends to pull people in different directions when they reach their 40s. However, we had made attempts to catch up over a pint or two. Our plans to meet at Nine Giant Fermentorium last summer fell through, but I still cherish the messages we exchanged on Facebook leading up to that day. Little did I know, Chris was facing health challenges that he didn’t wish to burden others with. An examination following his passing revealed an enlarged heart and an inoperable brain tumor. His wife, Lynette, was aware of his struggles, as he battled chronic back pain, forcing him to take a leave from work, and endured crippling headaches.

It was on Monday morning that Lynette reached out to me, asking if I could come over and help her sort through the beer Chris had left behind in their fridge. The very thought of it broke my heart, but there was no way I could refuse. When I arrived, I was overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of beer in that fridge. It was packed to the brim, with some bottles and cans that I knew hadn’t been produced in years. Chris couldn’t bear the thought of pouring any of it down the drain, so that’s what I did for him and his wife. With the exception of a fresh six-pack of Rhinegeist Wowie, anything that wasn’t a stout or a porter met its end in the sink. The rest, I brought home with me, a small token of the friendship we shared.

Before leaving, I made a point to visit Chris’s parents next door. He always wanted his loved ones nearby, and it was clear that he had intentionally chosen a home close to his parents. I wanted to offer my support and condolences to them, knowing how much it meant to Chris to have his loved ones united.

As I sit here and write, I can’t help but reflect on the impact Chris had on my life. His friendship and love for craft beer brought so much joy into my world, and I will forever be grateful for our time together. It’s through writing and sharing these memories that I find some solace in his sudden departure from this world. Chris will be deeply missed, but his spirit lives on in the memories we made and the craft beer community he was so passionate about. Cheers to you, my oldest and best friend in the industry.

A Farewell to Chris: Memories from a Beer Fridge###

Growing up, Chris lived next door to me, always in close proximity to his family. What I admired most about him was his unwavering love for the ocean and his fondness for cruises. It seemed peculiar to me that he longed to spend so much time surrounded by people, especially in the wake of the post-pandemic world. However, everything fell into place when I discovered his plans for his mother and late wife to embark on a cruise, using a ticket designated for him. On this voyage, they would fulfill his final wish – to scatter his ashes into the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, a place he cherished. Chris loathed funerals and memorial services, refusing to attend any. While I never understood his reasons, I now realize that his desires echo my own – a shared sentiment that has brought us closer even after his passing.

Like Chris, I, too, detest the idea of somber farewells. Instead, he wanted those he left behind to celebrate his life with a joyous gathering. He wanted us to raise a glass and revel in the memories we shared, for he had adored his life and the people who filled it. And so, it is my duty to carry out his wishes. A grand celebration of Chris Von Wahlde’s life will indeed take place, and I am determined to be there, honoring him in every way possible. As a memento, I have taken a beer from his refrigerator. Regardless of where we end up toasting his memory – whether it be a discreet parking lot or a more suitable location – that beer shall be present. If circumstances permit, we shall pour it into proper glassware. But if not, the essence of our gathering will be captured in humble Solo cups. We may be wild at heart, but surely not savages.

Farewell, dear Chris. Though we part ways for now, I hope that our paths will cross again someday. If that day arrives, allow me the privilege of treating you to the first round. You will always hold a significant place in our hearts and minds.

*This article originally appeared on Cincinnati Enquirer: “I cleaned out my late friend’s beer fridge, and it’s full of memories.”*