IN THIS WEEK’S column, we ponder the greatest mystery in beer:Why do so many brewers wear beards? (I mean male brewers, naturally, not female, which perhaps is a column for another day. )

I’ve been noticing this for the last couple years, but it came into full light at the Craft Brewers Conference in Philadelphia this month. You couldn’t walk three steps without encountering a fur-face.

Now, just so we’re all on the same page, I’m not talking about perfectly groomed Bradley Cooper starlet-magnet stubble. I mean the Full Grizzly. Chin carpet. Whiskers out the wazoo. Gnarly hair hedges that bring to mind Will Forte in the TV show Last Man on Earth before Jason Sudeikis sheared half his face and scalp.

This question has been pondered from time to time. All About Beer magazine tackled it in November and suggested brewers are creative types, and, well, think about all those painters and sculptors with beards.

With all due respect to the many artistes sloshing mop buckets around brewhouse floors, that sounded like a reach. Clearly, this question requires deeper insight, of the sort one can find only on . . . Facebook.

I put it to my so-called friends, who jokingly suggested everything from “a surfeit of chins” to “it’s stipulated in the Reinheitsgebot,” the German beer purity law.

Several said “hipster cred. ” That might apply to some, but not graybeards on the other side of 50. Lancaster Brewing’s Bill Moore was grooming his before the term “hipster” was even coined.

Matt Gundrum of Iron Hill Brewery & Restaurant offered one plausible answer: “I hate razor burn, which I always get when I shave,” he said, wondering aloud whether working around mash tun steam makes his skin more sensitive.

And Eric Boice, who brews at Stewart’s in Bear, Del., said his beard protected his face from a violent surge of boiling wort. “I thought to myself, ‘Well, that’s as good a reason as any for a brewer to have a beard,’ ” he said.

Maybe it’s just that the craft-beer world isn’t as button-down as other workplaces.

“It’s one of the only industries that accepts it completely,” said Free Will’s John Stemler. “Now when I shave, I’m asked to leave the brewery because nobody recognizes me. “

Not surprisingly, several among the social-media commentariat called me out for stereotyping the industry and pointed to the many well-known brewers without facial hair.

“I could rattle off a long list,” said Steve Mashington, formerly of Rogue Ales and now a general manager at River City Cannery. He cited the likes of Tom Kehoe of Yards, Brian O’Reilly of Sly Fox, Brett Kintzer of Stoudt’s, and Garrett Oliver of Brooklyn Brewing, all of whom have faces as bare as a baby’s bottom.

To which I answer: Bill “Red Beard” Covaleski of Victory and co-founder Ron “Van Dyke” Barchet, Bob “Rasputin” Barrar of 2SP, Evan “Galifianakis” Fritz of Manayunk Brewing, and Greg “Castaway” Koch of Stone.

Heck, the beard on John Maier, Mashington’s former boss at Rogue, is so fertile he actually harvested yeast from the undergrowth and – I kid you not – famously brewed an ale with it.

But that’s anecdotal evidence. What about statistics?

Josh Weikert, a university lecturer and local homebrewer, noted one study that said 17 percent of American men wear beards. When he looked at a random image of a brewers’ conference seminar, it appeared only about a quarter of the attendees had beards – not much over the average.

“I think this is a confirmation bias situation rather than a real phenomenon,” he said, which is another way of saying I had my head up my glass.

Of course, I couldn’t let that accusation stand. So on a rainy Saturday afternoon, I spent two hours examining 150 photographs posted at the conference website. I counted every single freaking male whose face was visible – 402 of ’em, 231 with beards.

That’s 57 percent, a rate more than three times higher than in the general population.

Of course, the stats still don’t answer the question why? I’ll take another stab at it in an upcoming Bar Talk Podcast with co-host Glen Macnow. He and I will stroke our own mange and try to come up with something profound. Listen in at my website, below.

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NOW THAT BEER gardens are officially a thing in Philly and – shockingly – the suburbs, it’s time for these outdoor drinking spots to get a few things right.

Because a beer garden is more than just a bar without a roof.

A beer garden is a shared place, in the sun, without solid walls and the typical constraints of a licensed saloon. It is about atmosphere and community and fun.

The Germans, who have perfected the biergarten, call that spirit gemütlichkeit. It means warmth and friendship and good cheer. And it takes more than just a couple of picnic tables and a Jenga set to get it right.

Consider this a best-practices document for improving your gemütlichkeit.

1. Serve your beer in actual glasses, not plastic cups.

Yes, plastic is easy. And, yes, glass breaks. But plastic is chintzy and demeaning, and it devalues the experience of a beer garden.

Glassware is still the purest way to taste beer; hoisting a heavy, liter-sized mass is as much a part of the beer-garden experience as live music and soft pretzels.

Seriously: A foamy hefeweizen belongs in a tall, clean glass, not a limp, petroleum-based containment unit.

2. If you’re going to use plastic cups, make them clear.

Appearance is a huge part of the enjoyment of beer. No red Solo cups.

3. Hire a waitstaff.

Don’t squeeze me into cattle chutes to buy a beer. A beer garden is a civilized experience, not an Eagles game.

I want to sit my keister on a bench in the shade, and I want you to bring the beer to me.

4. Get rid of those stupid hammocks.

No one sleeps in a beer garden, and snot-nose brats only use them as swings. Besides, once I plunk down in one, I can never get out.

5. Let me bring my own food.

I know, you want to charge me 10 bucks for your soggy fish tacos, but allowing guests to bring their own food enhances the spirit of community; it underscores the concept of “shared” space that you’re supposed to be promoting.

Besides, everyone knows you make more money off liquor than food. Let me bring my own picnic, and I’ll spend more on the beer.

6. Stop calling it a beer garden if it isn’t.

A beer garden is not a backyard patio, deck, porch, or crowded city sidewalk in front of a bar. It’s also not a rooftop.

If you’re going to call it a garden, plant something green.

7. Get rid of the security guards.

Those yellow-shirted rent-a-cops are a buzz-kill. You’re worried about underage drinking and public drunkenness? That’s another reason you should hire a trained waitstaff.

8. Bocce good; giant chessboards bad.

Bocce is the outdoor version of darts. Anyone can play it without putting down his or her beer.

Meanwhile, nobody has ever played a life-size game of chess to completion. It’s a giant waste of space invented by a designer who got all her ideas out of Martha Stewart Living in 1997.

9. No padded couches.

Drunken couples use them for outdoor sex. Really. Also, no Astroturf.

10. Pour something other than IPA.

I like hops as much as the next person, but I like variety even more, and summertime has plenty to offer. Here’s a six-pack of suggested styles with examples.

1. Hefeweizen. Except in rare cases, only the Germans get this style’s spicy, effervescent flavor right. Try Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier.
2. Pale lager. You’ll want something in the range of 5 percent alcohol, so you can drink lots and lots. Try Stoudt’s Gold.
3. Pilsner. Philly-area versions are bitter enough to satisfy any hop head. Try Troegs Sunshine Pils.
4. Saison. This cloudy, earthy style was the traditional go-to for Old World farm workers. Try Saint Benjamin Liaison Saison or Sly Fox Grisette.
5. Berliner weissbier or gose. Trendy sour beer is never better than on one of those hazy, hot, and humid Philly afternoons. Try Nodding Head Ich Bin Ein Berliner Weiss or Sierra Nevada Otra Vez.
6. India pale ale. OK, I give in; you can’t run a beer garden without one. Lately, I’ve been grooving to Firestone Walker Luponic Distortion.

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DONALD TRUMP for president? Forget about it, say the nation’s brewers. But don’t expect them to line up behind Hillary Clinton, either.

That’s the outlook from a straw poll I conducted among beer makers at last week’s Craft Brewers Conference in Philadelphia.

Among the 96 brewers and other beer industry members I polled while strolling around the conference exhibition hall, only 15 said they’d vote for Trump in November.

Clinton was backed by exactly half of the brewers – but that support looks shaky because many of her supporters indicated they might not bother to vote in the fall.

Meanwhile, fully one-third said they’d vote for neither.

It’s true, of course, that 100 percent of the brewers would rather have been drinking beer than answering an election survey. Several of those I questioned stalked off when I asked: Trump or Clinton?

But I had reasons for talking politics.

For one, the craft-beer demographic – which is mainly white and male – is a troublesome sector for Democrats in presidential elections. In 2012, President Obama lost to Mitt Romney among white males by 20 percentage points.

You might remember that Obama tried to trim that gap by targeting craft-beer drinkers. The White House famously released recipes for the president’s homebrewed beers during his campaign, and then the Democratic National Convention featured speeches from the founders of two small breweries in support of Obama.

We can expect to see Clinton, who also lags in support among white males, to exploit the same craft-beer-savvy tactics – and not just because Trump is a teetotaler. As it happens, many of the swing states – notably Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, North Carolina, Virginia, and Colorado – rank above the median in breweries per capita. Don’t be surprised if you see her tipping back an IPA in Wilkes-Barre or Fort Collins, Colo.

Meanwhile, despite their reluctance to talk politics at a beer convention, craft brewers are hardly silent on the issues.

After North Carolina enacted its controversial anti-LGBT law last month, for example, dozens of the state’s small breweries protested by making a “Golden Rule Saison” called Don’t Be Mean to People. Proceeds will benefit gay, lesbian, and transgender advocacy groups.

Last year, an Illinois brewery – objecting to Trump’s anti-Mexican remarks – pulled its beer from his Chicago hotel, then renamed it Chinga tu Pelo, Spanish for F– Your Hair.

That doesn’t mean Clinton can expect craft beer to automatically line up behind her.

“She’s corrupt,” said Paul Allard, 49, a hops supplier from Maine. “I’m not a huge Trump fan. He’s a bit of a blowhard. But I feel I have to vote for him as the lesser of two evils. “

Patrick Doheny, 47, a brewer from Clearwater, Fla., said that although he’s registered as a Republican, “I just don’t think Trump has the ability. He’s a good businessman, but that does not equate to being a good president. It might have to be Clinton. “

Daniel Lanigan, a brewer in Boston, still held out hope for Sen. Bernie Sanders of Vermont. “Clinton is like the Anheuser-Busch InBev of candidates,” he said. “Bernie is craft brewing. “

Leigh Maberry, 24, who works in the laboratory at a Texas brewery, said, “They’re both scary. It’s become discouraging. “

That sentiment cropped up repeatedly:

“I can’t find anyone I want to vote for. “

“They’re both slimeballs. “

“Maybe I’ll move to Canada. “

None of the nearly 100 brewers I interviewed expressed any passionate support for Clinton. Many, however, blanched at the idea of Trump occupying the White House:

“He’s very extreme, short-sighted, and inflammatory. “

“He’s a poor businessman. “

“He’s just an entertaining idiot. “

“Neither – but definitely not Trump. “

The anti-Trump sentiment was most pronounced among women brewers (a distinct minority among those at the convention). Not one woman I interviewed backed Trump; instead, they were evenly divided between Clinton and “neither. “

Admittedly, I’m no Nate Silver when it comes to crunching data. In fact, I was drinking a fair amount of fresh craft beer throughout the survey, so it’s entirely possible my data are a bit blurred. Nonetheless, here are the results:

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There are no saloons in Pitman. No bottle shops or restaurants with liquor licenses, either. This is a dry town, a vestige of its founding as a Methodist retreat.

Yet on Saturday afternoon, with a ceremonial tapping of the first keg, a brewery will open on Broadway, the Gloucester County town’s main drag. A brewery with a tasting room and eight taps and plenty of suds.

And that’s not all, for by the end of summer, a second brewery is expected to open a mere two doors down the street – a veritable brewery row in a borough where, for 100 years, the closest thing to a stiff drink was a bottle of hair tonic at the barbershop.

No, the Methodists did not suddenly fold up their pews in Pitman. But demon alcohol is moving in, nonetheless.

“We couldn’t be more excited,” Pitman Mayor Russell Johnson said of this weekend’s planned opening of Kelly Green Brewery. “It’s going to be a big shot in the arm for this town. “

The arrival of a brewery in an otherwise dry town is both a quirk of state liquor laws and a sign of the remarkable evolution of beer in America.

Though liquor licenses still are banned in Pitman, Kelly Green is opening under a new state law that allows so-called limited breweries to produce beer and sell it by the glass in a tasting room. Meanwhile, several wineries have broken the dry spell by exploiting another recent provision that allows them to lease space in restaurants to sell wine to diners.

“Technically, we’re not dry,” Johnson said. “We’re damp. “

Increasingly, small town mayors like Johnson are seizing on the new law to lure new breweries to their downtowns. Rather than the community scourge, a small brewery is often viewed as a proud civic asset – one that generates jobs and taxes and, most important, attracts young visitors.

Indeed, Pitman isn’t the only historically dry town in New Jersey to welcome a brewery. In the next month, Devil’s Creek Brewery is expected to open in Collingswood, where liquor had been banned since the 1800s.

Local BYO restaurants, fearing that beer would draw away their patrons, initially balked at the plan, then backed down when the borough enacted new zoning rules prohibiting the brewery from serving food.

In Pitman, the change of attitude surprised even Justin Fleming, the 35-year-old former nuclear plant worker opening Kelly Green with his wife, Jeannette, and home-brewing pal, Dave Domanski.

“My wife and I grew up in Pitman, so we’re very familiar with the history of this town,” Fleming said. “This town is deeply rooted in religion,” he said. “For a while, the feeling was that if you open it to alcohol, there’d be drunk people laying on the sidewalk. “

Indeed, just behind the brewery stands Pitman Grove, now a national historic place that was founded in the 1870s as a camp for Methodist revival meetings. Small cottages still line the grove’s 12 original “avenues” representing Christ’s disciples.

But if the local Methodist church has any issues with a brewery in its town, it hasn’t made any noise. Phone calls and emails to the pastor went unanswered.

“Without a doubt, I assumed some old-school mentality would come our way,” Fleming said. “But it didn’t. I was extremely surprised. “

Equally surprising are the plans to open a second brewery just two doors down from Kelly Green. There, in the former Bus Stop Music Cafe, brewing partners Megan Myers and Emily Barnes plan to open Human Village Brewing Co. as early as next month.

“We really love Pitman,” Myers said, when I asked her how they chose their brewery’s home. “A lot of things are going on in this town . . . a brick-oven pizza restaurant, a burger cafe, and the Broadway Theatre, which is just beautifully refurbished from the vaudeville era.

“It’s a beautiful, walkable town. The population is shifting; we’re staring to see a new generation of people coming in.

“I think a small brewery – two small breweries – is really good for the town. “

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In 2005, the last time the Brewers Association held its annual conference here, a few local brewers thought it would be a swell idea to expose the conventioneers to a unique slice of Philly’s growing craft-beer scene.

So they trooped the visitors down to a seamy stretch of Delaware Avenue and held what was surely the city’s first-ever cask-ale event at a topless bar.

As dancers shimmied over the tap handles for dollar bills, visitors drained glasses from a freshly tapped firkin.

The association’s Craft Brewers Conference returns to town for a considerably more upscale event Tuesday to next Friday that includes more than 100 events around town, with live music at the Electric Factory and World Cafe Live, a gala dinner at the Convention Center, and a huge awards show. The last conference could comfortably fit all 1,500 attendees into the Marriott, but this one is having a tough time squeezing the more than 13,000 attendees from the small-beer industry into the Convention Center’s facilities.

“We’ve gotten to the point where there are only 17 cities in the country that can accommodate us,” said Paul Gatza, the association’s longtime director. Even Seattle, one of the nation’s top beer cities, he said, doesn’t have convention space for the conference.

The increased attendance, of course, is a reflection of the phenomenal growth in American craft brewing over the last decade.

In 2005, there were fewer than 1,400 craft breweries nationwide; that number will likely reach 5,000 by the end of the year.

As a result, the Brewers Association, based in Colorado, has grown from a cozy club dominated by the pioneers of craft brewing into a large-scale organization focusing on professional education and governmental lobbying. (Full disclosure: The Garden State Craft Brewers Guild, where I am executive director, is a member of the Brewers Association. )

The conference itself is closed to the public, with seminars on a range of topics, from label designs to glycol cooling systems. A massive trade show dominating much of the convention space will show off newfangled six-pack carriers, unusual hop varieties, brewhouse valves, and more.

Yes, it’s inside baseball. But here’s the thing: You can’t hold a brewers’ convention without beer.

And, as this is Philadelphia, local bars and restaurants are rolling out the amber carpet. The streets will be flowing with suds of all kinds.

A handful of the events are for conference attendees only – like the Wednesday-night show by alt-rock band Cracker at World Cafe Live, presented by Dogfish Head. But those are the exceptions, and I’ve compiled a list of more than 100 events open to the public.

Some are simple tap takeovers, with the likes of New Belgium, Firestone Walker, and Ballast Point. Expect to rub elbows with brewers including Phil Markowski, the farmhouse beer guru at Connecticut’s Two Roads Brewing, and Garrett Oliver of Brooklyn Brewing.

And there will be a flood of out-of-town brews and brewers making their first appearance in the city for the show. Among them: Wicked Weed of Asheville, N.C.; Surly of Minneapolis; SaltWater of Delray Beach, Fla.; Odell of Fort Collins, Colo.; and Wiseacre of Memphis, Tenn. Most events have free admission – just pay as you go.

We’ll even see the opening of the much-anticipated St. Benjamin’s Brewery tasting room in North Philadelphia.

If that sounds a little like a preview of Philly Beer Week, coming in June, well, you get the idea.

The whole week gets started Sunday with Yards’ ninth annual Philadelphia Real Ale Invitational (Tickets $55, yardsbrewingcom.ticketleap.com). Officially, it ends with the World Beer Cup awards ceremony May 6, but there will be plenty of after parties around town that night.

And don’t worry – Philly hasn’t completely lost touch with its roots. SweetWater Brewing will make an appearance Tuesday at Cheerleaders, the South Philadelphia strip joint.

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EXACTLY WHAT is Yards Brewing selling in its new series of videos, Yards Good Fight?

It sure doesn’t look like beer.

The 90-second pieces shown online and in social media are part of the Northern Liberties brewery’s ongoing Brew Unto Others advertising campaign that aims to frame the brewery as a solid part of the community.

So far, two Good Fight videos have been posted, highlighting charitable organizations “making our backyard a better place to live and work. ” One lauds celebrity chef Jose Garces and his foundation’s support of immigrant health care and education programs, another publicizes ActionAIDS and its Dining Out for Life fund-raiser.

The video campaign plays off Yards’ feisty image, particularly its “pugilist-style” Brawler ale, to promote the company’s softer side. Other than a couple of cameo shots of foamy glasses of suds, neither focuses on beer. The talk is not of malt or hops, but of social stewardship and sharing.

“It’s something we absolutely believe in,” said Yards president Tom Kehoe. “We’ve been doing this kind of work for a long time, supporting charitable organizations. We just think we should tell people we’re doing this. “

It’s an honorable campaign, especially given the depth of Yards’ charitable giving. Kehoe estimates the company donates the equivalent of three tractor-trailer loads of beer a year in cash, beer and in-kind services, equaling about $150,000.

His company is hardly unique in its corporate giving. Check out any brewery website and inevitably there’s a page promoting its corporate citizenship. Many have online request forms for donations of beer to charity events.

According to Southern California writer Sean Lewis, author of We Make Beer: Inside the Spirit and Artistry of America’s Craft Brewers, giving is part of breweries’ DNA.

“They’re a natural place to meet and organize,” Lewis said. “You see it time and again, with events or donations or even getting involved in social causes. “Breweries have always been the heart of their communities. “

But there’s something else worth noting in Yards’ new advertising campaign, namely that the city’s largest brewery is beginning to grow its brand as a Philadelphia institution. Like the community organizations it supports, the company is part of the local fabric.

“Our whole goal at Yards is to be Philly’s hometown beer,” Kehoe said. “And that means more than just beer. We think the best breweries go beyond the beer they brew to become part of their communities. “

We’ve seen this time and again, when breweries strive to create what writer Will McGough of CraftBeer.com recently called “the brand beyond the beer. “

For example:

• Boston Beer supports Brewing the American Dream, a business-coaching program that provides loans and grants to new companies.
• Dogfish Head helped launch Pallet magazine, an eclectic quarterly for “those who like to think and drink. “
• SLO Brew is opening luxury lofts in San Luis Obispo, Calif.
• Sly Fox has practically adopted the Schuylkill River Trail, organizing cleanups and donating money toward its upkeep.

Part of the motivation is strictly mercenary. With more than 4,000 breweries nationwide competing for shelf space, breweries need solid branding just to stand out.

It’s also the mark of a maturing industry. Now well into its third decade, the American craft beer industry is beginning to mimic many of the tactics of more conventional businesses.

Gone are the days when marketing a brewery meant simply selling T-shirts and pouring samples at beer festivals. Those once-scrappy start-ups have evolved into highly structured companies, hiring advertising consultants, deploying sophisticated packaging, and developing licensing deals.

Which means America’s small breweries are producing more than just beer. And, in the case of Yards, that’s a Good Fight.

You can join the fight through April by enjoying a fresh pint of Yards’ new Action IPA. The brewery has teamed with local restaurants to donate 50 percent of draft sales to support ActionAIDS.

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ONE NIGHT in 1987, Jeffrey Rosenblum opened a bottle of Whitbread Ale and poured himself a glass. He took a sip and glanced down at the bottle.

Something caught his eye. Something unspoken, something visceral. Something.

He rose from his living room couch and placed the empty on the mantle.

That’s where it all began. With a single bottle of imported English ale, Rosenblum launched a collection that would spread from the mantle, across shelves, into cabinets and every nook in his home in Northeast Philadelphia, more than 4,000 bottles strong.

And now, three decades later, this is where it ended: His bottles collecting dust, his ashes scattered in the Adirondacks, his wife and a son sharing memories with me.

They told me Rosenblum died in October at 65 of pancreatic cancer.

He was a Central High grad who met his future wife at Temple University, an attorney at a Center City law firm, a father who led his family on long trips on back roads, a supporter of Pennypack Park, a traveler who visited 49 states.

He wanted to be remembered, his obituary read, only as “someone you could always count on for a good beer. “

“He would only drink one beer a night,” said David, his older of two sons. “He might spend an hour with it, just enjoying the flavor, reading a book, thinking about the beer. “

“He just loved the taste of it,” said Judy Slagoff, his wife of 37 years.

A lot of us enjoy beer, but usually once the bottle is empty, it goes out to the curb with the rest of the recycling.

“I don’t know what it was,” Judy said of her husband’s obsession. “Something about that first bottle opened up a world to him. Then he goes and puts it on the mantle – like I need a beer bottle on the mantle? “

She and her son shared a chuckle.

I paged through Rosenblum’s dog-eared notebook, where he listed every bottle he collected. Imports and domestics, antiques and new-age microbrews. New Amsterdam Winter Anniversary . . . Wagner Valley Sled Dog . . . Young’s Ram Rod . . . John Courage Amber Lager . . .

What did he think about the SLO Brewing Amber Ale, one of the early California ales that made its way to the East in the late ’80s? Did he savor that bottle of Grant’s Imperial Stout on a cold, winter night? Had the silk-screened bottle of Gravity American Pale Ale, with its fat little kid about to catch a baseball, given him a laugh?

The notebook doesn’t say; it only lists the brands he collected.

His taste was undiscriminating. A stubby bottle of Schmidt’s Light stands above a longneck Dogfish Head Palo Santo Marron. A circa-1950, clear-glass quart of Lebanon Valley Porter he bought at a flea market is displayed near one of those ubiquitous IPAs from San Diego.

Poking through the shelves, I tried to understand what drove the man to amass so many bottles. Instead, each label only had me reminiscing about my own beer-drinking history.

A bottle of Yards Premium Beer – a local brand that disappeared 15 years ago – took me back to the brewery’s original location on Krams Avenue in Manayunk.

Augsburger Golden from Wisconsin. There was a time this was about as good as it got when it came to domestic beer.

Sierra Nevada Glissade. Why had the California brewery discontinued this smooth, delicious pale bock?

Judy interrupted my thoughts: “People ask, ‘Was he a hoarder? ‘ Not at all. He kept it nice. If you moved something, he knew it was out of place. “

“I think he was a little too OCD not to keep things neat,” David added.

“I would dust them twice a year,” Judy said. “I would have to take each out, dust them off, and put them back separately. It would take eight hours. I could kill him. . . . Friends would ask: ‘How do you put up with this stuff? ‘ I’d say, ‘It makes him happy. ‘ He didn’t cheat on me or run around. He wasn’t a drunk.

“He was way ahead of his time as far as craft beer is concerned. You know, when David had his bar mitzvah, he insisted on bringing his own beer. ‘You’re not serving Budweiser at my son’s bar mitzvah! ‘ “

“He gave me a taste of Anchor Steam when I was 5! ” David said.

At one time, Rosenblum had hoped his sons would inherit the collection. But they have other interests. “After the diagnosis,” Judy said, “I started wondering, ‘What am I going to do with all of these bottles? ‘ One night, I had a dream of throwing them out the window, one at a time. “

David has taken on the task of selling them on eBay or giving them away. They aren’t really worth much; after all, they’re just mass-produced glass containers, bottle caps, and paper labels.

Yet, empty and silent, they tell a story, the story of Jeffrey Rosenblum: someone you could always count on for a good beer.

Collecting tips

As with most things, supply is the No. 1 factor in determining the value of a particular collectible. You may think that can of kitschy Billy Beer you’ve had since the Carter administration is your winning lottery ticket, but there were an estimated 2 billion of them made. It’s worth about a nickel, assuming you can find someone who wants it.

The most valuable beer bottles – usually worth no more than $100 – are antiques dating to the 19th century, before bottles were mass-produced by machine. You can identify them by an uneven seam that runs from the bottom and stops at the bottle’s bloblike top.

Although paper labels may be attractive, collectors are more interested in embossed bottles, especially if they ID the brewery and its location.

Ignore the prices you see on eBay. Last week, someone was selling a dirt-encrusted, pre-Prohibition bottle from Philadelphia’s old Bergdoll Brewery for $1,000. Someone else was selling nearly the exact bottle for 99 cents.

Instead, to learn more about bottle collecting, connect with a breweriana club. The largest is the Brewery Collectibles Club of America, with local chapters throughout the region: bcca.com.

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