Jon Horvath

In the summer of 2003, through the process of relocating my grandmother, I came into possession of a number of Blatz Brewery collectibles. I learned that my grandfather had had an allegiance to Blatz because of an Uncle Walter who worked, for a brief period, as a driver for the company. Though my grandmother had never met this uncle, she was aware of his influence on my grandfather, and alluded to a collection of items he had stored away in the basement. One of these items was Walter's daily journal. Fortunately, it survived the move.

I know very little about this individual outside of the few disparate and fragmented writings found within that journal. Many of the writings are no longer legible; either long since faded or overcome by damage through the years. Many pages have been removed. Among the information I have learned is that he celebrated a 34th birthday in April of 1932, he often visited family in Port Washington, Wisconsin, and that his wife, Agnes, apparently years younger, was simply referred to as Mae.

I have attempted to determine precisely what sort of routes Walter may have traveled throughout his tenure at the Blatz Brewery. While many of the supporting documents have either been lost or destroyed as the Blatz name changed hands over the years, there does exist an indicator which persists within our landscape; a neon sign hanging above numerous tavern doors. Using these signs to plot points, I have recreated, revisited and retraced one of Walter's potential routes, observing the same spaces, though now a markedly different landscape.

Accompanying the images are examples of the text found within Walter's journal. I imagine that these were often the thoughts accompanying him on his daily trips through the streets. Perhaps the landscape or something within his visual field triggered these thoughts and compelled him to record them. Now, decades later, I am forced to reconsider these thoughts and whether any true connection can still be had with the landscape at hand. Or whether any connection I may perceive is merely that of my own creation.