Advertisement The truth is, most of the fest secrets aren’t really secret at all. Too many people know who the Festmaster, Mrs. Okotberfest and the parade marshals will be prior to their announcements.
It’s fortunate no one at the fest works for the Central Intelligence Agency, or we’d all be in really big trouble.
Let me whisper now, because I’ve found a secret most fest-goers don’t know about. It’s a group called the Blue Shirts.
They don’t advertise, you can’t join without being invited in, and no one seems to know what they do.
Standing outside Kramer’s, one of “the last bars on Third Street,” I met Tom and Jim Bockstahler. They co-founded the group in 1970.
Think of it like a big reunion, they tell me. Most of the members don’t live here anymore, so they come from all over the country. Tom, a retired air traffic controller, lives in Florida — Jim, a retired special education teacher, now calls Arizona his home.
The brothers have more than 200 members from 18 states in the group.
“It’s getting together once a year — cause we never see each other,” Jim said.
The group drinks. They reward and honor drinking. Once you’ve been in for five consecutive years, you get a beer mug stenciled on your blue shirt sleeve. Tom has seven.
“Almost an eight-pack,” Tom said with pride.
They also give out annual awards, such as Most Valuable Fester, Rookie, Silver Anniversary Fester, Rip Van Winkle and Puker.
If you vomit five years in a row, you get a toilet stenciled on your shirt sleeve.
Jim has a toilet. It may seem like a dubious honor, but Jim seems rather proud of the fact.
“He’ll probably get another one this year, too,” said Tom.
Once you reach 25 years in the group you get a silver medallion.
Tom has one. He wears it dangling from his neck.
“We’re loud, we’re noisy and silly,” Tom said, “but we do have rules.”
-- No mean drunks.
-- If you’re in town without your spouse you can’t sleep with anyone else.
-- You can’t drive while you’re here — they’ll take your keys away.
-- You can’t sell your shirt.
-- The group has a Web site: www.blueshirts.org. They even have a member who books rooms for them at the Radisson.
The group is exclusive. It used to be you couldn’t get in if you were local. That didn’t last long. Eventually they let Judy Carpenter of La Crosse in. They always somehow ended up sitting by her at the Festmaster’s Ball.
“I deserved it,” Carpenter said. “I was with them anyway. We always wanted the table closest to the bar. And the bathrooms.”
That opened the floodgates. The group was getting so big, Jim said, they had to find a way to exercise some control.
So now — just like Alcoholics Anonymous — you have to be sponsored.
They congregate in the winter, too. They even take cruises together.
Inside Kramer’s, it’s a sea of blue. They’ve taken over the place.
Tom’s daughter Jennifer is there. She’s from Orlando, Fla. She said people don’t understand why she takes her vacation to come to a festival in Wisconsin.
“My dad started the whole thing,” Jennifer said. “So it’s in my blood. I can’t imagine not being here.”
They’re here to have a good time, Tom said, and they’re not irresponsible about it.
And, he said, the Blue Shirts would never try to upstage any member of the Oktoberfest royal family or the grenadiers. They know their place.
“They’re our heroes,” Tom said. “We know who the real stars are.”
