LETTER FROM THE EDITOR: Liquor heaven still not in Pennsylvania

I recently had occasion to visit another world. Actually, it was just another state. Or, perhaps more fitting, another state of mind. At least when it comes to the sale of alcohol.

I was in West Virginia.

John Denver was right. Almost heaven. Especially if you're looking to buy a six-pack.

But first, I must confess something else I also learned on my trip. I know even less about geography than I thought.

This is not an easy accomplishment. Remember, this is a person who for most of his life believed Bermuda was off the coast of Florida, clumped in with those other lovely atolls such as Puerto Rico and Jamaica.

During our coverage of a hurricane a few years ago, I was taken aback by a map that traced the path of the storm, which would take it directly over Bermuda. I pointed out to the desk the obvious error in the map, which to me appeared to place Bermuda off the coast of North Carolina. They looked at me like I had three heads.

For some reason, I have always associated West Virginia as being west of Pittsburgh. So when my son the recent college graduate accepted a teaching position in West Virgnia (yes, parents, they are actually hiring teachers some places), I imagined him being an all-day drive away.

Turns out it's only three hours. And you go through Maryland to get there. His new home is on what is called the "panhandle" of the Mountaineer state. He'll be just an hour and a half from his sister in D.C.

It's also home to Sheetz, their equivalent of a Wawa convenience store. With one very big difference.

On the way home, I made a pit stop at the local Sheetz. It was not an accident. I was looking for something in particular. A beverage. I bought coffee (yes, on a 100-degree day), but I was actually looking for something else. No, not a Shorti.

It was my wife, standing in the back near the cold soda case, who started waving frantically at me. I think the good residents of West Virginia thought she was having a heart attack.

Little did they know. This is routine to them. To us, residents of the great state of Pennsylvania, it was something we had never seen before.

There before our eyes was a walk-in cold case with nothing but beer. In a "convenience" store. That's as opposed to the "inconvenience" of the way Pennsylvania insists on selling alcohol.

Maybe I was suffering from heat exhaustion. Maybe it just felt that good to walk into this oversized fridge. Or maybe I was just dreaming of the idea of being able to buy a six-pack, or two six-packs, or (God forbid) a single, or (heaven help us) a quart bottle, of just about any kind of brew you can imagine.

Instead, I staggered out to the car clutching my hot coffee, and headed back to the land of enlightenment otherwise known as Pennsylvania.

To review, that's where if you want to buy beer you have an array of choices, none of which involve your local convenience store. If you want a case, you must patronize your local beer distributor. But you can't buy a six-pack there.

For that, you must make a second trip, to either a local tavern or deli, where you will pay a jacked-up price and be limited to just two six-packs. And no singles, for anyone considering experimenting with a new brew. Or, if you are so lucky as to have one of the few supermarkets such as Wegmans getting into the beer business, you can go there. But you'll be limited two two six-packs, and you can't simply put them in your cart and do the rest of your grocery shopping. You have to go through a special section of the store and pay for your suds there.

Oh, you say you'd favor a bottle of wine or a mixed drink? You're in the wrong store, pal. You must make still a third trip, this time to the land that time forgot, otherwise known as "state stores."

Their idea of enlightenment arrived a few years ago, when the state actually did away with the notion of walking up to a counter and informing a clerk specifically what you wanted, and having him gruffly place it before you. You have a question about a certain wine? "What do I look like, the Yellow Pages?"

Now, we can actually walk the aisles of state stores to make our selections; you just can't buy beer there.

State Rep. Mike Turzai, R-Allegheny, actually had an idea to end this archaic system of state sales of alcohol. Seizing on the state's fiscal duress, he dressed up his idea to blow up the Liquor Control Board and the state store system and turn the entire process over to private enterprise as a way to produce revenue.

He had an ally you might have heard of. While he was campaigning, Gov. Tom Corbett said he was in favor of the plan.

Of course, in Harrisburg, things don't always work out the way you think. Turzai's plan got derailed amid the budget talks. Corbett said the budget had to be done first. The idea died. Turzai says he will give it another "shot" in the fall.

Yeah, right.

In the meantime, I'll be comforted in knowing that West Virginia is only three hours away.

Almost heaven? Not in Pennsylvania.


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