One of my earliest childhood memories is the Amber Flow. My overworked mother would occasionally hand one of us over to my alcoholic father's care for a brief Saturday respite from 5 boys all neatly spaced 2 years apart.  I recall being new to walking and, given the hygiene of a bar floor, my Dad would scoop me up and plop me down on the worn green felt of the pool table.  As I got older, my Orange Crush would be interrupted by the occasional sip of Hamm's ...