Back in the summer of 2018, I had reached a tipping point with the Bay Area and it was time to put up or shut up. Not one to remain quiet for long, I decided to put up, so my wife and I packed our things and moved to Los Angeles. The guys at Pacific Edge importation and distribution had offered me a gig as their sales director and I was excited to learn a new position and a new geography. There was only one looming problem: I didn’t know anyone in LA and, on top of that, I didn’t know where anything was. No problem, they said. We’re gonna put you in the car with Dean Berger for a few months. You’ll know everything after that.
Dean Berger wasn’t just the nicest and most selfless person in the booze business, he was a throwback to a lost era of salesmanship. The kind of guy who walks into the building with two boxes of donuts for the staff. The kind of guy who calls you on his way home to ask about your family and genuinely wants to know. The kind of guy who’s familiar with every lunch spot, in every neighborhood, in every town between Ventura and Palm Springs, from Bakersfield to San Diego. More importantly, the kind of guy who makes friends for life wherever he goes, and who knows everyone by name no matter where he is. You could walk into an Italian deli in Simi Valley and they all know Dean. A taco shop in Hemet? They all know Dean. A Chinese restaurant in San Gabriel? They all know Dean.
When I got the news yesterday that Dean had passed unexpectedly, I was devastated. After spending a good hour in tears, connecting with friends and colleagues to let them know the news, I began searching my phone for old pictures, combing through our text history for forgotten memories. I realized that I had over 100 unopened voicemails from Dean because I would invariably just call him back rather than listen to them. On one of them he talked for an entire two minutes about smoking ribs in his backyard. On another, he asked about my cat and what he was doing that day. My boss Vic, the owner of Mission and one of Dean’s oldest friends, sent me a video of Dean singing happy birthday to him just a few weeks ago. “I’ve been watching it all morning,” Vic said to me; “I’m in so much pain.”
For those of you who don’t work in the liquor industry and have never met Dean, it’s hard to truly explain in a few paragraphs how beloved he was in our business and exactly why he was so important to us. What I will say is that I would not be with Mission today if it wasn’t for Dean. I wouldn’t be thriving in Los Angeles if it wasn’t for Dean. I wouldn’t have the friends I have today if it wasn’t for Dean. Even now, when my wife discovers a cool restaurant or specialty grocer she wants to visit, my usual response is: “I’ve been there already with Dean.” The months I spent driving around Southern California with him were some of the best times I’ve ever had. The friendship we developed during the course of that experience is something I treasure.
I only knew Dean Berger for three and a half years, but he was one of my best friends. I can only imagine how his companions of ten, twenty, or thirty years are feeling today. The stories they must have and the tales they could tell are probably legendary at this point. It’s only been twenty-four hours since I learned Dean was gone and I already miss him so much. He was a rare source of joy and light in a world that has become increasingly dark. I know I speak for dozens of friends and colleagues when I say we will think about him and remember him fondly for as long as we live. We lost a true booze industry icon this week. There will never be another like him.
-David Driscoll