Frederick Hekkelberg had been studying theology and philosophy at the best universities of Germany – until his fosterfather died and bequeathed the forsthaus at Maxhütte to him. That was when Frederick finally had to go home. Frederick did not hurry to reopen the pub, rather chose to invite his friends from university to join his celebrations until the great volumes of beer bestowed upon him by his fosterfather lasted.
An early snow surprised Frederick and friends one night in November. The merry company could not go home in the evening, and even less in the morning, since meters of snow fell during the night. By the end of that day, they ran out of the last drop of beer – cold and desperation has knocked on their doors. Two of the younger university fellows ventured to dig a tunnel through the snow to the shed, to see if they might find some firewood to keep them from freezing at least. Soon they came running back with a frightened little fox. – This little scumbag ate up all the chicken! – Let’s slay him! – Let’s grill him! – The weary group of man wanted to take revenge on the little animal for all their misery. Frederick Hekkelberg stood up from his seat with all his dignity and said to his agitated friends: – Das ist mein Fux! – then took the fox in his hands, and put him up around his neck. With the fox around his neck he climbed up the stairs to the roof of the pub and shortly came back with a small wooden barrel. – This is the last barrel of uncle Johannes’s much esteemed red beer. Drink it and have your souls warmed up!