Any bartenders around?

[trof]

So I dropped out of college in 1963, joined the guard, went to pilot training, grew up some, and it's 1965 and I'm all grown up and back at the U. of Alabama.

One night I drop by an after hours place where I used to buy beer when I was underage. Frank's Supper Club, Frank Sailors, proprietor. It's a low dive. The "supper" in the bar's name is a short menu. Hamburger or cheeseburger? It's a beer only joint, with a bottle of Rebel Yell in the tiny kitchen for "special" customers. Frank is a 5' 6" battle hardened former Marine (Korea), former bootlegger, built like a fireplug, and does not suffer fools (or bullshitters) gladly.

I find a seat at the smallish bar and order a beer, my first that night. It's about half gone when a guy comes in and goes behind the bar for an urgent whispered conversation with Frank. The only part I hear is when Frank says "Holy shit!". Frank looks around the bar and his gaze lights on me. "Hey, can you run a cash register?" Me? "Yeah, you. You got an honest face and you're the only sober guy in here. I gotta little emergency. Should be back in an hour. Run the bar for me and your beer's on the house, but don't get so shitfaced you can't make change."
Such a deal. I said "Sure". Hey, I'm a bartender.

So, how did you get started?
;-)

[Rabrrrrrr]

1. That's wonderful!

Gives me more hope for the world to hear stories of people being trusting.

Thanks for sharing!

[trof]

4. I think Frank was more desparate than trusting.

He didn't usually close until 2 or 3 and he knew if he tried to clear all the drunks out early he'd have a fight on his hands even he couldn't handle. Plus the money he'd lose. I went on to be a part-time bartender for him for a year or so.
For actual cash money!

[GumboYaYa]

2. I was in the second semester of my first year of college.

I had a little problem with the white powder and had blown all my money for college already. My parents did not have any money to help me and wouldn't have if they had money.

I scrounged for food for a few weeks before the hunger convinced me I had to get a job and fast. The only people I knew who where gainfully employed worked in bars. I started as a short order chef in the kitchen and worked my way up to head bartender.

Having that job saved my life in more ways than one. The responsibility of having to make it to work sober was the best thing that could have happened to me. Not to mention that it was more fun than I could have possibly had in any other job.

[trof]

7. I enjoyed it too.

Whew. Scary tale you tell. Glad you made it.
We didn't have stuff like that when I was in high school and college. Beer was about the worst thing we could get ahold of.
Lucky for me, because I probably would have tried anything.
Did get into speed a little when pulling all nighters for finals.

[short bus president]

3. whatever happened to Thtwdbeme?

She was (is?) our resident bartender.

:shrug:

[GOPisEvil]

5. She's honeymooning!

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=show_topic&forum=105&topic_id=69094&mesg_id=69094

:-)

[short bus president]

12. Jeebus!

Another one gone before I even get to meet her!

Sigh. Is it OK to get drunk now, GOP? It's almost 6.

[trof]

15. What better place?

Than a bartender thread.
Here ya go.
:toast:

[short bus president]

16. thanks trof!

Shot of Cuervo Gold w/ sangrita, por favor? Eh, maybe make it 3.

[trof]

17. OK. In a coffee cup.

We ain't got our license yet.

[short bus president]

18. screw a license!

Got a big-ass jar of pickled eggs on the counter? You're good to go.

[trof]

19. Found pickled quail eggs

on my last trip to Louisiana.
yum

[short bus president]

20. to be honest,

there's not much that can't be pickled with delicious results. Watermelon rind and jicama may be my favorites, but eggs ain't too shabby.

[trof]

22. My granny made watermelon rind pickles.

Where y'all from?

[short bus president]

23. NC,

but the watermelon rind pickles were from VA. The jicama were from AZ. The eggs appear to be universal.

[trof]

31. Got some local pickles called "Sweet Fire".

Like bread 'n butter with some sliced jalapeno mixed in with the cukes. Great w/cheese & crackers.

[short bus president]

33. where's local?

pickled jalapenos... :9

[trof]

34. foleyalabama

They say it like it's one word.
Half way between Mobile & Pensacola.

[catzies]

6. Isn't she on her honeymoon? Heard that last week.

Now where is that thread...

[trof]

8. Another Frank story

Frank had a tugboat business for a while, pushing barges up and down Alabama's waterways. When he went into the moonshine/bootlegging business he set his stills up on the tug and ran the smoke/steam/exhaust up the stack with the diesel exhaust so the revenooers couldn't smell it. Made regular deliveries of what was reported to be "pretty good stuff" up and down the river. Frank was a real entrepreneur.

[radwriter0555]

9. I named the famous BULLWINKLES in tallahassee FL...

Does that count?

Practically helped BUILD the place too.

[trof]

10. Sure.

If I ever get to Tallahassee I'll have to look it up.

[trof]

11. I could probably keep telling these

until somebody says shut up.

Frank's was like an old fashioned speakeasy. The front door was always locked. It had a small window covered by a scrap of curtain. Customers rang the doorbell. Frank's only instructions were "Don't ever open up for the cops". If I wasn't that busy, I'd go peek out. If I was I'd ask somebody near the door to check. As long as it wasn't the cops we let 'em in.

There was one phone in the place. It was a pay phone near the front door. Frank had disconnected the ringer. Back then phones "rang". Effectively, you could only call out. Somebody MIGHT call in, but we'd never know.

I think Frank looked at his operation as kind of a sanctuary for his clientele where wives and/or girlfriends couldn't call and hassle them and the cops couldn't come in rousting drunks. His clientele was very appreciative. We were packed day and night. He catered to the workers at the Goodyear tire plant. Opened at 7 a.m. for the guys getting off the night shift.

Then the university students discovered the place, but that's a whole nuther story.

[northzax]

13. no, but I'm doing

a guest bartending gig for charity tonight, made 260 bucks in an hour last year.

oh, and I once worked a couple days for food in Greece.

[trof]

14. Welcome to the club.

Keep your Martinis dry.
;-)

[northzax]

21. oh, I have a special blend.

it's 90 percent vermouth.

[mistertrickster]

24. Had the tv on in the background and Martha Stewart was making drinks!

First time that the show ever interested me. Anyway, some bimbo comes on and makes "martinis" out of ice cold grain vodka (Grey Goose) and a "spray" of vermouth in the glass.

Is there nobody in this country who still drinks an honest gin and vermouth martini anymore? This is just naked iced vodka!

[trof]

25. Very dry Martini

Many years ago I asked a very experienced, career bartender how much vermouth he used when a customer ordered a "very dry Martini".
He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger.
"Zero."

[GumboYaYa]

26. Exactly.

Dry to me meant you put some Vermouth in the glas, toss the glass in the air in a spinning motion so it coats the sides, dump the vermouth out and fill with chilled gin or vodka.

[GoddessOfGuinness]

27. That's a great story!

Is the place still there?

[trof]

28. Well, I don't know.

That's been almost 40 (jeez:-() years ago.
I'm sure ol' Frank is long gone.
There's probably a mall or a parking lot where the old place was.
I've been wanting to take a nostalgia trip up to Tuscaloosa. Haven't been there since I left college in the 60s. I heard they're tearing down my old fraternity house to make more parking for the new football stadium. The building is over 100 years old, and I'd like to visit the scene of the crime where so much of my youthful debauchery took place before the wrecking ball hits it.

[GoddessOfGuinness]

29. I did most of my college drinking in a bar that was run by

the Knights of Columbus, called The Alcazar.

As soon as the practice rooms closed for the evening, we'd head over there for 35 cent drafts...$2.20 a pitcher.

It's now the basement of a fine arts high school. How appropriate!

[trof]

32. 35 cent draft?

You must be almost as old as me.
;-)

[GoddessOfGuinness]

35. 45 in November...

It's amazing how quickly a quarter century flies by, eh? :-)

[trof]

30. One more Frank story

and then I really have to go .

It was the depths of the cold war and Khrushchev was the Russian boogeyman.
One of our patrons had graced our establishment perhaps a little too long. He squinted one eye, and his face had that look of wisdom that only a half case of Pabst longnecks can bring.
"Frank? Ya know what?"
"What's that Charlie?"
"My mailbox don't have my address on it."
"Is that right?"
"Yep, it don't even have my name on it. Cain't nobody find me. The postman is the only one knows where I live at."
"Well..that'll fuck up ol' Khrushchev's plans then, won't it?"

Maybe you had to be there.