Divorcees Corner: “C’Mon In, If You Don’T Have One, You’Ll Get One!

By Tim Sullivan

This is the story of the trials and tribulations of young men in their late twenties--early thirties during the fifties.

They had gotten older and graduated from the soft-ball sponsoring local neighborhood saloons to the new sheriff in town, Cocktail lounges. These were nothing more than the same old saloons that had been wallpapered and remodeled with dropped ceilings and mirrored walls. Some had been further enhanced with potted plants in the windows and women bartenders.

Their social lives were designed around these places. TV was still in its infancy and the sport bars were not in play as yet. They would stop in almost every night for a couple of beers, make a few bets on games or the ponies for the next day and collect any winnings--(If any)

They were also at that point in life where, whether they realized it or not, they were looking for a life partner to fulfill their lives. But for the most part, as the old song goes, They were looking for love in all the wrong places.

One of these places was a cocktail lounge called Divorcees Corner, whose motto was Cmon in if you dont have one, youll get one. They catered to the older crowd. At that time, women over twenty six-twenty seven were considered old maids so they frequented these places along with a collection of divorces and widows.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 10, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499063141

Tim Sullivan

Tim Sullivan is a crime writer, screenwriter and director who has worked on major feature films such as the fourth Shrek, Flushed Away, Letters to Juliet, A Handful of Dust, Jack and Sarah, and the TV series Cold Feet. His crime series featuring DS George Cross has topped the book charts and been widely acclaimed. Tim lives in North London with his wife Rachel, the Emmy Award-winning producer of The Barefoot Contessa and Pioneer Woman. To find out more about the author, please visit TimSullivan.co.uk.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Velvet Hammer

Mother and Dad were right. I think it’s about time I got out of this funk I’ve been in for the last year. Life goes on, as they say, and you have to move on It seems like only yesterday that Maryann died, instead of almost a year ago. Man alive I was engaged to her for over five years. One year after we were engaged I got shock number one, just at the time we were setting the wedding plans. She had been having some female problems and went to the Doctor for a physical. It turned out she had terminal cancer. We went to the Mayo Clinic and everywhere else, but to no avail. Shock number two came when she refused to go through with the Wedding plans. So we stayed engaged for four more years, as she died an inch at a time. The doctors marveled at the way she fought the disease. What a hell of a ride that was for four years. What a beautiful person she was–I still think about her.

So, where the heck does a thirty-year-old guy go to meet people. Almost all the guys I know are married or divorced. The girls I run into all seem to have some kind of baggage. They’re either divorced with a couple of kids, or cheating on their husbands, (who are probably doing the same thing). Then there are the good-looking divorcees looking for a sugar daddy–(First time for love, second time for money, as the old cliché goes). Then the mental midgets–nobody can measure up to their fathers or they’re still in love with the five year old who gave them there first kiss in the coat-room at school.

I had to laugh at myself. What am I some big prize! Typical guy thinking, I guess. As I rounded the corner I passed by the old tavern where we used to hang around after work and shoot pool, argue about baseball and football and meet to plan our social outings scouting for the ladies. For the older men it was a shot and a beer and a quart to go home joint just a few years ago, I mused.

As I slowly drove past, I looked back and thought, what the heck happened to the old place. I had never noticed it before but instead of Harry the Horse’s Saloon, there was a new sign in the window. It was now The Velvet Hammer. The old owner, Harry Peskofski, was called Harry the Horse because of the way he ran with a football in high school. This I’ve got to see–progress.

I drove around the block and pulled into the parking lot that wasn’t too crowded. I walked in the side door and the first person I see is my old friend Harry. He still has the big bushy moustache. He was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and black pants, mumbling to himself as he was mopping the floor. He looked like a bus boy in a Greek restaurant.

Harry, you old soak, still doing it the cheap way! Why don’t you hire some help.

Jerry, you old fart smeller, he said as he dropped the mop and came over to shake my hand, How have you been, I haven’t seen you in a dog’s age. I thought you died and forget to call, he laughed. Sit down over there and I’ll be right with you in a minute. I have to finish cleaning up this mess.

I went over and sat down and looked around. What a difference this place is now. Drop cloth ceiling, wallpapered side walls, upholstered booths, indirect lighting and a tremendous juke-box. Then in the front window surrounding the huge velvet hammer were potted plants—definitely not a blue-collar working mans place any more. I looked around in amazement at the customers. There were about eight people in there. Two had expensive sport shirts on over their brand name Levi’s, and no stockings, just sandals. A couple of the other guys had on what were obviously expensive suit coats. The shirts were opened and the ties loosened up. Just then a slightly high pitched voice hollered from the end of the bar, Is anybody working here today, I’d like a drink.

Keep your shorts on fellow, I’ll be with you in a minute, Harry hollers back.

Harry finished up and cleaned his hands and got back behind the bar. What’ll you have, Jerry, he asked.

Just give me a glass of draft beer, Harry, I said, But take care of your customers on the end first. When he came back after serving the others I said to him, What happened to my beloved old saloon Harry?

Jerry, I couldn’t make money the old way anymore. As you can see the neighborhood changed. It ran downhill for awhile and times were tough. Then these yuppie, puppies moved in, he whispered as his eyes jerked toward the group in front. I had to clean the place up and change it. It’s not a tavern or saloon anymore, it’s a cocktail lounge, he laughs. We open at three o’clock in the afternoon and stay open until two A. M. He laughed again. Wait until you see my evening bartenders, two women!

He excused himself and went down and fixed drinks for the other customers again. When he came back he said, But hey listen, Jerry, it’s sure nice to see you again. I heard about your troubles with Maryann. She was a terrific girl. I knew her Mother real well, he winked. We went to school together. Her mom was great and the daughter, of course, was just like her.

How about the guys I used to hang around with Harry, ever see any of them anymore?

Oh yeah, a couple of them come by now and then, mainly on Wednesday or Friday evenings. Of course I still have the regulars, Big Slim Seper, Shorty Mozden, and Bobby Simonsis-the fireman. Then of course Bobby’s wife, Olga, cooks fish for me on Fridays. I get the locals in for a cheap fish-fry meal and a cheap night out with their Ladies.

I laughed at his old beer-stein philosophy as we talked and laughed. About eight o’clock, after having drank about six beers and feeling no pain, I figured it was about time to hit the road. Just as I was getting up to leave, Harry says, Wait a minute, Jerry, as he brings me another beer. How about sitting for a few minutes until one of my girl bartenders comes in and I’ll buy you supper.

He kept insisting and I finally relented. A short time later in comes his bartender or bartendress, (if you prefer), I laughed to myself. I’d say she was on the near side of forty. She was a big-breasted woman and had a white blouse on that looked like it was going to pop the buttons any second, and her black skirt was well above the knee. She had a pretty face but it showed some rough mileage around the eyes. Another attraction for the cocktail lounge group, I thought.

Harry introduced her to me right away because he wanted to get out of there. Stella, this is Jerry and old-old friend of mine. He used to come in here when it was a real saloon. I laughed as I shook hands with her.

That name, I bet you get a lot of those wise guys hollering out Stella, imitating Marlon Brando in the movie, Streetcar Named Desire.

That’s for sure, but I can take it as long as they keep tipping me, she said as she visually measured me up from head to toe with those big brown eyes.

Harry and I had a few more drinks (on the house of course), and a few good laughs. I could see why Harry hired her, not only for her obvious attributes, but a great personality. After I called home and told mother I wouldn’t be there for dinner this evening, I’m tied up with a customer—hated to lie to her but I didn’t want to get into a big conversation at this time.

When we got to the parking lot I told Harry I would drive. He got in and directed me over to Sofia’s Polish Restaurant. They’ve got a buffet here you can’t believe, he said. We walked in and found the place was loaded wall to wall. This is a testimonial to either good food or cheap prices, or a little bit of both. We’ll know the answer to that in a short time, I thought.

Sofia recognized Harry the Horse right away. After a little hug and buss on the cheek she took Harry and myself out of the line and put us at a table in the back near the bar. The way she looked at Harry when she took our order for drinks, I knew they had been more than just friends. After she brought the drinks over and a few more pleasantries, she left to continue her rounds of the place.

You rascal, Harry, I said as we walked up to the buffet table, I saw the way she looked at you, have you been checking Sofia’s laundry?

He just smiled and said, Gentlemen never give out their secrets. We loaded up on the food making at least two trips. That food was terrific. I smiled to myself as I watched Harry garbage up. He sure hadn’t changed. He didn’t say a word during the entire meal. He ate like he better hurry or someone was going to steal it from his plate. After the beers I had at Harry’s place and the stiff drinks they served here, I needed some good strong coffee. I had the waitress bring us a pot while Harry made his third trip to the table for dessert. When he came back he said, What’s the matter, Jerry, not hungry this evening?

No, Harry, its not that, I’m just not a big eater anymore. (He sure got his money’s worth, I laughed to myself, he must have consumed at least thirty dollars worth of groceries!)

So tell me, Jerry, he asked, What are you doing for a living now; are you still in the construction game?

Yeah, Harry, I work for McHugh Construction Company–bridges, roads, factory buildings, just about everything. McHugh is the father of a guy that I went to High School with. But no more digging or mucking or driving trucks or tractors. Now I’m an executive in the office. I get involved with the sales, purchasing and estimating. It’s not bad. I also got a little piece of the business–only 15% but its something. Then last year I bought a two-flat building. My mother and dad live on the first floor and I live on the second in my own place. So, Harry, how’s it been going for you, I said as we drank our coffee.

I had a good job in the stock market working for Lamson Brothers. But then my father died when I was thirty-eight and I had to quit and take over the family business, the tavern. My wife never liked the business and when it started going down, she blew me off and took me for everything, the house, car, all my stocks and bonds and all the cash. The only thing she left me with was my clothes and the tavern building, which was highly mortgaged to the hilt. But what the fun, I figured the kids would eventually end up with it all. The one large paidup asset she left me with were my dentures, he laughed, but I don’t think the judge would have given her them!

I had some rough times for awhile, but then the neighborhood changed and my luck changed. I live upstairs of the saloon, pardon me, cocktail lounge. I’ve got a Polish woman from the old country living in my place who does all my cooking and cleaning, including my clothes. I give her a 100 bucks a week and bang her once in a while–no responsibility, no bitching or hollering, nothing. It’s wonderful. You ought to get yourself a broad like that.

I laughed. I don’t think so, Harry. I still live in the same building as the family. Nobody bothers me either. But you know, Harry, lately they’ve been after me to get out and enjoy myself. That means, of course, get a girlfriend, get married, settle-down for heavens sake, (I said, mimicking my mother.)

Jerry, listen to me, maybe your mother is right. Now I tell you what. I want you to stop in Friday and go to lunch with me. You probably heard of the Lions Club. It’s a service organization that does a lot of work for the blind and others in need.

Oh yeah, Harry, I’ve heard of them. They do a lot of good work in the Chicago area. I see them on TV once in awhile giving dogs to poor blind people and that kind of stuff, I answered.

Well you come to the meeting with me and meet some of the guys. There are a lot of them your age. In addition to the charity work, you can have a good time. They have picnics, parties and a lot of social events.

I don’t think so, Harry, I answered.

Hey, get off your ass and get out of that funk and rejoin the world, Jerry. Come with me Friday. You might even want to join after you see what’s going on and the type of guys who are in the club. And if you don’t like it, he laughed, What the hell, you got a free lunch on me–now there’s a good deal.

Alright, Harry, I answered, "I’ll meet you Friday about eleven. Now it’s after ten and I’ve got a big day tomorrow, so let’s go back to your place and I’ll drop you off. (I had to agree to the Friday caper or Harry wouldn’t let me out of here. When he wanted something, he was like a whore on a Saturday night in a navy town when the ships were out to sea. Never changes, I thought as I laughed to myself.)

We left and I dropped him off at his cocktail lounge, after he ragged on me for about ten minutes to come back into his place and continue the party. I could see the lot was crowded and I’d never get home. His famous words, Just one more drink, didn’t work. Sorry, Harry, but my tank is full already. You have to remember I’m out of practice. He finally relented, begrudgingly, and got out of the car and I headed home. I felt pretty good as I drove home. It wasn’t only the food and drinks but renewing an old acquaintance. I laughed to myself, what a name for a saloon, ‘The Velvet Hammer’. I’ll have to ask him someday where he ever came up with that name.

CHAPTER TWO

Lions Club Luncheon

I must be nuts I thought as I drove to the District National Bank building on 35th Street to meet Harry-the-Horse. As I headed east on 35th Street from Ashland Avenue I noticed the streets were crowded with cars and trucks parked on both sides of the street. I was hoping this bank had a decent place to park, otherwise, screw Harry –the-Horse, I’d just go back to work.

When I told my boss, John McHugh I wanted the afternoon off to go to a Lions Club Meeting, to my surprise he said, I know that group, they do a lot of charity work for the blind. No problem take the afternoon off. It’s about time we got involved in charity work—plus you may even make some good contacts.

How I got myself into this situation is still beyond me. I must have had too much of that polish punch he was pushing along with the beers when I met him on Tuesday. When I woke up Wednesday morning my head was pounding and my mouth felt like a bale of cotton. Come to think of it he should have named that place the SledgeHammer I laughed to myself.

Ah great, I thought as I saw the big sign jump out at me, Parking for The District National Bank-Customers Only. As I wheeled into the lot whom do I see standing in the middle of the aisle, looking like the concierge at the Waldorf, none other than Harry-the-Horse in all his glory. He was looking furtively around up and down the aisle and then checking his watch. I laughed to myself, as I looked him over. He had on a plaid jacket that was so loud it hurt my eyes. As I parked and shut off the engine he came hustling right over to the car.

Gee, I thought you weren’t coming, he said as he looked at his watch again. Then he gave me a little cardboard Lions Club sign to put in the window on the dashboard. This is so they won’t tow your car away.

As he hustled me out of the car I said smiling, It’s only eleven-fifteen, we’ve got forty five minutes until the meeting.

Yeah yeah, he answered, But I wanted to introduce you around before the meeting to some of the boys. C’mon, he said as he linked my arm propelling me along a little faster. We can talk as we go up in the elevator.

Harry, I said, You’re as tight as a cheap girdle, settle down a little or you’ll end up with ulcers.

Well listen Jerry, he said as we journeyed up to the second floor in the elevator, I proposed you for membership to the Club, you know, just like we talked about the other night and everything’s a go. You’ll have to get up and tell us a few things about yourself. You know, your name, what you do for a living, your single, you know, just a couple of things. Then you have to submit a formal written application with the dues and fees. Then we approve you. It’s that simple. They also have some nice rules for meetings. Everything is Dutch Treat. This keeps the individual cost down, cause you don’t have to buy drinks back and forth."

When the hell did I tell this guy I was going to join the club, I thought. Either he had too much to drink or I did. Oh well, I’m here. The lunch meeting was held in a private dining room upstairs from the bank. It had huge windows from the floor to the ceiling overlooking 35th Street. As I looked out across the Street I could see the Spiegel’s Catalog Warehouse Division. The amount of people working there and the truck traffic in and out caused the traffic congestion and parking problems in the area.

As we walked around I could see most of the members were congregating about a small bar having their cocktails before lunch. How about a drink Jerry, Harry asked me as we made our way back over towards the bar.

Just a little orange juice Harry, I answered.

Don’t be a pussy Jerry, at least have a beer, he whispered.

I figured what the hell, I’m not going back to work. So I said, Ok, give me a scotch and water. After we got our drinks we started making the rounds. Harry introduced me to different little groups of two’s and three’s. There were bankers, manufacturers, saloonkeepers, politicians, and executives from all walks of life. Harry went from one group to another with a joke here, an insult there or some personal comment about some family member who might have been sick. And of course, they all laughed and kidded him about his loud jacket and other attire.

When he got to Tommy Kraw, one of his saloonkeeper friends, I got one of the biggest laughs of the day. Tommy turned and said, Harry how’s your famous hammer hanging? Is it still like velvet? we all laughed uproariously.

When we were ready to eat, Harry took me over to a table and set me down with a Savings and Loan banker named Miro Lukas, an Insurance man named Ted Manak and the fourth guy was the funnyman, Tommy Kraw.

The banker, (call me Miroslav) was as stiff as a board. Tommy had a tavern, (another cocktail lounge), called Divorcee’s Corner. It was located around 65th and Kedzie. As we ate lunch he entertained us the entire time with his sarcastic wit and crazy jokes. I could hardly eat as he played off comments with Ted Manak. Poor Miroslav, the banker, shifted nervously in his chair, quite uncomfortable. The bank he worked for probably sent him to the club as their representative. It appeared to me he looked on this as just another part of the job.

Toward the end of the meeting as we were finishing our dessert, Harry opened the business part of the meeting. After the usual boilerplate issues, he called me up to the front table and introduced me to the group. Then he handed me the microphone and I had to say a few words about myself. Then he proposed me for membership to the group. There’s supposed to be a waiting period between the time you are proposed and when you actually become a member. But pushy Harry had one of his officers get up and second the motion, and I was voted in unanimously. Harry’s final word on the matter was, Don’t be a mailbox member now Jerry, get involved with us in helping people.

The next order of business was the picnic to benefit the blind. It was to be held this coming Sunday at the Royal Oaks picnic grove located around 95th and Kean. When I got back to the table Tommy Kraw immediately asked me to help him tend bar for a couple hours on Sunday. I told him ok. I figured it would be fun working with him. As the meeting ended, they all came over and introduced themselves and told me what they did for a living and congratulated me and welcomed me into the club as a new member. As I left with Harry, my only thought again was how the heck did I let Harry schmooze me into this situation. But I suppose it will work out all right, especially after being almost a recluse from society for the last four or five years I need to be out more with people like him. When we got to our cars, Harry chided me again. Don’t forget the picnic Sunday. Remember you promised Tommy you’d help him.

Yeah-yeah, Harry, don’t worry I’ll be there with bells on, I answered. All in all I had a good time.

After breakfast and church on Sunday morning, I threw on a sport shirt and pants and drove out to the picnic grounds. It was called the Royal Oaks and was supposed to be around 95th and KeanAvenue in Willow Springs. It took a little driving around to find the place. Anyhoo, I found the place about one o’clock. When I got to the parking lot the truck was already there. After saying hello to Tommy and meeting his other saloonkeeper friend, Stan, we went to work. I took off the sport shirt and put the sweatshirt on and went over and helped roll the beer barrels over to the small wooden building they used for a bar. Then we carried the cases of pop and the boxes of whiskey down there. Tommy had two girls setting up the ticket booth and making price lists for the drinks. The last thing we did was to lug two large tubs, (that Stan had borrowed), and bags of ice down the hill to the bar. Then we iced down the soda and the beer.

After finishing the setup we had a few beers, of course, in order to see if it tasted all right. I asked Tommy who the young ladies were. That hillbilly over there with the southern accent is my wife, he laughed. The other is not a young lady, she’s the wife’s girlfriend from Alabama.

Yawl shouldn’t talk like that Tommy, she answered him with that cute southern accent, Remember the pay for this job is not that good–nothing, she answered.

Sorry honey, he said as he winked at me.

At two o’clock, right on schedule, the cars loaded with people started rolling into the parking lot of the picnic grounds. About two-thirty Marion Lush’s Polish Band arrived and set up in the large wooden dance hall and started blasting away. Tommy and Stan had recruited four cute young girls from their taverns to sell raffle tickets while his wife and her girlfriend took care of the bar chips for drinks. That Polish Band got these people jumping up and down sweating like bulls and then when they took a break, these people came over to the bar and drank like camels.

I had a blast working with Tommy and Stan. They were continually pinching the broads and joking and making sarcastic or lewd comments. It was hysterical and kept me laughing the whole time. Two women, very pretty and fashionably dressed kept coming back to me for drinks and conversation. The one had a terrific personality and sense of humor. I really laughed when she put Tommy and Stan in there places a few times. She was wearing a wedding ring although she seemed like a real flirt. When she walked away to go to the washroom, I asked Tommy who she was with. He said, You won’t believe it. She’s the wife of our banker friend, (he said sarcastically), Miro the moldy.

Oh that stuffed shirt, I answered kind of surprised, Well she sure doesn’t act like a married woman.

Well, Tommy answered laughing, "Take a shot at her, Jerry, don’t be bashful–I think she likes you. I heard she’s getting a divorce, been living back with her parents for about six months. Her girlfriend is another story. Her husband is married but she’s not always married. Bowls on one of my teams and comes into my joint about once a week with the girlfriends. I thought to myself, these guys are out of their trees. Fool around with married women is the last thing on my mind. Maryann would probably turn over in her grave.

About six o’clock I finally had a chance to eat. Tommy’s wife brought me a barbecue sandwich and of course some of the polish sausage sandwiches and sauerkraut Vic Benke and Emil Yedinak were selling. I sat down at a little picnic bench right near the bar. Good-looking kept hanging around the bar keeping up with the comments from the boys. She sure was witty. After about ten minutes she brought over a beer for me and sat down.

Here, she said smilingly, You’ll need this to wash down all that lead you’re eating.

Thanks a lot, I answered, Just in time. Tell me good-looking, what’s your name?

Betty Lucas, she answered. I thought you’d never ask me, she chided.

I noticed you’re wearing a wedding ring, isn’t your husband Miro Lukas, the banker, I said.

Yes but we’re in the process of getting a divorce. Miro is married to only one thing, his job at the bank. Unfortunately my father is Chairman of the bank and doesn’t like the idea of my divorcing Miro, but this is my life and I’d like to live it, maybe have my 2.5 kids, live in the suburbs you know the whole thing. But with him it’s not in his grandiose plans. We’ve been separated for six months since the filing and the final hearing is next week. That’s why I’m celebrating today. How about you?

I’m single, never been married, I answered as I finished my beer. I was engaged for over four years but my fiancé died of cancer. These guys, I laughed as I pointed toward Tommy and Stan, and Harry the Horse, my old friend, are trying to get me out of my shell.

Just then her girlfriend came over and said, Betty are you ready, cause we have to go if we’re going to make that birthday party this evening.

Oh Lorraine, let me introduce you, this is Jerry, Then Betty said, Jerry, this is my best friend Lorraine. We’ve been friends since our high-school days.

It’s nice to meet you, I said as I stood up and shook hands with her.

Listen maybe I’ll see you over at Tommy’s place some Wednesday evening and we can compare notes, Lorraine smiled, as she held my hand and gave me the complete look-over. I’ll even get Betty to come.

Yes, I answered, Maybe I will. I’ve heard a lot about Tommy’s. Then she and the girlfriend left. About eight o’clock they had the big raffle. The girls had cornered me into buying about ten or fifteen tickets. Surprisingly I won two tickets to the Irish Fesh in Milwaukee and dinner at some famous German Restaurant. I never even knew they had an Irish affair up there in Milwaukee. I wish it could have been the 500 Dollar cash first prize, I thought, but no such luck. But hey I won something anyway.

Right after the raffle everyone started leaving. Good I thought, because about that time my feet started killing me from the standing and walking back and forth. After we finished cleaning and loaded up the truck, I told Tommy and Stan, See you guy’s next week.

Hey where you going, Stan said, I’ve got a party going at my place. At least stop in for half an hour and let me buy you a drink for helping us.

Ah okay, Stan, I answered. I figured it’s on the way home. Stan had a tavern in an old Polish neighborhood, off Archer Avenue, that had a small banquet hall attached to it. When I got in there the place was really rocking. Marion Lush’s band had come from the picnic and was on the stage playing music again. As I walked through the crowded bar looking for a familiar face, the four young girls that were selling the raffle tickets at the picnic came over and pulled me right to their table. These girls were all in there early twenty’s and hot to trot. They were all over me like a coat of paint. I ended up drinking and dancing with them until about midnight.

I made an excuse to go to the washroom and slipped out the side door. If I stayed with that group I’d never make it to work in the morning. When I got home it was right to bed in my shorts and tee shirt. What a day, what a night!

CHAPTER THREE

Meeting at The Hammer

This Monday was a rough day from the time the alarm rang until the clock hit five. The last two weeks have been murder. We bid on four projects, three State jobs and one County job. We only hoped to get two of these projects. Now we had to scramble to tie up sub-contractors that we would need to assist us. We still have a few rough edges to work on but for the most part we seem to be pretty well set.

As I pushed away from my desk and grabbed my coat I thought I had better stop in and see Harry the Horse on the way home. He’s been bugging me to make a Lions Club meeting with him because I’ve missed the last couple of Fridays. I figured I’d better go and explain to him how busy I’ve been lately with customers and then let him talk me into going with him this Friday to the luncheon meeting.

As I drove along I couldn’t stop from thinking about stopping in late at the Velvet Hammer the last two Friday’s to meet the boys. It’s a nice relief from hard work, I laughed to myself, thinking about those beer sessions. We sit and tell each other lies about how great we’re doing and about how happy we are with life. Our conversation eventually turns to the discussion of women. The dissemination of crude opinions and the dissecting of the current leading female TV and Movie stars, which ones are phony and which ones had plastic surgery— -always a good argument. They are especially funny when Stella, our woman bartender, throws in her comments as she unloosens another button on her blouse top. This adds some spice to the discussions. Big Slim sees this and picks up on it right away and says, Stella, why don’t you give the boys a thrill and unleash that bra!

We all laugh as she rebuttons the blouse and says, Slim, you’ll always be a pervert! Then about midnight my old buddy’s would leave to go to Divorcee’s Corner or some other late pick-up joint and try to get lucky while I begged off and went home with the Tribune newspaper as usual.

I pulled into the parking lot of the Velvet Hammer and parked right next to Harry’s car. It was kind of crowded for a Monday evening. When I walked in the side door the first thing that hit my eyes was Harry the Horse arguing with some yuppie-puppy about some election coming up and the stupid politicians. I smiled as I ordered a drink from Stella who was already at work. When she delivered the drink she said, Don’t even think it! I laughed again thinking about the blouse incident from last Friday.

Touché, Stella, so what’s up with Happy Harry today, I asked.

Oh, he’s got some bug up his ass because he got his real estate tax bill today How you doing today Jerry, she asked as she cleaned the bar and ashtrays and put the drink back down on the napkin.

Oh medium shitty I guess, I answered.

She went down the bar and refreshed a few drinks and came back and said, You missed it last Friday. You left too soon. I don’t know if you remember seeing Bimbo Stevens with that young Jane at the front of the bar. Anyway she was all over him all evening. Then shortly after you left, when they were both shit-faced from drinking all evening, in walks his wife. She goes about 210lbs on the hoof, she says laughing. She sees what’s going on and before they knew she was there, she grabs this young floozy and coldcocks her with one punch right to the floor. As he turns she wacks him with the purse in her other hand knocking him off the stool. I call the cops as she is kicking him on the floor but before they came she drifted right out without a word. They took them both out, I guess to the hospital emergency, she laughs again. Of course nobody could identify who hit them.

As I finished my drink and was about to leave Harry comes over and gives me a fresh drink. Then in comes the big train, Slim Seper, (works for a box printing company) and his buddy, Billy Simonsis, (a city fireman). And I thought I was going to talk to Harry and have one drink or two and go home. A