June 4, 2008
Back slowly out the door — then run like hell
Speaking of what she (rather brilliantly) characterized as the “anger problem gift” of Christopher Hitchens, India went on to speculate on his liabilities as a friend. ” . . . one might find oneself trying to steer him out of parties by the elbow rather often,” she noted.
And it all came flooding back. Early 1980s. Milwaukee. A place called the National Liquor Bar. Enormous. And very very open — a stark, austere lay-out I associate with barbecue joints, not bars. And brightly — I mean brightly — lit. Big old fluorescent tubes in metal fixtures. And not much in terms of ‘amenities’ or bar food. In fact, the eats may have been limited to the pickled eggs that rested in big jars up above the bar proper.
I’m not sure why we Madison hipsters patronized the place. Maybe because it was the bar closest to the Mexican restaurant we liked. (We liked the restaurant, as I recall, mainly because of their policy that “so long as you keep eating, we’ll keep serving”. And it was really something to watch Al, who was a trim, svelte guy, pack away enough Mexican food to satisfy a crew of construction workers. Now that was entertainment.)
Anyway, one night we went into the National Liquor Bar with Jerry. It was his first visit. Now Jerry did not have an “anger problem” nor an “anger gift”, but he did have a wicked wit and a mode of vocal inflection that . . . well, just screamed Q-U-E-E-N.
And he paused once we’d entered, took in the scene, then said in a voice clearly audible to the entirely silent (and solitary) men scattered throughout the place, “Oh, I know what this is. It’s a Vietnam. Veterans’. Stress Center.”
. . . and we all moved ever so slightly away from Jerry, thinking to ourselves, “Jerry, we love you, man, and this is going to make us feel real real bad — but we didn’t walk in with you and we don’t even know you.”
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