Ran into a feller the other day that I hadn’t seen in a few
years, much to my delight, I might add. Delight, that is, that I hadn’t seen
him in a few years. ‘A bit of an ass’ is the best description I’ve heard of
him, and he fulfilled his obligation by asking if I still spent time in, as he
called it, a tavern. There aren’t many in my crowd that tend to use the word
tavern when discussing the pleasures of the partaking of John Barleycorn.
The encounter led me straight to one of my many favorite
saloons, and believe me, this old town called Reno has more that a few. It also
led me to wonder just how many names we use from time to time when discussing
our favorite watering hole. Well, see, there’s one name, and then, we also have
cantina, gin mill, and grogshop to consider. Alehouse is rarely used today as
is cabaret, but joint? Yes, indeed, and sports bar, nightclub, and pub.
Being a jolly fellow by this time, I found a cocktail napkin
that wasn’t yet drenched, and wrote a bit of a poem for the occasion. To wit:
Rhymes With Tune
By Johnny Gunn
These are meeting places,
mating places,
Sometimes fighting places.
We go not to glory in the
drinking of alcohol
But to glory in ourselves.
We burst forth in song or
poetry
Create or destroy politicians
We meet our friends, lovers,
enemies
Slap backs and offer sage
advice
Ah, the saloon, the name rolls
off your tongue
Like the lyrics of a tune
And the local behind the plank
Offers kind words, “What’ll you
have, Pard?”
So, my friend Mick stands up and strolls across the grogshop
floor and plunks himself down at the piano and serenades us few noontime
regulars with Danny Boy, followed by a rousing medley of Irish music, during
which most of us either join in the merriment or pretend to. As Toora Lura,
Lura, or however that song is actually spelled, comes to an end, in walks Jose
Francisco Lopez Garcia.
“I see the cantina is open,” he says, opening his guitar
case, and offering Coo Coo Roo Cuckoo, or however that song is spelled. Joe
Jingles waltzes into our little speakeasy and wants to act the tough guy, and we
let him spout off for a minute or two, and then
tell him to leave the dive, that this was our roadhouse, and don’t
forget it.
Amazing isn’t it, that such a simple thing as saying hello
to someone you haven’t seen for a long time can bring such wonderful memories
to the front. I see an ad in the paper for a new bistro opening, so, must run.
Until next time, read good books and stay regular
Johnny Gunn
Member, Western Fictioneers
Member,
International Thriller Writers
Will you join me on facebook from time to time?
Or Tweet with me, darlin’?
