Daley's Bar & Tavern
Headed off to a wedding on Friday night and we arrived at the reception hall before anyone else. Not wanting to be the first people on site, I turned the car around in the lot and asked Kathy if she'd rather have a drink in a bar first. She didn't know of any bars in the area, but we just sort of drifted through the neighborhood looking for a beer sign.
"There's one," Kathy said as I was passing a place. "Turn around."
I just kept driving. For one reason or another, I needed to find something else. I saw the sign for Daley's Bar in South Buffalo and parked right at the front door. Kathy made it as far as the door, but turned around. "They're closed," she said.
"Come on," an old man yelled from inside the bar.
Despite it being 7:00 on a Friday night, the only living things in the bar were the old man, and a small dog that was curled up beside him - on the bar. Kathy turned and asked if this was indeed the place where we were going to start our Friday night. I shrugged and we entered.
There was a photo of Sinatra behind the bar - an advertisement for a concert from 1947. Kathy ordered a light beer and the old man headed down to the cooler - it took him awhile and I asked him a question that he never heard. When he returned he looked at me - "Heineken Light and a shot of Jameson's," I said.
"No Heineken," he answered.
"Michelob Light," I replied.
He poured the shot of Jameson's and headed back to the cooler. "No Michelob," he yelled back.
"Budweiser," I shouted, but he didn't hear me. He walked all the way back to my seat before he was able to take my order - and then he made the long walk back to the cooler. By now the dog was curled up in front of me, and I scanned the large place looking at the decorations on the wall. Most of what was hanging there had something to do with loving dogs. There was a dog's prayer, an ode to a dog, and a couple of dog photos.
"What do you think of Michael Vick?" I asked.
"They should string him up," he answered.
Turns out our new friend is 87-years old. He owned the bar in South Buffalo for 52 years. He mentioned his wife in one breath, but we connected mostly in our conversation about our dogs and his dogs. For about twenty minutes I felt so comfortable as if walking into his bar had been the right thing to do.
As we finished our drinks and headed for the door, I thought about how neat this guy's life seemed to be. He had a great dignity that hung in the air around his empty bar. He could have closed the door years ago, but he was standing there, serving drinks and punching numbers into an antique cash register. I imagined him struggling to open the bar on some days, but doing it so he could stay busy and put drinks in front of the working slobs.
At the wedding a Sinatra song came over the speakers and I remarked to my young nephew that it was the best song they played all night.
"My God, you're old," he said.
It sort of dawned on me that there isn't any shame in growing old.
In fact, it can be downright cool on some nights.
"There's one," Kathy said as I was passing a place. "Turn around."
I just kept driving. For one reason or another, I needed to find something else. I saw the sign for Daley's Bar in South Buffalo and parked right at the front door. Kathy made it as far as the door, but turned around. "They're closed," she said.
"Come on," an old man yelled from inside the bar.
Despite it being 7:00 on a Friday night, the only living things in the bar were the old man, and a small dog that was curled up beside him - on the bar. Kathy turned and asked if this was indeed the place where we were going to start our Friday night. I shrugged and we entered.
There was a photo of Sinatra behind the bar - an advertisement for a concert from 1947. Kathy ordered a light beer and the old man headed down to the cooler - it took him awhile and I asked him a question that he never heard. When he returned he looked at me - "Heineken Light and a shot of Jameson's," I said.
"No Heineken," he answered.
"Michelob Light," I replied.
He poured the shot of Jameson's and headed back to the cooler. "No Michelob," he yelled back.
"Budweiser," I shouted, but he didn't hear me. He walked all the way back to my seat before he was able to take my order - and then he made the long walk back to the cooler. By now the dog was curled up in front of me, and I scanned the large place looking at the decorations on the wall. Most of what was hanging there had something to do with loving dogs. There was a dog's prayer, an ode to a dog, and a couple of dog photos.
"What do you think of Michael Vick?" I asked.
"They should string him up," he answered.
Turns out our new friend is 87-years old. He owned the bar in South Buffalo for 52 years. He mentioned his wife in one breath, but we connected mostly in our conversation about our dogs and his dogs. For about twenty minutes I felt so comfortable as if walking into his bar had been the right thing to do.
As we finished our drinks and headed for the door, I thought about how neat this guy's life seemed to be. He had a great dignity that hung in the air around his empty bar. He could have closed the door years ago, but he was standing there, serving drinks and punching numbers into an antique cash register. I imagined him struggling to open the bar on some days, but doing it so he could stay busy and put drinks in front of the working slobs.
At the wedding a Sinatra song came over the speakers and I remarked to my young nephew that it was the best song they played all night.
"My God, you're old," he said.
It sort of dawned on me that there isn't any shame in growing old.
In fact, it can be downright cool on some nights.
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