Packer’s Pub: Owned by the People

Considering the size of the building and its parking lot, we had assumed Packers Pub had actual sit-down dining.  We didn’t expect the high quality hot dogs a la Bob’s Trail’s End, or the multi-layered beef sandwiches a la Leroy’s, but…Alas looks are deceiving.  The large addition to the building held not a restaurant but two pool tables.

Nevertheless it was our supper stop, and we were going to eat.  We climbed onto stools at the large horseshoe-shaped bar and ordered a round of Spotted Cow which was on tap.  Marv and I chose the 16-ounce size and the rest—minus Gary, our designated driver—chose the 10-ounce.  The bartender was young and pretty and not related to the owner.  So much for Gary’s and my theory that bartenders are related to owners, now shot down only an hour after it was created.

We gave her our card and told of our previous trail rides and asked the whereabouts of the owner.  She pointed across the dimly lit room to a burly guy sitting at the other side of the bar.  Drink in hand, I walked over to greet him and hand him our card.

“You are the owner?” I asked.  And before he could reply, I introduced myself, handed him our card, and launched into my spiel about our trail rides adding, “And you are?”

“Pat Ruedinger,” he said smiling and shaking my hand.

Our genial host

Ruedinger refers to his bar as a “working man’s place.”  “Why Packers?” I asked. “‘Cuz of the football team?”

“No,” he said and told me he and his brother Phil used to own Packer Valley Builders and named the bar after that.  A nephew now runs the building company and Pat runs the bar.  He hires college students as bartenders.  He likes the idea that he’s helping them get through college.

The original building on this site was a filling station, then a bar, called Fishers.

Pat, who could pass for a later-day Ernest Hemingway with his rugged good looks, close cut beard and full head of white hair, claims, “I don’t own this place; my customers do.”

I headed back to my friends where we learned supper was going to be frozen pizzas.  Marv and I ordered cheese and sausage while Gary and Elaine chose Pepperoni.  The pizza oven only handled two at a time, so Judy and Don had to wait for their Pepperoni

In the absence of a table and chairs, we pulled bar stools up to the service bar in the pool room.  On the wall next to us hung autographed pictures of long-ago Green Bay Packer kickers:  Chester Marcol and Chris Jacke.  Our pizzas arrived and we dug in.  Our conversation rambled from Father Tom and social justice to “going green,” to the defunct Pioneer Inn to a priest on a date there during disco era.  Then, somehow, Marv got started on Henry Miller and The Tropic of Cancer and how Miller’s novels once were banned in the U.S.  (They no longer are.)  “Are they really that racy?” Elaine wanted to know.

Don questions Marv about Henry Miller

“Oh yes!”  Marv got a copy when it was translated into English along about 1960.  He did loan it to one of his girl friends after she begged and begged him to let her read it.  He told her what it was like and that she wouldn’t like it, but she insisted. Then she got pissed and dropped him as a boyfriend after she read page one of the book.

“What did that take you to?” Judy wanted to know.  Marv shrugged and went on to say before the entire book was translated into English some editions printed the ultra sexy sections in French.  I recalled that Judy had an undergraduate degree in French, but instead let the conversation die.

The bartender cleared our pizza dishes and gave each of us a small blue ticket for a free drink.  “From Pat,” she said.  The ticket read:

GOOD FOR ONE

PINT MIXER

PACKER’S PUB

OSHKOSH, WISCONSIN

Don and Judy cashed theirs in right away.  I lost mine.  Marv’s is sitting on the dresser in our bedroom.  Don’t know about Elaine and Gary, but Gary was finally drinking:  a Coke.

Pat came by on his way home; we thanked him and remarked again on his resemblance to Ernest Hemingway.  We turned our attention to the pool table where a couple had racked up the balls for a game.  Judy, Elaine and I were truly impressed by the stiletto-heeled, platform-soled boots the female pool player was wearing.  “I used to wear shoes like that,” I said wistfully looking down at my navy blue clogs.

Packers Pub’s bathrooms are worth a comment or two.  Elaine says the women’s room has a strong sweet scent, a Love Kit Stimulator vending machine (50¢ each) and “Plenty-O-Fun” novelties also at 50¢.  The men’s room, according to the guys, also has a “Plenty-O-Fun” novelties vending machine.  Politically incorrect adult assorted surprises “Pleasure Kit (Tickle their Fancy) Premium” latex condoms:  ribbed, studded, ultra thin 50¢ each.  By far the most interesting restrooms, though Marvin still likes the one at Jerry’s.

The music at Packers was country and western.  As we were shrugging into our jackets, we sang along to “Edmund Fitzgerald.”

On the way out, Marvin lagged behind—a dangerous thing to do out on the Trail—to watch the pool game between a bearded man and the woman (about 50, bleached blonde hair, high spike heels and tight-tight pants).  Marvin said the guy took a shot that is best described as pathetic.  Then the woman took over and Marvin watched as she expertly sank two shots.  As he turned to leave, she said, “Why don’t you grab a cue and shoot a game.”

Marvin said, “I’ve been watching you shoot, and I’ll be back the next time I feel like getting the hell beat out of me.”

It was still raining as we climbed into the trail buggy and headed down 20^th to Oregon.  It was ten after seven and remembering what we had been told

Oops, Elaine & Judy Aren't Following the Arrow

at Back Again Stadium about the B & E being the host to the thousand dollar drawing, we felt that by now the betting crowd would have dispersed at the B & E.

Back Again Stadium Bar Bats 1000

A cold, drizzly Monday night in early October marked our fourth trail ride.  We’d exchanged our summer duds for jeans, sweaters, and winter jackets and our chaps for chapstick.  We pulled up at the Stadium Bar at 301 Knapp and

Entrance to the Back Again Stadium Bar

parked in the back avoiding the spot reserved for the bartender.

A step inside and we were back in the 1950s.  We marveled over the chrome and red “leather” bar stools.  I handed our card to the young lady tending bar while the rest drew up stools at a table near the side window.

“Where else are you going tonight?” the bartender asked as I explained our monthly trail rides.

“Packer’s Pub and B & E Lounge.”

“Oh, you won’t want to go to B & E.  The drawing’s there tonight.”

“But, if they go there after 7:00,” said a pretty woman sitting at the bar and wearing a lovely yellow jacket.  “The crowd’ll have thinned out by then.”

“What crowd?  Is there a dart tournament?” I was really confused.  She explained and Gary wrote down the “rules” of the thousand dollar drawing.  Fifty-two people each put in twenty dollars and a drawing for a thousand is held every other Monday.  The drawing travels in a circuit of bars.  This night it was at the B & E.  Attendance is high on drawing night because if you are there you get the thousand.  If your name is drawn and you aren’t there you get only 500 dollars.

Those on the list of 52 keep signing up ‘cuz if you don’t you lose your place in the raffle.  Now, I happen to know who won that night, but you’ll have to wait a couple of weeks till I get around to posting the B & E piece.

The lady at the bar in the yellow jacket had put in her $20.00, but she was skipping the drawing saying she’d be content with $500.00.  I wanted to ask who got the other $500.00 but didn’t.

Marv and I drank Old Style.  I hadn’t had that in years.   Didn’t even know it was made any more.  Marv told me Old Style was the beer of the Chicago

Catch the baseball atop the Old Style tap

Cubs before Harry Cary began slurping Budweiser.  In memory of former times, the Stadium’s Old Style tap is topped off with a Cubs baseball.  Judy had a Miller while Don and Elaine tipped their hats to the season and drank Leinie’s October Fest.  Don bought us a bag of salted-in-the-shell peanuts to eat while we drank.  We collected the shells on a Christmas napkin—too couth to drop the shells on the floor.

The beer and wine coolers are very cheap at all times, only $1.50 for a bottle of beer, we were told.  Mugs on Mondays were only a dollar.  I liked this place more and more.  Stadium is also serving pumpkin beer during October and November according to Gary who was jotting these bon mots in my pocket notebook.  I think I’ll take my pumpkin in a pie rather than a beer glass.

I asked how old the place was.  An old-timer mulled my question on the age of the bar, looked up quickly and said, “52.  This place is 52 years old.” But what’s with the ‘Back Again’ which is on every sign?” I wondered.  I got a quick answer:  Butch Eckstein, the owner, gave up the bar some time ago.  Then years later changed his mind and came “back again.”  Hence “Back

Cute bartender, Marv, Lady in the yellow jacket, Don & Old Timer

Again” precedes “Stadium” on the bar’s signage. We got confused answers, though, when we asked why “Stadium.”  The signs all show a batter swinging a mean bat.  The only stadium kinda close is Titan Stadium on Josslyn about a half mile away, but it’s not 52 years old.  The University’s huge sports complex is about 40 years old, and it does have a baseball diamond. A few weeks later, Don Weber found this information from two avid sports fans Jim and Joel.  According to them the first game was played at the Oshkosh Sports Complex in 1970.  They also enlightened me [Don] to the fact that there was a minor league baseball park in the area where Zion Lutheran church and a bank now stand (this predates Lourdes HS): hence the name, Stadium Bar.

According to Gary, our pretty bartender was the owner’s stepdaughter, “but not now,” Gary wrote.  Not too clear on that note, and as I write this, Gary and Elaine are somewhere in Hawaii, sampling exotic drinks.  But we have noticed how many of the bartenders we meet are owners or relatives of owners, making many of these old taverns truly family businesses.

Back at the table Don said he “didn’t think Stadium would be as nice a place inside as it is.”  It took us awhile to realize why it seemed so comfy and

Ah, the chrome & red leatherette of the 1950s!

pleasant.  No loud music or loud TVs A real plus for us.  And, friendly people both in front of and behind the bar.  Marv, the men’s room checker, noted the border wallpapers with a motorcycle pattern in said room and also that the latch was broken on the stall door “Eyelet, but no hook.”  Just have to multi task:  hold door closed while sitting.

I finished my beer and part of Elaine’s Leinie and my story about meeting someone in Oshkosh who was a roommate of a guy I went to high school with.  “He lives in Cleveland,” I said to Ohioans Gary and Elaine.

“We’re all part of the great web,” said Elaine philosophically.  Marv wanted to know who the spider was at the web’s center. A pause and then Judy asked, “Isn’t it time to go to Packer’s Pub?”  It was time for some grub.

Indeed.  We shrugged into our jackets, said good byes to the friendly folks at the bar.  We climbed into the van with Gary behind the wheel and rode down Knapp in the cold rain, then onto 20^th and into the large parking lot of Packer’s Pub.

Nigl’s Extreme Makeover

Just a short drive from Leroy’s brought us to Nigl’s on Ninth and Ohio, one of the busiest corners on the south side.  We pulled into the nice, newly resurfaced parking lot on the north side of Nigl’s.  Some of us recalled that many years earlier, a Standard Oil gas station occupied this spot. There has been a Nigl’s at this intersection for decades.  We didn’t ask the gal tending bar how old Nigl’s was, but it’s a lot older than she.

Nigl's: Same corner, new look

Nigl’s had a fire in 2008 that forced the place to close, get gutted and rebuilt.  Like a Phoenix.  We all remembered the former Nigl’s, then known as Nigl’s Chieftain.  We even remembered several years back when a careless driver turning off Ninth to head north on Ohio hit the building rather than the street and damaged a large piece of siding.  For several months the building sported a large piece of black tarpaper where the simulated lannon stone siding had been.

But that’s gone now as is the Chieftain part of the name.  Now its exterior is tan stucco with stone trim at the corners and along the lower level.

In the barroom hang early pictures of Nigl’s, advertising frog legs and perch dinners.  According to one picture, it once had a grocery store on the first floor and tavern on the second.  The book Oshkosh at 150:  An Illustrated Picture of Oshkosh by Michael J. Goc (New Past Press, 2003) shows a later picture of “Punky Nigl’s Bar” on Ninth and Ohio.  This picture was taken in the late 1940s judging by the car parked alongside. Goc mentions the frog legs and perch and also an upstairs hall for dancing.  No grocery store.

Nigl’s décor reminded me of Oblio’s—neat, clean lines, nothing on the walls except for pictures of former Nigl’s, showing its various faces over the many years..  The small high windows each had a neon sign advertising beer.

But here’s what really caught my attention:  it’s carpeted!  I don’t think many bars are.  When I think of keeping barrooms clean and tidy, tile or hard wood sounds like a better bet.  But the carpeting does smother the noise.  But, please, no peanut shells!

The trail riders enjoy a break at Nigl's

The place was quiet.  We sat at a table drinking Schlitz.  A few people at the oval bar watched the Brewer game on TV.  We watched too and saw Fielder hit one of his 40 plus home runs.  A couple played a video game.  Where have all the pinball machines gone, I wondered?  I liked to play them; flip the flippers, use a little body English, watch those heavy silver balls rapidly bounce off bumpers, ringing bells and turning on colored lights.  Can the video versions be as much fun?

Here follows the kind of lecture teachers are fond of.  You can skip this paragraph (it won’t be on the quiz) or you can learn a “cocktail tidbit” (a phrase one of my UWM professors used to use.)  According to Harva Hatcher and Terese Allen in The Flavor of Wisconsin, “the sort of establishment now known as tavern was then [1830s-1840s] called dram shop, tippling house, grocery, and, later in the century, saloon.”  Shortly after 1848 “468 [men] listed themselves an owners of ‘groceries,’ which in those days meant a place to buy or drink liquor.” (41)  Let me add one more bit of erudition:  tavern comes from the Latin taberna which meant shop,

Lecturer behind beer

take out eatery, (most Romans didn’t have kitchens), wine shop, etc.  Somewhere over the centuries that “b” slid into a “v.”  Lecture over.  Time to drink some more “groceries.”

We enjoyed the peace and quiet of Nigl’s and its newness.  Marv, Don and Gary explored that circular bar, the dining area (Nigl’s serves the usual array of sandwiches, Reds and Pizza King Pizza, and fish fries.) I don’t know about the frog legs, however.

Calling itself the Home of the Free Hot Dog, Nigl’s serves free hot dogs and brats on Saturday mornings from 10:00 “until gone.”  Get there early! Friend Dick told us how Nigl’s was his Saturday morning hangout just for the free hot dogs.

We left commenting on how the days were getting shorter:  it was already dark.  While sitting at that table in Nigl’s, we had set the date and places for our next trail ride.  October 5 with stops at Stadium, Packers Pub and the B & E.  Certainly our brains were on vacation.  Phone calls and emails the next day changed the date.  After all the Pack was having a shoot out with the Vikings on the 5^th.  We went with the 12^th instead.

Leroy’s? LeRoy? Either Way Sandwich Is King

Our supper stop this September Tuesday night was Leroy’s, one block south of Sacred Heart Church of St. Jude Parish.  The tan stone, two-story building squats on the corner of 7^th Avenue and Knapp.

Leroy's at Knapp & 7th

We parked on 7^th and walked around to the front door.  Leroy’s has a long bar, probably rivaling Witzke’s 38 foot bar in length.  Wendy, our bartender and cook said it was the longest bar in the entire city.  We didn’t mention Witzke’s; we’re not out to argue or brawl.  Icicle lights festoon the back bar and lighted up the bottles of liquor and signs, signs, signs.

Much of the wall space is covered with plaques bragging abut the bar’s bowling, softball, darts, etc. teams’ successes.

The bar’s current owners are Pete and Cindy Baehman.  Pete’s daughter Wendy, dressed in a snappy Brewers shirt, was on duty this night.  Pete was there too, having dropped in just to “pick up some things” needed at the refreshment stand at the Lourdes High School JV football game.  But he hung around long enough to say the bar has been in his family for 18 years and before that it existed 42 years with Leroy Jungwirth as owner.

Baehman is a name I know from my 18 years of teaching writing and literature classes at Lourdes.  So I asked about the three Baehman girls who had been in my classes.  “Nieces,” he said.  I was glad to hear that they are doing just fine. The girls had excelled at sports, particularly basketball.  Of his own children, Pete said one was on the field in that JV game and the other two were in college.  We talked BB for awhile and then he had to dash off.

The Three Graces

Wendy took our beer order:  I had a Miller Lite and Marv an American Ale made by Budweiser; Judy started out with an American Ale, but really didn’t like it so she traded it in for Bud Lime Lite.  Don had that too.  Elaine also chose a small Bud and Gary, well, nothing.  In case you’ve forgotten, he’s out very important designated driver.

Since Village Pub Pizza closed, the Baehmans have been whipping up their own pizzas as well as the famous sandwiches.  Judy and Don had a pepperoni pizza which they said was excellent.  The rest of us chose the beef sandwiches.  Gary and Elaine opted for raw onions on theirs and a side order of onion rings.  I had mine sans onions and Marv had a side order of fries with his.  Wendy placed a six-pack of condiments before us—Lakeside’s hot honey mustard, horseradish mustard, hot horseradish mustard, Dijon and that yellow stuff and catsup.  For weeks friends and acquaintances had urged us to order the beef sandwiches.  Their advice was worth following.  My vision of a hot beef sandwich is two slices of white bread encasing sliced beef and the whole shebang covered in gluey gravy.  Probably a scoop of mashed potatoes floating on the side.

Fortunately these were not like that.  I counted 17 slices of beef that had been lolling in an au jus sauce, between the covers of a rye roll.  The sandwich sat on a piece of waxed paper oozing juice.  It was tasty.  It was filling.  I knew that at 11:00 PM—my usual bedtime—I wouldn’t need a snack.

Wow! That's Good! photo by Gary

Leroy’s has a long list of sandwiches.  When I took my Ford Focus to Pat’s garage for winterizing, he told me his favorite Leroy sandwich is the ham and brick cheese with raw onions.  That sounded good too.  Maybe next time.

Between bites of my sandwich and sips of beer, I wandered around reading some of the many posters, signs and plaques on the walls.  At the far end of the bar a guy sat watching a Discovery channel program while tucking into his sandwich and drink.  He was eager to tell me how much he enjoyed that channel.  “You can learn a lot,” he said.  I agree.  And I think that marked the first time I saw a TV in a bar tuned to a channel other than news and sports.

I can’t leave Leroy’s without a comment on the “pleasure protector” vending machine in the men’s room.  I thought the euphemism for condom machine was clever.  Marv wanted us to know that in Illinois—where he was born and raised—nearly every men’s room in gas stations, bars, etc. had such machines with products “only for prevention of disease” and a stern warning that these products were “for adults only.”  Of course.  Of course.  The honor system at its most effective.

And lastly there’s the question of the name Leroy or LeRoy.  We noticed it spelled both ways in the bar and even on the menu.  Either way the name means “the king.”  But I think without the capital “R” the accent falls on the “Le” as in the Great Gildersleeve’s nephew.  “LEEEEEEroy, what are you up to now?” Uncle Gildersleeve would say, and radio listeners would laugh.  Or to sound French and high falutin’ one could put the accent on the second syllable and say leROY.

Well, enough of this sounding like an English teacher.  Our sandwiches, pizza and beer had been good, but now were gone.  We moseyed outside, boarded the Beer Trail Express and headed to Nigl’s.

Acee Deucee–EAA Hangout

The day after Labor Day, the day the University started its fall semester, the eighth day of sunshine and mild temperatures, we met at the D and J corral

Beer Trail Express

(Don and Judy’s driveway) ready to set out on our third trail ride.  The van was gassed up and sported a sign on the windshield reading “Beer Trail Express.”  Much as we wanted to leave that sign up we decided not to risk being pulled over by the police for an illegal sign.

We drove to 1329 Oregon Street and pulled into the first angled parking spot at the home of Acee Deucee.  We stepped up the circular cement steps under the sign proclaiming “Where Your Friends Are” and entered the two-story red brick Acee Ducee bar.

Entering the Acee Deucee

It was cool and dark inside; three flat screen TV’s set to CNN showed the late afternoon news.  The market, I noticed, was up over 50 points.  The volume controls were shut off.  A few guys looking like they’d just gotten off work were quietly talking at the bar.  We sat in the front where the daylight came through the east window and ordered—Miller Light for me and Marv; Elaine, a Budweiser, claiming she “Didn’t want a light anything.”  Don and Judy settled for Bud Light.  Acee Deucee doesn’t have anywhere near the number of taps like Oblio’s; if we’d asked for bottles, we would have had a wide selection.  Our beers arrived in16-ounce pilsner glasses with Coca Cola logos.

We had chosen the right night for Acee Deucee because our bartender was Herbie Pollnow, who told us he only works Mondays.  His son and daughter-in-law are the owners now—the third generation of Pollnows.  But, since Monday had been Labor Day, Herbie was behind the bar this Tuesday night.

Our Host Herbie

Herbie’s granddad (a World War I vet) and a partner opened Acee Deucee in 1937.  Their first location was South Park and Oregon, across the street from St. Vincent church.  In 1944 they moved one block south to the present site which had been Koblitz’s bar since the building was built in 1876.  The bar has been owned by Pollnows since then and is currently run by Herbie’s son Bob.

Herbie told us of his first jobs at the bar:  cleaning the spittoons and—these two acts are not connected—filling pails of beer for customers who wanted theirs “to go.”  He was ten at the time.

I asked the usual question about Prohibition.  “Bowling alley,” said Herbie, adding, “They made moonshine in the basement.”

“I remember the bowling alleys,” said a UWO art professor and Oshkosh native whom I chatted with at a UWO gathering.  “My dad gave me and my cousins each 25 cents to get out of the house and go bowling.  We loved it.”  We think the bowling alleys lasted well into the latter half of the 20^th century.  Elaine knows a woman who bought one of the alleys when they were being torn out.

“Where does the name Acee Ducee come from?” I asked.  Herbie explained Acee Deucee was a sailors’ game that his granddad brought back from his WWI experiences.  It’s played, according to Herbie, with dominoes and dice on a backgammon board.  Hence the bar’s calling card shows a pair of dice.

A couple of days later I Googled Acee Deucee and indeed there it was with varied spellings:  acey-ducey being the most common.  You can download the game for free onto your computer, but I thought playing it in the bar before a live audience would be a lot more fun.  Most sites mentioned the connection to sailors; others referred to it as Irish Backgammon.  Some called it a card game.  Well, you go ahead and Google it yourself.

Far more interesting than its name is the EAA influence.  Seventy-four year old Herbie himself was a gunner in a B29 during the Korean War.  He told us about dropping thousands of leaflets on Korea.  But a love of planes and flying runs in the family.  He told the story of his father and a partner who set out to buy six WWII planes:  2 Corsairs, 2 P-51s, and 2 Herbie didn’t know what—from some Texans.  Cost $200 per plane, but the deal fell through when the partner died enroute to Texas.

Indeed EAA influence fills the place.  Small model planes hang from the ceiling over the back bar and along the south wall.  A large yellow seaplane hangs over the pool table.

The Yellow Sea Plane

Then we got a special treat—Herbie opened the hand-painted doors to the back hall (formerly the bowling alley) and left us to take in the EAA photos and posters that cover the walls.  Herbie himself flew in air shows at the EAA for a few years.  This is an autograph seekers’ paradise.  We oohed and aahed over photos and signatures of the likes of Chuck Yaeger and Dick Rutan and Jeana Yeager, not to overlook astronauts and stunt pilots and war bird fliers.  And, though I didn’t find any evidence of that, I have been told that Tom Cruise was once there.

We got a big laugh at a large yellow poster that read:

Proclamation:

“Let it be known that on Sunday, July 31, 1988, Herbie of Herbie’s Acee Deucee ran out of draft beer for the first time in his life.

Therefore all you assholes that caused this sign below.”

The bottom half of said poster is crowded with more signatures than the Declaration of Independence.

Laughing in the Back Room

After the bowling alleys were torn out, the back room was used for parties and meetings.  “Union meetings,” Herbie said.  “A lot of them met here before they got their own halls.”

We all enjoyed our stop at the Acee Deucee, especially Elaine.  “Just loved that place.”  Elaine has since learned more about the Acee Deucee from neighbors who used to live in the neighborhood of the bar.  As kids they remembered a man who, they think, worked at the bar and walked home through their back yard every night totting his lunch box in one hand and a ten-cent 2-quart pail of beer in the other.

By the way, all the pictures in this post except the first one were taken by Gary;  the first one was taken by Judy.  We found friends and acquaintances only too eager to spill their stories and memories of Acee Ducee.  So, what are yours?

By this time we were eager for some chow.  (Acee Ducee only serves pizza)  We piled back into the van still talking about the back room and headed off to Leroy’s for supper.

Fill ‘er Up at Pete’s Garage

Oregon Street is my main route downtown, so I frequently drive past Pete’s.  I remember it was Pinky’s years ago and the building across the street from it was Service Master and before that the home of Barber’s Candy.  Gary zipped past, had to turn around and we parked in front of Schoenberger’s Bakery.

Oregon Street was quiet and darkness was falling as we crossed.  I took a few snaps of the exterior of Pete’s before stepping inside where it was even darker.  And noisy.  Nearly every seat at the bar was filled—the crowd was much younger than us and having a great time, if noise is any indication.

I looked around to see why this was a “garage” and then caught sight of the

license plates dotting the ceiling

license plates on the ceiling and the truck liner used as flooring.

We crowded around a small table near the front window.  Marv and I had the 16 ounce Schlitz served in semi-pilsner glasses with the bar’s logo on them.  Judy, Don, and Elaine were making this a New Glarus Spotted Cow night and their glasses proclaimed that.

Pete himself was the bartender and let me take his picture saying, “usually I flip off old people,” but he didn’t do that to me.  He’s the owner now for four years.  The other bartender, a young woman, was a former student of Elaine’s at Ripon College.  When not bar tending, she is an elementary teacher.

Pete, the owner and bar tender

I’m drawing some conclusions about Oshkosh’s old bars.  I think they could be divided into two categories:  ones with walls nearly bare except for a few nicely framed pictures of the bar in former years or ones with every square inch of its walls covered with signs, ads, posters, notices, plaques, etc.  Pete’s is pretty much in the second category.  We sat next to a large poster covered with signatures thanking Pete’s for something.  And, we all saw the sign on the back bar “I love gay porn.”  Well, what’s with that?

I expected more “garage” motif and then Gary handed me the menu and drink list.  So here’s the martini list:

–    Transmission Fluid

–    Washer Fluid

–    Power Steering Fluid

–    Brake Fluid

–    Radiator Fluid

Don’t those sound tasty?

Then there were the exotic drinks like Hummer H₂ , Ford Mustang, Chevy Aveo, Jaguar, and Ford Focus.  Since I drive a Focus, I had to see what was in a drink named after it:  Malibu Banana Rum, Meyers Dark Rum, Blackberry Brandy, Orange Juice and Grenadine.  I’ll stick to Schlitz.

We were all getting a little tired.  The place was noisy and Judy wanted to go outside in the quiet though we told her sitting on the curb in front of the bar was unbecoming.  Instead we tossed off our beers—except for D. D. Gary who never had one and Elaine who left her unfinished Spotted Cow on the table—and left.

Back in Don and Judy’s driveway, we decided Thursday nights were too rambunctious for us older folks.  Someone suggested we start out earlier like at four o’clock, but Marv said that sounded too much like retirees in Florida who have dinner at 4:30 and are asleep by 8 PM.

However, before we left to drive home, we picked the date for our next trail ride and the three stops along it.  We’re sticking to the near south and southwest side next time, when we pull up at Acee-Ducee.

Is It a Restaurant or Is It a Tavern?

Jansen’s Bar and Restaurant at 344 Bowen Street was the supper plan.  By now it was a shade past 6:00 PM on a Thursday night.  Jansen’s parking lot was full as was the lot at Trinity Evangelical Lutheran Church which we assumed held the overflow from Jansen’s.  Gary let us out on the side street and drove ahead several car lengths to find a place to park.  Meanwhile we entered through the back door.

I’m guessing this used to be called the Ladies Entrance during that long ago time when bars were male-only establishments.  And ladies, not wishing to be seen entering such male-only places, discreetly slid through the back door and sipped their liquor at tables far from the noisy bar.  This custom, I’m still guessing, dates back to bars serving free lunches.

Marv frequented Jansen’s for lunch in the early 90s with colleagues associated with the Bachelor of Liberal Studies program when he ran that program at UWO.  This small group lunched together each Tuesday and Jansen’s was one of the stops on their rotation of four restaurants.  He brought home jars of pickled, garlicky asparagus spears and green beans.  These, put up locally, were a real tasty treat.  Also Marv, Tom and I have stopped in at Jansen’s for supper now and then.

But this night was a first time for Elaine, Gary, Judy and Don.  The place was packed.  Every table filled.  We threaded our way to the bar where patrons were two, three deep.  Along the way Judy spotted a Banana Crème Torte listed on the dessert board and one next to someone’s cup of coffee.

“I want to order that,” she said making eye contact with the woman diner, “Is it good?”

“Very.”

“I want that,” Judy repeated wistfully.  Indeed it did look tasty, but I didn’t think it would go well with beer.

Gary had cornered the bartender and learned there’d be an hour wait for dinner.  We’d have to go someplace else.  Elaine had run into some friends, “You’re on your bar-hopping, aren’t you?” they said as we pulled Elaine away so we could find a place for supper.  I didn’t take any pics there; I knew we’d be leaving.  Anyway in my opinion, it’s a restaurant, not a bar.  And a very good restaurant too even without the banana torte.

We headed south, after avoiding the Waterfest crowds, on Main Street and then Highway 45 to Andy’s Beachcomber.  Don and Gary went in to see if supper was available there.  Nope.  “Go to Parnell’s Place,” was their advice.  So we did.

Parnell's Back Bar

Marv, Tom and I had dined at Parnell’s a half dozen times or so.  Tom and I like the buffalo burgers and Marv likes the broasted chicken.  We got a table for six in the dining room that’s like walking back into the 1950s.

Elaine showing off the "best kept secret" Parnell menu

Ellen, our waitress, served up our beer, admitting that she only drinks when “overcome by stress.”  A week ago she said, she “polished off a tap beer” after a particularly stressful day at Parnell’s.

While the rest of us settled for a 10-ounce tap of Spotted Cow, Judy and Don ordered mugs of the spotted bovine.  Don’s was frosty, but Judy’s was truly icy and to her liking.  My buffalo burger was good and so was Marv’s broasted chicken.  Judy and Elaine had the bluegill.  They said that was good too.  No one ordered the turtle despite the marquee “Turtle is back.  Get it while you can.”

Judy with the extra icy beer mug

Parnell’s has an L-shaped bar and lots of old baseball, Packer and Bret Farve décor.  The men also wanted me to mention that the men’s room walls are knotty pine.  In my book a real plus for Parnell’s is that it went smoke free long before the city ordinance came along.  Clearly, Parnell’s is a restaurant first and then a bar.  Do you agree?

As we were leaving, I had to stop and give a hug to a fellow Fox Valley Writing Project colleague.  Kathy and I had been roomies at six or seven National Writing Project conventions across the U.S..  This night she was out with a fellow teacher after a round of get-your-classroom ready activities.

We had time for one more stop and so it was off to Pete’s Garage to top off our tanks.

Second Night on the Trail–Moose Spotting at Witzke’s

Our second night riding the beer trail was the last Thursday in August.  Something we older folks had overlooked was the popularity of going out on that night—like an early start on the weekend.  And it was also a Waterfest Concert night starring  Dennis DeYoung: The Music of Styx (plus Those Darn Accordions) which guaranteed more activity in bars and restaurants.

Nevertheless we set off for Witzke’s in Don and Judy’s Toyota van.  You don’t have to live long in Oshkosh before you’ll hear about Witzke’s.  Its outdoor sign shows a moose head—more about that later—and the number

Witzke's freshly painted exterior

1850.  My first guess was that was the street address, but no; it’s the date the tavern opened.  The building sits at 1700 Oregon Street at 17^th Avenue.  Its yellow paint is a fresh coat and the Victorian garland decorations above the second floor windows are dark red.  An addition was added a few years ago off the south side to accommodate private parties and en electronic archery gallery.

In November, 1983 Connoisseur magazine had an extensive article on Oshkosh “A Town as a Work of Art” and a page and a half picture of Witzke’s barroom.

Inside, the barroom was dark and cozy that late afternoon and noisy from 4 large screen TVs fighting for viewers.  Brian was our bartender tapping up New Glarus Spotted Cow for each of us except Gary, choosing again to be designated driver.  At our request Brian got out a steel tape measure and measured the bar—an impressive 37/38 feet long, and “the original,” he pointed out.

Drinking Spotted Cow at Witzke's front table

A few guys were at the bar unwinding after work.  One was eating a huge sandwich which he said was “delicious.”  The other four were playing Ship, Captain and Crew, a dice game that I recall from my long ago youth.

We sat at the window table looking out at Oregon Street and listened to the dice cup banging on the bar.

Now the moose.  There are two mounted heads and they are huge.  One hangs dead center on the long north wall looking down on a row of arcade games.  The other hangs above the front door.  How long they have been there or who shot them, we have no idea, but there was a cobweb on the one over the door.  One of the heads can be seen in the Connoisseur picture.  A garland of pennants and paper Packer helmets, courtesy of Bud Light festoon the tin ceiling.

The moose watching over us

A couple of curious objects caught our attention:  a cigarette machine looking like those snack machines that demand you punch in a number and letter.  The smokes were $8.00 a pack and this was a week before the state tax jumped another 75 cents.  But more curious even was a pay phone.  Not the kind that stood in booths on the street or that Dr. Who takes off in or Superman used to change into his red and blue outfit, but rather a hefty looking dial phone with a rotary dial.  “Yeah,” said Gary, “that’s what a pay phone looks like now.”

Witzke’s changed owners four years ago and is now owned by John and Sherri Rasmussen.  As we finished our beers and were packing up to leave, Brian’s shift was ending and Jennifer was preparing to take over.  She’s been there for six years and remembers when the back room was a “real ghetto.”  Well, it’s all spiffed up now with an outside deck and plenty of wide windows.  Elaine attempted to explain to Judy and me how the archery game worked.  “Behind these curtains are video images of things to shoot at,” she said.

“Like what? Elephants?” I asked.

“No, Frankie, probably deer, you know?” Elaine said somewhat exasperated.

“Should be a moose,” I muttered.

Elaine gazing at the moose over the doorway

Someone handed me a menu of Witzke’s pizzas, sandwiches, appetizers, and “Henny Penny Chicken.”  I would have stayed there to eat, but the group was ready to move on for supper across town.  We’re off heading north over the Main Street bridge and through the Waterfest crowds at the Leach Amphitheater.

Jerry’s Bar, Home of the Otter Street Fishing Club

A short ride south on Bowen Street and then a left on Ceape Street took us to Jerry’s Bar, 1210 Ceape.  This was not a planned stop.  Before setting out from Don and Judy’s we had selected Oblio’s as a first stop and Trail’s End for a supper of hot dogs.  But, since we were on the east side, Elaine and Gary recommended Jerry’s Bar on the east end of Ceape—only a couple of blocks from Lake Winnebago.  Gary and Elaine had lived in an apartment in this area when they had moved to Oshkosh over 40 years ago. Furthermore, Gary was our designated driver so we went where he drove.

Jerry’s was built in 1859 or 1860– hard to say for sure since records from that early date were destroyed when fire swept downtown Oshkosh in the 1880s and burned City Hall.  Since 1911 the bar has been in the Wesenberg

Marv entering Jerry's Bar

family.  Prior to that, the place has had only two different owners:  Wenzel and Stryker families.  The bar itself was a gift from Rahr brewery.  The main bar room was smaller than that of Trail’s End and filled with a dozen or more patrons.  It was Tuesday, the night for the pitcher contest.  The Stormin’ Stallions were there hoping to maintain their lead on the number of pitchers of beer consumed.  They sported their T-shirts with “no liver” checked off.  According to the poster of pitcher teams and scores, the Stallions could afford to coast for a couple of weeks.

Our chatty bartender was the fourth generation of the Wesenberg family—Scott Engel.  He proudly stated that his 86-year-old grandfather still opened the place at 6 AM and held court until 9 AM with the soda drinking and cribbage playing guys.

Marv, Don and Gary with bartender Scott Engel

The bar is the headquarters of the Otter Street Fishing Club and its side room is filled with photo albums of pictures of the Club’s activities since its founding in 1960 and photos, newspaper clippings and albums of the softball teams that have held a couple of city championships.

During prohibition the bar became a soda fountain, but behind a “secret” door was a speakeasy.  “Once,” Scott said, “the Feds came to raid the place, but they couldn’t find their way through the secret door.”

While I was wasting time talking with the Stormin’ Stallions, Judy and Elaine were scouting out the restrooms.  Since the building was built before indoor plumbing, the toilets were obviously an added extra.  Down a very short hall were two doors behind each of which was a toilet; the sink was in the hall.  The women’s room, very clean and sparse, would not accommodate a large person.  By far more interesting was the men’s room with its pictures of scantily clad pinups.  Don checked it twice after Marv pointed out the Paris Hilton and Brittany Spears photos.  Marv has an eye for art and thinks Jerry’s Men’s Room even more impressive than that at the Kohler Art Museum in Sheboygan, recently judged the most beautiful men’s room in America.  Perhaps we should have cut him off after the beer at Trail’s End.

Sturgeon reminds patrons this is the home of the Otter Street Fishing Club

In a deal with the Leinenkugel Company, Jerry’s Bar has earned the right to have its name on the label. We drank Jerry’s Leinenkugel Amber in those 10-ounce glasses and admired the ceiling.   Hanging above our heads there was an upside down decorated faux Christmas tree and two foot-long fishing lures each advertising beers.  Over the door hung a set of longhorn cattle horns with a brassiere hanging off one spike.

Horns with bra

No wall space was bare.  A large glass case held a 74”, 118 pound huge sturgeon, bigger than a ten-year-old kid.  It had been speared in 1997; its glass case replicated the lake environment.

Our first night of barhopping was coming to a close.  Gary drove us back to Judy and Don’s via the desolate Pioneer Inn.  Bouncing over the railroad tracks he told the story of how he and Elaine driving to a banquet at the Pioneer spotted a woman’s purse near said railroad tracks.  Thinking only of “that poor woman” without her purse, Gary got out of the car and picked it up intending to take it to the Pioneer and locate the owner.  As he was doing this Elaine heard some snickering from some kids in the bushes.  Too late, Gary realized the purse was filled with a dead skunk.  The stench did not wash off his hands and trousers, forcing him to attend the banquet clothed in a tablecloth.

Our first night of riding the Oshkosh beer trail was a lot of fun.  We jotted down the next night, August 27^th, so join us in a week for a stop at Witzke’s.

Suppertime at Bob’s Trail’s End

Less than a half mile away from Oblio’s, but miles away in ambience and décor, is Trail’s End located at 500 Merritt Street and Broad.  When we lived on Bowen Street we used to tell our kids, Brenda and Tom, that when they were 21 we would take them to Trail’s End for their first beer and a hot dog as theirs are labeled world famous.  Oops, we never did that.

Bob's Trail's End

Now, this was our destination for supper.  At a mere three for $4.75, Elaine and Gary (our designated driver for this evening) ordered three with chili—Elaine was particularly keen on the chili part.  Don, Judy, and Marv ordered the same, but I thought of my temperamental tummy and opted for the “works” minus the chili.  They were tasty, especially the chopped raw onions—about a half cup per bun.  Onion bits fell into my lap and on the floor and the aroma of onions pricked my eyes to tearing.  Later that evening at home I washed my hands twice in soap, but the smell lingered and I’m sure transferred itself into the yarn of the sock I’m knitting.

This is a much smaller place than Oblio’s.  The biker couple moved to the back room to shoot a game of pool, leaving at the bar just the six of us and one loner puffing on a cigarillo and nursing a tall drink that held Mountain Dew and something else.  The bartender, a young woman who knew nothing about the history of the place, told us we needed to ask the older woman tending bar.  That wasn’t going to happen as there was a problem with one of the taps—of course, the beer we wanted to drink—which sent her to messing around beneath the bar.  She didn’t sound happy.  Later she fixed another tap, tasted it and said, “Ugh! Seven-Up.”  Guess that’s not a favorite of hers.  We opted for Michelob amber.  This time the glasses were the 10-ounce variety that has been used in bars as far back as I can remember.

The back bar was interesting—cluttered with stuff ranging from bags of snack food and candy bars to a stuffed musky sporting a Trail’s End baseball cap in its mouth and another on its tail.  Judy snapped that.  More impressive was the oil painting of a white horse with a Muskie strapped to its side.  It was being led through a wilderness by a fisherman.  We remarked that the position of the horse’s hooves was wrong and the horse should have tipped over.  Or maybe the beer was having an effect.

Marv and Don monkeyed with the juke box and learned that two tunes were left over from a previous player.  Soon we heard Guy Mitchell booming out “I never felt more like singing the blues…”

Don and Marv Singing the Blues

We all joined in and Judy caught a snap of Don and Marv with arms linked belting out the song.  Even the loner at the bar sang—louder than us.  He didn’t seem to notice us, but kept on singing while hunched over his “something else.” The next tune, Patsy Cline’s “Crazy,” got us on our feet to slow dance.  Marv and I even dipped (sort of).  The uneven floor didn’t make dancing or dipping any easier.

A few more pictures and we hit the trail with Gary taking the reins (driver’s seat).

Gary, the Designated Driver

We still had unanswered questions about the age of the place and who made the first “world’s most famous hot dog.” They are very good.  Anybody out there know?