Brooklyn–Where a Tree with Sparkly Lights Grows

The Brooklyn Grill on South Main was our supper spot on the first Tuesday in November.  This was high class dining compared to our previous supper spots.  Mind you that doesn’t mean our suppers were tastier than Bob’s Trails End hot dogs or Leroy’s beef sandwich or Parnell’s broasted chicken.  That’s not the case, but just a slightly classier place.  I mean check out the wait staff

Gangsterettes: Wait Staff at Brooklyn

We took the only table big enough for the six of us and ordered beer.  Elaine and Don each had a Blue Moon which arrived with an orange slice hooked to the rim of the glass.  Marv and I had tap Guinness—the dark brew.  Marv told Elaine, “I don’t care if this is the dairy state, I’m tired of Spotted Cow.”  Judy had a Spotted Cow and Gary had a glass of water.

Brooklyn is the very old name for this part of Oshkosh.  Perhaps the original name?  But I’ve also heard that this part of the city was once called Athens.  Hmmm, if that’s true maybe someone will open a gyro’s place with Ionic columns and a frieze of ancient shepherds and nymphs in the restored south side.

But the Brooklyn Grill’s décor celebrates not an early Oshkosh, but the Brooklyn borough of New York City that has the famous bridge.  If you sit at the bar in the Brooklyn Grill, you’ll be staring at a black and white wall mural of the bridge, the Hudson  River and the NYC skyline.  Pretty impressive—but not Tiffany glass.

Brooklyn Bridge mural

The Grill also celebrates two other Brooklyn and New York icons.  A tree, decorated with sparkly lights, in the outdoor patio reminds us of Betty Smith’s novel of a young gal coming-of-age in early 20^th century Brooklyn:  A Tree Grows in Brooklyn—truly a fine read.  And the gangster era of the 1920s.  “Bullet holes” scar the door to the Grill, the place mats give thumbprint biographies and photos of gangsters, and the vested, Fedora-hatted wait staff are dressed a la gangster garb.

This site has been a tavern/grill for only 30 years.  It really doesn’t qualify as an old Oshkosh bar, but we went there primarily for the food.  Since none of the employees that night knew the history of the place, we were left to our own memories.  I recall a Gartman plumbing and heating establishment in this block.  I’d bet, but not very much, that it was on this very site.  Marv recalls a young entrepreneur, named Ron Detjen who invested heavily in this block and brought about its revival.  But who made this building into a bar and came up with the name Brooklyn?  I don’t know.  Before its current owner and gangster décor, it was just an ordinary bar.  I came here a few times with other Lourdes faculty for a beer after school.  That’s when I learned (from a guy!) that the men’s urinal had a “tinkle toy”—a bright plastic object that spun if the guy’s aim was good.

Elaine and I ordered the Cadillac Grill—a Portobello mushroom sandwich.  Marv and Gary had the Al Capone Chicago style hot dog, Judy had either the Bonnie or the Clyde burger and Don had a chicken sandwich.  (There are four chicken sandwiches on the menu all with gangster names, but I didn’t catch the name of Don’s.)  The sandwiches were very large and very good.  We knew enough to order their home made potato chips.  Truly a tasty meal.

Along with the comments on the tastiness of our sandwiches we talked about Congressman Petri.  With tongue in cheek, Marv calls him “Mr. Excitement.”  “He’s a Harvard grad,” Elaine said.  (Does that have anything to do with excitement?)  We’ve all sent him letters—mine usually to ask him to vote a certain way on a particular bill.  Elaine and Gary have called him to thank him for particular votes.  We do like the fact that on occasion he can ignore his party’s orders and think for himself and for his constituents.

While I taught at Lourdes, Congressman Petri was a guest speaker in Tom Baum’s U.S. Government classes.  Kids were told to come to class with three questions.  The day after his appearance, they complained that in the whole 90 minutes Petri only answered three questions, proving that Members of Congress talk more than college professors.

We tired of Petrie talk and touched briefly on former state representative Greg Underheim.  Elaine says “a UWO education faculty member called him ‘Mr. Underwhleming.’”  Then I asked if any of them were going to a fund raiser for the Grand Opera House and sample all the different brands of pizza.  This event fell on the same weekend as the UWO women’s WIAC (Wisconsin Intercollegiate Athletic Conference) volleyball tournament and we were now onto sports.  The volleyball team’s record is 32-1 going into the tournament.  Marvin and I had gone to a game a week or so ago and enjoyed it.  Of course they won.  I hadn’t seen any volleyball action live since high school so I’d never learned terms like “leather lunch,” or “facial.”  Elaine, a former coach of volleyball, basketball and track at Ripon College, knew them all.  (Update:  UWO’s team won third place in the NCAA Division III National Championship Tournament.)

Hawaii came up again as Elaine described this banyan forest.  Plaques on the trees told who had planted them:  FDR, Babe Ruth, Cecil B. DeMille and Leo Carrillo (“Oh, Cisco”).  Then to the World Series.  “I can’t root against Sabathia,” someone said.

Our bills arrived and I handed Marv our OCAM card to get a 10% discount.  Marv had launched into how, long ago, Sam Giancana, the Chicago mob (now called The Outfit) Boss, had offered him a job. Marv had a summer job delivering Coca Cola to Chicago suburban bars and restaurants when he met Sam outside one of his gang hangouts (now called Al Capone’s Hideaway) somewhere near Elgin.  “Well, when you get out of college, look me up.  I’ll have a job for you,” Sam said.  Marv never took him up on the offer. Deep down he just had a feeling he’d make a better teacher than an enforcer.

The Tree in Brooklyn's Patio

When we were done yawning, we piled into the van with Gary driving us to the T&O Lanes for our final stop of the night.

Evil Roy Slade’s: Home of Tiffany and TV

Happy New Year!  We are back!  Here we are at the mid-point of winter.  This is meteorological winter that runs from December 1 through February 28—not that winter determined by solstice and equinox.  And, as I said in our penultimate post we would begin putting up our two November beer trail excursions.   So here’s the first stop—Evil Roy Slade’s– written way back in the first week of November.

It’s November!  We’ve gotta get going before the snow birds fly south for the winter and take that white van to Florida.  Gary and Elaine returned from Hawaii arriving at Outagamie County airport at 9:30 AM on Monday.  That same Monday Don was part of a foursome golfing the Irish Course adjacent to Whistling Straits (CCLA: Course Close by the Lake Already).  I think I was folding the laundry and watching the Food channel (or was it the other way around?).

The end of daylight savings time has robbed us of our daylight as we set out for Evil Roy Slade’s on south 7^th Avenue in the midst of the south side redevelopment area.

Slade’s, named after the role John Astin played in the 1972 TV movie with the same title, looks from the outside a little like saloons found in the long ago West.  Its sign sports a buzzard lookin’ mean and hungry. As I took a

There's a buzzard looking at you

picture of it I thought the buzzard must figure into the comedy Western movie, which I have never seen.

“That is one long bar,” we said marveling.  “Must be longer than Leroy’s or Witzke’s what with the bends and “roundabouts” at the far end.  Elaine paced it off; 60 feet she thought.  “Sixty-six” corrected the bartender making it the longest by far.  No sooner had we dragged six stools to a table and ordered our Spotted Cows than Arlene came over.

“You’re the group that visits old bars.”  It was both a question and a statement.  We pleaded guilty and gave her our card.  She had seen us taking pictures and noted that we didn’t look young enough to be carded.  Arlene, who works for the Oshkosh Visitors and Convention Bureau, was a font of news.  I scribbled trying to keep up with all she said.  Here’s what I

Tiffany window. Marble pillars covered with notes

learned:  The Murphys opened Slade’s at this location on New Year’s Day, 1980.  Before that the place was The National.  It has the oldest back bar in the city,” she said pointing out the two Tiffany stained glass panels and the Tiffany light fixtures above the bar.  When I got home that night to check my email, there was one from Arlene containing an old Northwestern article describing that lovely back bar that was built in 1910.

She also said that some EAA person had linked our Acee Deucee post via Twitter to all EAA’ers, so they would know people really do go to Acee Deucee when EAA is not in town too.  How lucky we were to meet Arlene!  Friendly and gracious.  And thanks, Arlene, for mentioning us on Facebook.

Evil Roy Slade’s has 20 TVs—19 were on and tuned to an ESPN channel.  I asked where the 120” TV was.  (I had read on their web site that they had one that size.)  Gone, was the answer I got.  New technologies had made it obsolete.

Arlene told us before the Murphys bought the place that it had a dance floor in the back where a pool table now sits.  “Gary and I danced here,” said Elaine suddenly remembering a party they’d attended here before the Murphy era.  Indeed as I tell people about Slade’s I hear many comments about dancing.  “We danced the polka there,” says one couple.  “Sure we went to the National often to dance,” says another.

Arlene called Murphy “The mayor of 7^th Avenue” and said he owns most of the parking lots in this area that seems to have three times the number of parking spaces needed for the area’s businesses.

Arlene, Don (before cologne) and Elaine

Slade’s has the original facade of many old taverns—Boon Town architecture.  A hundred years ago the place was a sample house:  grocery in front that sold liquor and food stuffs you couldn’t raise in your back yard, then a tavern behind that and the home for the owners behind that and a dance hall on the second floor.  She named a half dozen or so other Oshkosh taverns with the same architecture and noted that Nigl’s was once like that until its second story was removed.

While we were taking this in, Don had wandered to the men’s room.  As he sauntered back to the table looking smug like the cat that ate the canary, I caught an overwhelming odor of cheap cologne.  Indeed he seemed to be engulfed in a cloud of it and the silly grin told us he’d been messing around with some vending machine.

“What’s that smell?” we asked pulling back as he sat in our midst.

“Ya like that?  I call it En…. Wait” and he took off back to the men’s room.  “Encounter,” he finished a few seconds later.  “There’s a machine in there.  You put in a quarter, select the scent and it pours in your hand and you rub it on.  This one said ‘if you like Polo, you will like Encounter’”

We called Judy over, “He always smells that good,” she said giving him a hug.

Arlene joined her friends at the bar and we munched on popcorn flavored with Lawry’s seasoned salt and drank our beers.  The conversation turned to Hawaii:  watching lava floes, snorkeling every other morning—these were highlights.  And there were sober low lights too:  the clutter of big box stores and the homeless.  “It was like you were in Door County,” said Elaine commenting on the clutter of gift shops and the shoppers.  Their seven hour flight convinced them the Mexican “Riviera” was closer and just as lovely.

Slade’s is a sports bar—its sign says so.  So do the 20 TVS and the Packer, Brewer and UW Madison T-shirts and other sporting gear.  Slade’s also sells

Oops! Packer T-shirt obscures Tiffany window

T-shirts and sweatshirts with the tavern’s logo on them.  In addition to the scent machine, the men’s room also has a condom machine advertising “French ticklers.”  Marvin was outraged by this and thought, that like fries, they should be called freedom ticklers.

Slade’s like Nigl’s is carpeted.  But it was so dark in there that I can only say the carpeting looks black or brown.  Other than those dim Tiffany lamps, the only other light came from the 19 TV screens, video games, the Touch Tuner juke box that played Country and Western tunes exclusively and the back lighting behind those lovely Tiffany windows.

Back in the cold and dark, we got in the white van for the short ride to Brooklyn.

Holiday Tour, As Promised

Down to four, the indefatigable quartet set out on a Holiday Beer Trail Ride.  We had spent many minutes discussing what taverns we had visited could be expected to have the best in Holiday décor, music and drinks.  In the days before our December 15^th ride, we had cruised past our former stops glancing in windows looking for signs of Christmas trees, lights, wreaths, etc.  Didn’t see much.  But we recalled the Halloween decorations in the bars and figured that they would have been replaced by Christmas decorations by now.

We settled on Oblio’s as stop one—surely it would be gussied up for Christmas and New Year’s Eve.  And Witzke’s for supper because we had a copy of their menu and the sandwiches looked great.  And the third stop….  Well, we decided to make up our minds on that while we were eating supper.

Gary and Elaine picked up Marv and me and we headed into the city by one of Gary’s labyrinthine routes that took us on Graceland (No, we didn’t see Elvis) and we oohed and ahhed at the outdoor Christmas lights on homes.  Arriving downtown, we parked in the new lot behind Oblio’s, avoided the snow-filled storm water retention basin, and entered Oblio’s via the back door.  I saw the cheery fireplace and snapped a picture of that.  Four gals were having drinks back there warmed by the fire.

"The fire is so delightful"

At the bar Todd had poured a couple of samples of Holiday beer.  One produced by Sierra Nevada and the other by Sprecher of Milwaukee.  I went with the dark Sprecher Winter Brew as did Marv.  Elaine, who had never heard of Holiday beer, chose the lighter Sierra Nevada which I thought was “too hoppy.”  I mentioned having heard of pumpkin beer.  “I’ll take my pumpkin in a pie,” Elaine declared.

“Silent Night” played on the juke box.  It was a far cry from Franz Xaver Gruber’s original melody which was played on a violin in a German church some centuries ago.  The juke box was loaded with Christmas hits, Tom & Jerry’s were available to the afternoon patrons and the Holiday beers were on tap night and day, but nary a Christmas decoration in sight.

We asked Todd about the lack of decorations.  “They’re in the basement,” he said grinning.  With only 10 days left before Christmas, he and his business partner had decided to forego the decorations “unless someone complains.”  The only decorations we saw were the animated Santa Claus across the street in Kitz and Pfeil’s hardware store window and the city’s snowflake decorations on lamp posts.

Todd bent our ears on the Tavern League.  Even though Oblio’s owners belong, they don’t have the fears of some older members who think

Our Gracious Host

events like the Waterfest concerts take away from tavern business.  Quite the opposite is true Todd believes.  And he doesn’t like the League’s negative attitude toward folks who bring crock pots of food to taverns on Green Bay Packer game days.

Gary and Elaine asked about the Shamrock Bar west of the city.  Was it still open?  Had its name changed?  Seems it had a reputation those many decades ago of serving underage drinkers.  Todd recalled hanging out at the nearby quarries with some college buddies in the summer for swimming and fun.  One day, he said, he stopped in the Shamrock only to have the cigar-smoking, ten-year-old bartender (presumably the owner’s son) ask, “What’ll you have?”  We’re going to see if the Shamrock still exists.

Somehow we got to talking about careless drivers.  Gary told of the time a Swedish couple, who had known Judy (not our Judy) when she was an exchange student there, had come to the states for a visit and Judy and husband Norrie took them camping out West.  In the wilds of Wyoming, the Swedish woman convinced Norrie to let her drive.  It was nerve wracking since she drove 60 mph past a crowd of folks going to a rodeo.  One guy dove into the bed of his pick up to avoid being picked off by Lady Swede.  Without even bothering to check the rear view mirror, she asked, “Did he make it?”  Norrie drove from then on.

In addition to the women in the back room, a few guys had cozied up to the bar, including John whom we see at the UW Oshkosh Titan basketball games.  We handed out our card to the other guys (John already had one).  One of them wanted to join us even though he lives in Neenah.  “Form your own group,” we suggested.  Then Todd invited us behind the bar for this picture.

Gary, Elaine, Frankie and Marv at Oblio's

Far too soon we realized our glasses were empty and the time had slipped by.  Elaine and Marvin were hungry.  We left via the back door, skirted that under construction storm water retention basin and got aboard Gary’s Ford.

By another circuitous route—this time through the near south side—we reached Witzke’s on south Oregon Street.  I was sure there would be Christmas lights on the moose heads.  Alas, no.  No holiday beer either, but there was Moose Drool from Big Sky Brewery.  Despite that disgusting name, we ordered it—Gary, our designated driver, chose water.

Jennifer was tending bar and Brian, who we’d dealt with on our trail stop at Witzke’s in August, was also there.  His shift had just ended.  Bless them, they remembered us!

We sat at the table almost under one moose head and adjacent to the juke box which was loaded with Christmas hits.  We had our choice of such favorites as:

Lady Gaga’s “Christmas Tree”

Brenda Lee’s “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”

Elmo and Patsy’s “Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer”

The Chipmunks

Weezer (Who’s that?)

I’d bet “All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth,” “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” and “Rudolph, the Red-Nose Reindeer” were also there, but we didn’t take the time to find out.  Remember that tired joke from years back about the Rudolph song?  The joke was only funny while Russia was the USSR and the Communist party (the Reds) ruled.  The joke was about a weatherman at a TV station in Moscow.  I only remember the punch line:  “Rudolph, the Red, knows rain, dear.”  I know, I know, it’s lame, but the puns are clever, I think.  (Marvin disagrees.)

We studied the tri-fold menu and then went with the evening’s specials.  Elaine and Gary chose the Reubens and Marv and I chose the Italian

The Reuben with Fries

grilled cheese.  Wonderful choices!  Brian served them up on colorful striped plates—real ceramic, not paper or plastic.  Oh man, that grilled cheese chased down with Moose Drool was tasty.

I sauntered up to the bar to search for Holiday decorations and caught sight of these blue paper cutouts the size and shape of tree ornaments.  “Are these your Christmas decorations?” I asked Jennifer.

“Guess so.  It’s all we have.”  I reckon they had something to do with the raffle of a rifle.  It hung above the paper “ornaments” with a sign listing the raffle’s prizes.  Nothing says Christmas like a gun.

"Ornament Decorations" beneath the Rifle

We talked Titan basketball and Marv and I moaned about the lousy performance of the men’s team (except for DJ Marsh, my favorite player) in the River Falls game.  Only two River Falls players hail from Wisconsin; the rest come from Minnesota.  I know about the reciprocity deal—Wisconsin kids going to Minnesota state schools pay Minnesota

Frankie and Jennifer

in-state tuition and Minnesota kids going to UW schools pay Wisconsin in-state tuition.  “It’s a better deal for Minnesota kids,” Gary asserted.  “Our tuition is lower.”  See the things you can learn while sipping a Moose Drool with friends.

Also at Witzke’s we discussed our third stop.  Where, in all the 15 places we had visited would we find decorations?  We knew about the upside down Christmas tree at Jerry’s Tap (see our blog post “Jerry’s Bar:  Home of the Otter Street Fishing Club”).  We ran over the other places we had been to and discarded them one by one.  We’d like to know from you, our readers, where we should have gone.

Marvin solved our dilemma by suggesting the Roxy.  He and I had been there recently for fish fries with Gene, Gretchen and Jim, so we knew the place was lavishly decorated for the Holidays.  We had admired the lights, snowflakes and greenery while having a bourbon Manhattan at the bar.  Clearly no one in Oshkosh makes a better Manhattan, probably because the Roxy uses Old Crow, Marvin’s favorite cheap bourdon.

The Roxy is a supper club, not a tavern, but we needed to see Christmas décor.  We snagged a spot in their lot off Division Street and entered through the back door.

Elaine and Gary Entering the Roxy

Forget Manhattans, we were on the beer trail, so we asked what Holiday beer they served.  “None.”  O.K.  Marv and I had Spotted Cow and Elaine had a Fat Squirrel.

The guys rounded up four bar stools at the west end of Roxy’s oval bar.  Elaine and I threaded our way through the Tuesday night crowd to the Ladies.  Spotless and neat, but there wasn’t any T.P. in the stall I chose.  Elaine loaned me some “squares” and I recalled the Seinfeld episode in which the Elaine character begs a square off of Jerry’s girl friend in the next stall only to be turned down.  But she gets her revenge by show’s end when the girl friend finds herself in the T. P. less stall.

The Roxy’s decorations are festive and pervasive.  They begin at the back entrance to the parking lot where two flower pots of greenery and poinsettias flank the entrance.  Silvery ornaments hang from the ceiling in the hallway to the bar.  Here’s Elaine and Gary making their entrance.  Then the barroom itself is a winter wonderland of greenery garlands, twinkling lights and glittery snowflakes.  Even the bartender Mark wore a festive Christmas tie.

Check the Christmas Tie

The place was crowded even though it was past seven.  “German night,” Marv explained to Gary and Elaine, and he went on to describe his favorite Schnitzel Elderhasse (?)—the one with two fried eggs on top.  We also described our son’s favorite:  the wurst plate.  We hoped to impress Gary and Elaine, but I think the large number of people still ordering German fare after seven o’clock did that better than we could.

The two large screen TVs at either end of the barroom were tuned to sports channels.  Though the sound was off, the picture of Tiger Woods got us speculating on how much money he’ll have to shell out.  Oh, the wages of sin.

From that we moved on to Facebook, and Elaine asked me to “be her friend,” so I could see the pictures of the tug Ohio. Its chief engineer is her nephew.  The tug, after steaming to Milwaukee from Cleveland, had picked up two huge engines in Milwaukee and took them to Sturgeon Bay.  Gary and Elaine drove to Sturgeon Bay to watch the unloading, get a tour of the 106 year old tug and have lunch with their nephew.  She described the crew’s quarters, the view from the deck and the pilot house.

Our conversation then switched to baking; Elaine made spritz cookies saying she used Crisco and butter to get the best results.  I use only butter in mine carefully following the recipe in the brochure that came with my Mirro Cookie Press that dates back to the 60s.    I guess either works well.  But that talk reminded me that I had seen packages of lard for sale at Pick and Save.  “Can you believe anyone buys that?” I asked.

“Indeed, stay away from that.”  Marv said some people eat it with a spoon.

Christmas Decorations in the Roxy's Barroom

Then Gary told another joke:  Did you hear the one about the turtle who got robbed by two snails?  When questioned the turtle said he couldn’t remember much about it because it all happened so fast.  And that’s the way our Holiday tour went too:  too fast.  We left crunching our way across the snow-packed parking lot and, again, by a round-about way got to our place in Westhaven.  Since then I have become Elaine’s Facebook friend and looked at the pictures of the tug and the nephew.

I’m still thinking of those Holiday beers.  There was a time when Oshkosh’s local breweries—People’s, Chief Oshkosh and Rahr’s—brewed Holiday beers.  An examination of the labels on these old bottles doesn’t indicate what the alcohol content was or what was added to make them “Holiday” beers.  But a native Oshkoshian has assured me that these Holiday beers had a higher alcohol content.  However, he couldn’t remember if they tasted any different.

Holiday Beer Bottles from Oshkosh Breweries

Here’s our Holiday Greeting to you:

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year

Don, Judy, Elaine, Gary, Frankie & Marv

We’ll be back in mid-January!

The B and E–Couldn’t Be Friendlier

It was quiet on Oregon Street; darkness was descending as Gary slipped the van into the last empty hitching post on the east side of Oregon between 10^th and 11^th Avenues.  We climbed the concrete steps and entered the lively B & E Lounge at 1022 Oregon.  Earlier this evening we had been to the Back Again Stadium Bar and learned about the monthly thousand dollar drawing.  We were told that it would be at the B & E in a little while and we should delay our arrival there until seven or so if we wanted to

The B & E--Slightly Tilted

avoid the crowd.  The thousand dollar drawing had been wrapped up here just an hour or so before and, I guess, the losers had left and the winner (more later) was still here as were a bunch of other players who could take their loss with equanimity or else were downing their sorrow in a glass of suds.

In early October I had heard of the B & E Lounge from a member of its dart team.  She stood in line with me at the seasonal closing of the South Main Street Dairy Queen.  “You’ll love the place,” she had said.  “Barb and Eddie are just great folks.”  But she doubted either would still be there as late as 7 PM.

Not to worry—Barb and Eddie were there.  While four of us grabbed the only table up front and pulled six bar stools up to it, the guys placed our order at the bar.  Barb and Eddie were there talking to small group of friends.  I dug my camera out of my purse and joined them.   “Can I take your picture?”  “Sure.”  I have two pics, but this is the best:

Eddie and Barb

Barb and Eddie were ready to go home but we delayed them with some bar talk.  Before they bought this place, they’d run Walleye’s on 6^th for eight years.  I asked how old this building was.  “Really old,” said Eddie, “The building’s leaning to the south.”  To check that out, see the picture at the top of this page.

Barb proudly said her dad opens the B & E every morning.  “He loves it.  Likes to keep busy.”  She nodded her head when I said that Scott Engle’s grandpa opens Jerry’s every morning too.

Of course we gave Barb and Eddie our card and explained the trail ride.  We asked if they’d recommend Walleye’s as one of our stops.  “Sure,” said Eddie, but Barb wasn’t so convincing feeling it’s “not as neat and clean as when we were there.”

And now—drum roll, please—the winner of the thousand dollar drawing.  Well, here she is: the bartender.

Wow! This is one happy chick!

The dart team must be outstanding judging by all the plaques on the wall.  Another wall held 12 plaques for winning Midstate Amusement video games.  The whole place was decorated for Halloween especially the back bar with its spooky black monster and fake cobwebs.

Like Jerry’s Tap, the bathrooms were small and the sink was in the hallway.  We caught sight of Don following the men’s room instructions to wash your hands after using the facilities.  Could this building also pre-date indoor plumbing?  Like other places too there was a pool table and a row of video gaming machines.  One of the friendlier patrons (he’d tried to pass himself off as Barb and Eddie’s son), won 20 bucks at the video poker game while we were there.

Most of our hour there we “three Graces” sat at the table and drank our beers.  Think I had a Schlitz, or maybe it was a Spotted Cow or maybe a Leinie’s.  It was 16 ounce, I remember that.

We talked about travels.  Elaine outlined the itinerary for their upcoming Hawaii trip.  I said that I hoped they were going to see volcanoes.  I think that would be neat.  Ever since I saw some Debra Padget movie about offering a virgin to the god of volcanoes, I’ve had this thing about them.  Gary assured me that volcano visiting was in their plans.  Don and Judy have been to Hawaii too.  Judy talked about the mule ride they took on Molokai.  “I had mule ass for three weeks after that,” she said.  We all twitched a bit on the bar stools just thinking that over.

No music played in the B & E.  There was the noise of conversation from the bar, the pings and rings of the video games, and then a really, really

Judy and Elaine put the finger on the belcher

loud belch.  Like a fog horn.  We laughed like fifth graders over a fart joke.  “Who did that?”

I thought it was this single guy at the bar bent over his beer.  Not so.  According to Elaine and Judy it was this petite gal at the bar with two of her pals.  All three gals were drinking beer and puffing on cigs.  “No,” I said, “she’s too small.”  But I was wrong as another broke through her lips.  Impressive!  Those plosives reminded me of my grandfather who covered his belches with “Bow-Wow,” sounding like the meanest junk yard dog.

We wound up our stay suggesting places for the next trail ride in early November.  We made a long list, but came to no decisions on three places for the November ride.  So it will be a surprise.

We’re falling into winter and the Holiday season.  As the snow deepens and the cold settles, our trail rides will cease until spring.  But the blog will continue.  We visited six places in November and we’ll be posting them in January and February.  So do click on the blog in those months to read about our trail stops at Evil Roy Slade’s, Brooklyn Grill, T & O Lanes, Repp’s, Andy’s Pub & Grub, and Peabody’s Ale House.

We’ll post a Holiday special in December sometime before Christmas.  Elaine, Gary, Marv and I will be checking out the Holiday decorations, drinks and music at some of our favorite previously visited watering holes.

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.