Playing Bar

A bar in the basement where one could entertain seemed to be de rigueur in the homes of my Wisconsin relatives. Grandpa Anderson, Uncle Hunk, Uncle George, and on and on, each maintained the tradition that was then passed down to the next generation. Eventually, a bar became a part of the basement in my parents’ home as well.

The basement in our house was unfinished when we moved in. I was barely two years old, but by the time I was six, Dad had begun the transformation. His bar was finished off with bamboo as he aimed to make this hideaway evoke a South Pacific vibe. The countertop was made from bowling alley flooring and the edges were trimmed with oak half-dowels the size of banisters. Behind the bar Dad eventually set up all the components for his state-of-the-art stereo system. I remember being the envy of babysitters who marveled at the amp, turntable, and AM/FM radio that were all wired into the speakers that could blast my Help! album through the ceiling and rattle the floor above.

The bar was stocked with everything from Absinthe to Whiskey including Crème de menthe and my mother’s homemade Kahlua stored in emptied Galliano bottles. When Mom got a new refrigerator for upstairs, Dad hauled the old one downstairs to use for beer and soda.

As ten-year-olds, Evy and I would marvel at all the colored glass bottles, their various shapes and sizes, and the different shades of liquid held within. But what somehow captured our imaginations the most were the Johnnie Walker Red and Johnnie Walker Black labels. We would take turns playing bartender and patron, pretending to pour the contents into double Old-Fashioned glasses. Sometimes we’d get out a long plastic toothpick stir and stab a maraschino cherry or a couple of olives onto it to place in the glass. We’d lazily swirl our fictional drinks, sometimes sipping, sometimes belting them back. Sometimes the bartender player would have to cut the patron player off if it seemed like she was getting just a tad too silly. We always began our play the same way.

Patron: Hey Mac.
Bartender: Hey, how you doin’ today?
Patron: Had a rough day at work.
Bartender: Sorry to hear that, what can I get ya?
Patron: I’ll have a Johnnie Walker Red (or Black)

The inspiration for our dialogue came from the actual parties my parents hosted downstairs—Mom’s Bridge and Pinochle clubs where just about every woman had a cigarette pinched between her lipsticked lips, or Dad’s pool and cigar nights—and perhaps a few film noir movies as well. I think even the Bewitched character, Darren Stevens, who often consulted his local bartender, may have contributed to our notions.

It was great fun. Even now when Evy and I go to a real bar we’ll joke: “Let’s order up some Johnnie Walker Black.”

Copyright DJ Anderson, 2018