An Ode To A Bartender: Farewell

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

I lost a friend a few weeks ago. The strange thing is, I don’t even know if he considered me his friend. I didn’t have his phone number, we barely ever spoke while the sun was out, and his wife hates me. He was a bartender-a damn good one-and he impacted my life. It brought me joy to speak with him, and I will remember him fondly.

I knocked on the bar door past 4am en route home many a night hoping he would let me in for after-hours, and many a night he did just that. A friendly face always makes the walk home easier. It’s dumb, and I know being trusted by a bartender enough to be allowed to drink from 4am to 6am isn’t cause for a parade, but it was nice, it was warm. He gave off that warmth to everyone that knew him, I believe.

2020 Strikes Again

Oddly enough, he is not the only friend of mine to pass away abruptly from a heart attack in the past couple of months. These two vibrant souls deserved much longer and, whilst living in the Bronx, most assuredly frustrating ends to their lives. 2020 has smacked a great many of us in the face with a reminder of our own mortality. I find myself distraught at their passing. This is partially because I only associate these two with good times. We rarely wasted a minute at the bar focusing on anything but positivity. I wish it was that easy with everyone.

There are some things when you’re younger that you can’t learn elsewhere. I can safely say my friend taught me a few things while bartending. No one is confusing the East Bronx bar scene with Oxford, but you learn quickly how to act and when to keep your mouth shut. Most of all, you learn respect. You learn respect for others and for the establishment. If you don’t, the figurehead of the establishment-the bartender-will toss you the fuck out.

Goodnight, My Friend

So ends this weird remembrance before it becomes another diatribe against 2020 and what it has taken from me and all those that knew my friend. It feels good to put it into words because, at first, I felt guilty for how upset I was at his passing. I remember the inescapable solemness I felt when I saw his picture with the wake information below. Should I be this sad when I didn’t really know him and there were others that were so close to him? Well, fuck that false guilt. I think it speaks volumes about the man he was that a borderline stranger would miss him this much. He was a kind, decent man. Rest easy, Joe, let someone else turn the lights off.