My Favorite Bartender

I must admit that bartenders occupy a special place in my heart. Before jumping to the conclusion that I have spent my life as a wastrel and barfly, allow me to expound upon this declaration.

I never knew either of my grandfathers. However, my maternal grandmother had five brothers. These great-uncles had a strong influence on my formative years. I always called them "uncle" and will refer to them that way for the remainder of this musing.

One, Uncle Dan had moved to Connecticut before I was born, and I only met him a few times.  Two were Roman Catholic priests. Uncle Joe was the pastor of the parish in which I grew up. He helped me learn the Latin needed to be an altar boy and instructed me on public speaking. He wanted me to be a priest. Uncle John was a brown Franciscan. He introduced me to philosophy and literature. He thought I should be an academic. Uncle Bill was the ultimate salesman. He stressed having a firm handshake, looking people in the eye, and treating everyone with respect. He wanted me to be a lawyer.

Uncle Jim was a bartender for almost 50 years, most of those tending bar at the corner of 15th and Market Streets in Philadelphia. On that site today is the 45-foot steel clothespin for which Philadelphia is famous. That bar, due to it's proximity to City Hall, catered to judges, lawyers and politicians. Uncle Jim knew them all, and others whose dealings with City Hall were more nefarious. Wanted a parking ticket fixed, had a zoning issue with the city, had to place a bet on a sporting event or needed tickets to said event? Uncle Jim knew a guy who knew a guy.

I never felt he was trying to teach me anything. We'd talk, laugh and I could just be me. Back then, I wasn't sure who "me" was, but I now realize that the "me" I am owes much to him. It was Uncle Jim to whom I was closest. So much so that I took, James, for my Confirmation name and asked him to be my sponsor. He died two weeks before my Confirmation. It's hard to believe I was 11 years old when he passed.


He'd tell me, "Billy, my brother (I knew he meant Uncle Joe) tells me that I should mend my ways and walk the straighter path. All I do is introduce friends to other friends and try to help them out while serving drinks. There's nothing wrong in that. I never take any money, but it does help my tips. Besides, that straighter path is very boring." His ruddy Irish visage beaming, he'd wink as he put his index finger to the side of his nose. That was his signal to show what was said was our secret; I wasn't to tell my parents. Years later when I saw The Sting, tears came to my eyes when the con-artists in the movie used "our secret gesture."

Even though I was very young when he died, I cherish Uncle Jim's anecdotes. Most would not be seen as appropriate for a child. That made them all the more special. He didn't treat me like a kid, or a student, but as a person.  Because of him, I hold bartenders in high esteem. I see him as the ersatz patron saint of bartenders. 

Using Plato's Theory of Forms, James Aloysius McIntyre was the ideal of the bartender whom the shadows in reality strive to mimic. As ever - BB

"Will there be any bartender up there in Heaven; will the pubs never close? - Richard Thompson