Dive Bar Blues

Owning a bar was my dream. Running a bar was a nightmare. You don't know what people are capable of, until you have to deal with them drunk! Instant A*****e! Just add alcohol!

Dive Bar Blues

The Beginning

The American dream is to own your own business, Right. So when I returned to California after 10 years working overseas managing construction, I had a few bucks my Ex's lawyer couldn't touch, and headed for a business broker.

I had spent a lot of time in Bars, and that was the business that attracted me. He steered me to North Long Beach, a run down neighborhood that the city wanted to rehabilitate, so low cost remodeling money was available.

I had spent a lot of time recreating in Thailand , and learned to love Asian women. It was 1984 and Vietnamese women were flooding in with their Amerasian kids and needed work. It was a perfect match. I was a prodigious drinker, so it was logical that the bar business was for me. But I hadn't imagined what was in store. I had been off the streets for a long time, and had forgotten how bad a bar can get when people are stressed. “Instant A*****e, just add alcohol” the saying goes.

I connected with a Vietnamese bartender in a Japanese bar in Hawthorne, and she convinced me I should get the business.

The business broker showed me a place that I could afford, and the owner, a truck driver, couldn't manage the bar and be on the road for weeks, at the same time. So I used due caution and started hanging around at night to see how the business was. About a dozen regulars came and went. Looking at the books was useless, as most bar owners cheat on taxes, and only show minimal profit. But of course I could do better. He closed whenever he felt like.

My first few days went well, with my Girlfriend tending bar days and her friends working nights.  It was the American dream. My own Bar and Asian women! I came up the very hard way, after dropping out of high school, but by the grace of Douglas Aircraft, I learned a profession and worked my way through a degree.

During the day, the place looked like the old neighborhood bars I was used to. It was called TIMEOUT, and owned by a Texas Trucker named Earl. He was out of town and wanted to sell because he was away too much. The price was right, so I spent the next few nights as a customer. All seemed in order, so I made a low offer I didn't expect to be accepted; but it was!

 

So here I was, the proud owner of MY own business!

 

All went well the first week. Some of the customers tested my fortitude, but I was a tough street kid who knew how to stand up to a challenge!

 My girlfriend was small, cute, and the neighborhood was mixed, so I didn't think much of it!

 

Then the TRUCKERS came back to town, and all hell broke loose! The neighborhood is full of cheap motels, which attract drivers and their crews to layover, while their brokers book a new load. Truckers, in a way are like sailors returning to port. They had to limit their drinking while on the road, so being able to walk to their room gave them the freedom to cut loose. All the frustrations of dealing with bad drivers, drunks and punks come pouring out, so a fight is nothing unusual. I first learned that all truckers carry guns, when I threw out the first drunk. I threw a sucker hold on him(wrapping up his arms and bending him forward so he has no leg leverage). When I felt the gun on his side, a cold chill went down my spine! I was into some serious s**t! So when I got him outside, I apologized for taking him out, explained that a plain clothes cop was at the bar (a lie) and I didn't want him to get in trouble. I wanted him as a customer, and would buy him a beer next time he came in! A good bartender is a good psychologist also!

Things had quieted down when Sonny, the biker who owned the beer bar a block away came in with some friends screaming he was going to wreak the place. I didn't want trouble with him as he was a member of Mongols, some bad a*s bikers, I had to get along with.

“At least tell me why.” I pleaded.

“Earl beat the s**t out of my friend, and this is his bar. NO. I just bought it from him. He's on the road. I don't even know you or your friend. Have a beer, my name is Charlie.” He calmed down and asked, “When's he coming back? Next week I think. I'm not sure. Well tell him his a*s is mine.”

Just another night in Long Beach!

The next day Tony, a body builder and egotistical a*****e, was entertaining his latest girl friend, a local w***e named Lisa. He decided to show her how Macho he was by beating her at pool and drinking more than she. They racked up the table, played several games which Lisa let him win, but were taking a break, when my Mexican customers came in on lunch break from the factories across the street. They like to play pool. And seeing the table racked but no one playing, challenged the table by putting a quarter on the rail. This is tradition. They waited a while, and seeing no one play or accept the challenge, politely asked Tony if they could use the Table as they only had ½ hour for lunch.

 

Tony puffed up his chest and flexed his arms to impress the smaller Mexicans loudly proclaiming ,HE OWNED THE TABLE. They asked if they could refund his quarter, to which he replied “F**k Off.”

One of them went to the Men's room and on the way out flipped his hand and broke the rack.

 

Seeing an opportunity to impress Lisa, Tony walked over to their side of the bar, posed, and demanded “Which one of you little fuckers, broke the rack.” The leader of the group stood up and said “Me.” Tony demanded “Get your f*****g a*s over there and rack those balls.” The Mexicans just glared at him. Tony glanced over at Lisa and saw she was watching.

 

He grabbed for the culprit and 3 cue sticks smashed over his head from one of the guys who had slipped behind him. At that point the guy in front power punched him on the nose, and Tony began to bleed profusely. He fought back blindly, heading for the door, Lisa just sat and watched.

 

Out in the street, Tony swung wildly as the 6 Mexicans encircled him. No matter which way he turned, one or more of them would punch him in the head or ribs. He went down and all began kicking him. He just curled into a ball and covered his head.

 

Their lunch hour was over, so they warned Tony they would be back to kill him, and walked away.

 

My bartender had called me and I arrived to find broken beer bottle's, smashed Cue sticks and Tony's clothing littering the street. He was sitting on the ground and crying like a child. The police arrived, 10 minutes after it was all over, and tried to question Tony but he was hysterical with fear and could only scream that THEY were coming back to kill him! Here was this big pile of muscle, standing in the street in his designer Jock Strap, crying and hysterical.

The Police found his wallet and took down his name and address. He was incoherent, so they asked if he wanted emergency treatment, he managed to sob “NO” and only had superficial cuts and bruising visible.

They took a statement from my bartender who said she had never seen any of the Mexicans, (who were regulars), before. The Police smiled, knowing this was Street Justice after hearing what happened. Getting another call, they drove off.

Tony hailed a CAB, put on his torn shorts, and drove off with his torn ego. Never to be seen again!

Lisa walked down the road to the next bar and boy friend.

I went inside to have a drink and order some new cue sticks.

Author's Note

Please be brutal. I will be better for the beating!