“Hop” The Barroom Brawl

A confrontation in a local bar pits a bully against a local legend.

“Hop” The Barroom Brawl

My father Hop was a relatively quiet and peaceful man.

He never looked for trouble, but when it found him he took it head on. He never flinched.

I never once saw him afraid of anything, be it man or beast.

As I have mentioned my father possessed incredible physical strength.

In addition, he was a hardened and experienced fighter.

As a young boy his aspirations were to one day fight in the Golden Gloves competition, but his family financial obligations precluded that possibility. He had to work to help contribute to the family.

Still he trained hard in his free time and over the years his reputation as a street pugilist grew.

My father, Hop, was a brawler in the fullest sense of the word.

He possessed a true killer’s instinct.

He fought with every ounce of energy and strength he could marshal.

No fight was every over until he said it was over.

To those who did not know him well it appeared that he fought with anger and viciousness.

However, what was mistaken for out of control maliciousness was instead his innate belief that everything he did had to be done to the best of his ability and doggedly pursued to its conclusion.

My father never did anything halfway in his life. He finished everything.

It is with these thoughts in mind that I relate the following story.

The story has been told and re-told over many years.

On each occasion the storyteller described the scene with remarkable detail and enthusiasm.

As confirmed by many who were actually witness to the event it happened as follows:

On the very rare occasion my father had a day off from work and wasn’t spending it with his family, he would go to the local bar and spend some time talking and joking with his friends.

On one of these days he had been sitting there for several hours and had consumed too many beers with too little food.

He was feeling “no pain” as the expression goes.

It was sometime during that afternoon that a local off duty police office came into the bar to have a few drinks.

This particular cop was widely disliked in the neighborhood because of the way he treated the local citizens.

He was brutal, dishonest, and frequently abused his authority.

With a head full of blazing red hair, standing at six feet six inches and weighing 275 pounds he used his physical size to intimidate people.

He was just mean and enjoyed inflicting pain on others whenever his Irish temper was aroused.

He took a seat at the far end of the bar and after a couple hours at the watering hole his temper soured more with each drink.

He sat brooding.

Although he was still sober he became very surly and boisterous.

He was aching to cause trouble and spoiling for a fight.

Having grown up in an era when police were often corrupt my father had no great love for the constabulary.

Still, he kept his distance and minded his own business that day and continued to enjoy his free time with his friends.

Unfortunately, that was all to change.

It was not long before the cop decided to sling insults and disparaging remarks in my father’s direction.

“Hey Hop, I hear you think you are a real tough guy.

People say you are the toughest guy in the neighborhood.

Is that true you little GINNY WOP?

Know what I think? I think that is a load of crap. I am the toughest man in this neighborhood.”

It was apparent he was attempting to provoke my father into a fight.

My father refused to bite because he knew that starting a fight with a corrupt cop meant going to jail. The cop would say it was he who initiated the conflict.

Jail time also meant missing work and losing pay.

If he did not get paid he would then have to face the wrath of my mother. She was much scarier to him than this loudmouth.

He knew he couldn’t make the first move without getting into trouble so he tried to avoid any confrontation.

As time went by and my father refused to rise to the bait of the continual gibes, the cop’s taunts grew louder and more abusive.

“What’s the matter Hop are you scared? Are you afraid I will kick you sorry a*s all over this bar?”

Do you think you are man enough to take me on or are you a coward?

Maybe you should be drinking something more fitting for a coward instead of that beer?

Men drink beer.

Hey bartender give my friend a Shirley Temple, two cherries.”

With that he roared with laughter.

My father worked hard to keep his anger in check and as much as he wanted to he did not respond.

Besides the prospects of incarceration and my mother’s wrath he did not do so for other reasons as well.

One of which was the fact that he knew that having finished off several beers his skills would not be at their best.

His reactions would be slower and his timing and coordination would be off for sure.

So he sat and continued to talk with his friends.

Finally, when it appeared that he would not be successful in bullying my father into a fight the cop stood up and started to leave.

Of course, he didn’t bother to pay his tab.

It was on his way out the door though that he struck.

Without warning he threw a vicious sucker punch to the back of the head that knocked my father off his stool and onto the floor.

The cop laughed and figured the fight was over.

He was wrong. My father pulled himself to his feet.

The cop threw a second and even harder punch.

It hit my father straight in the jaw and he hit the floor for a second time.

Surely, that would finish it the cop thought.

It did not. Again, my father rose to his feet.

The cop struck again and again and down went my father over and over.

This is where the story takes on an almost folk law type aspect.

As the fight continued others started to notice a change in my father’s demeanor.

My father would later explain that somehow each time he was knocked down he became soberer with each punch he suffered.

At one point he was ready to fight back.

As others told the story; “All of a sudden Hop seemed filled with a new energy.

You could see the fire in his eyes.

When he finally sobered up enough to fight, he was like a man possessed.

He threw himself into the fray.

What he did to that cop was not pretty.

He took him apart.”

The beating my father was giving this man was such a thorough thrashing that the cop panicked.

He believed his only option for survival was to flee as quickly as possible.

With people crowded around the front door watching the fight he turned and ran to the back of the bar and into the nearest bathroom; the women’s restroom, and locked himself inside.

With my father banging at the door for him to come out and “finish this thing” the cop, in true fear for his life called out in terror to the bar patrons to help him.

“Somebody get this madman off me. He is going to kill me.”

Not surprisingly no one came to his aid.

It took awhile, but eventually my father calmed down and gained control of himself.

Soon after, as the story goes, once everything got quiet, the cop, “made a bee line for the front door at breakneck speed and he never looked back.”

He was totally humiliated, and he knew it.

His “bad a*s” guy reputation had been totally destroyed that afternoon and he knew if he used his position as a cop to retaliate against my father he would not be able to show his face in the neighborhood again.

On the other hand, although this brawl destroyed the “tough man persona of this cop, it enhanced my father’s reputation. His legend grew as a result.

On a personal note, I find it interesting that my father never told me about this incident directly.

It was only after his friends related the story to be that he even acknowledged it.

He did so with a small smile on his face and with a stern warning.

“I don’t like cops or anyone else when they act like bullies.

That doesn’t mean though that you should look for an excuse to fight with them.

You only do that if you have no choice.

If that happens, then stand your ground and don’t ever quit until you have given as good as you got.”

Good advice dad.