One of my favorite things to do in the Tin Lizzy is pretend I own the Tin Lizzy.
I pretend I’m Buck Pawloski, the 74-year-old actual owner.
This isn’t as challenging as it sounds. I have since July 2015 rented an office in the historic tavern. The landmark building dates back to the 1750’s and has three distinct lively bars, one in the basement and ones on the first and second floors. A great kitchen serves all three.
Atop the whole shebang is my third floor office. I’m up here all by myself. Just me and the ghosts.
It’s, as I like to say, “Four floors, a million stories.”
Even though it’s possible for me to go days without seeing anyone but Buck, I mostly dress like I’m a prosperous businessman, like a man who since 1980 has owned a thriving and profitable business.
That’s what Buck is. But for some reason Buck every day chooses to dress like a man who is expecting at any minute to be asked to spring off his bar stool and help gut a deer.
I have an office in the building. Buck does not.
So the perceptions of our appearances make pretending I’m Buck to be a cinch.
I do it about once a month or so when I hear the stairs creak and sense Buck is about to talk building business with some unwitting salesperson or prospective waitress.
I storm into the room and seethe at the real Buck (insert obvious profanity), “Are you pretending you’re me again? I told you I’d fire your butt if I caught you pulling this stunt again. Now, get your mop bucket and go scrub that toilet in the ladies room. Move!”
I then cooly turn my full attention to the visitor, adopt a warm professional demeanor and say, “Hi, I’m Buck. What can I do for you?”
The total bewilderment of the stranger is a joy to behold, and is in stark contrast to the face of Buck, which looks consumed with thoughts of dismembering me.
It’s a good thing — for me, at least — he’s never acted on the homicidal impulse. It could jeopardize his four-decade plus “Employee of the Month” streak, one notable for him being both selector and recipient, which must be some sort of record for either employee performance or crass nepotism.
There have been fears recently the streak would end for reasons — not of long overdue fairness — but for harsh mortality.
Doctors told Buck he was unlikely to make it beyond this past May.
His liver was in catastrophic failure from, as he bluntly says, the “occupational hazard” of for 40 years running a popular bar. A Vietnam combat vet, he declined pursuing transplant options saying there were worthier recipients.
Now, that’s employee of the month behavior.
If having a mortal departure date shook him, he never betrayed it. He was never sour or morose, bitter or maudlin.
Buck dying was — hallelujah — the same as Buck living.
He laughed, he joked, he told stories. He razzed Jessie, Sandy and Jimmy — the three longest serving bartenders, ones whose terms are measured in decades, evidence of organizational loyalty relatable mostly in Steeler head coaches and the Rooney family.
And he kept showing up. Every day. I can’t decide who’s more monumental, him or the 270-year-old building.
He kept showing up even as rumors swirled — fact-based rumors — that Buck was dead man walking. This, of course, fueled rampant rumors that the Tin was for sale. It was not uncommon for customers to tell better informed employees that it was already sold. The deal was done, they swore.
This would produce unwelcome upheaval among those of us who revel in feeling at home in such a quirky and delightful place.
Through it all Buck appeared robust, enough so that I began telling people he made the whole thing up because he craves attention.
That’s not true. Men like Buck don’t crave attention. They deserve it.
Either way, it’s attention he’s bound to get because of what he told me and others after last week’s checkup.
“They can’t explain it, but they said my numbers are perfect,” he said. “They were so surprised by what they saw they ordered a second blood test. It confirmed the first. They said I could live forever.”
They lied. He won’t. No one does.
But it’s welcome news to those of us who disdain change in things that seem so fleetingly perfect.
And our friend is indispensable to the situation.
Consider yourself fortunate if you live in a place with even a few indispensable people like Buck.
Easy to mimic, impossible to replace.
Note: Because this included personal info, the subject was given the opportunity to read this in advance, make changes or deny its posting. He made one minor change regarding the source of his affliction. It is my hope we can now go back to speculating on the really important Tin Lizzy questions. Questions like “Where does Rodell hide all the loot he makes from bloggin’?”
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