Visit Tin Lizzy today! An advertorial praising my hosts

I’ve begun leaving empty beer bottles and a nearly drained fifth of Wild Turkey strewn upon my office desk.

I do this to perpetuate the myth I spend all my writing time in the Tin Lizzy all gooned up.

And that’s why I’m so wildly successful!

But more and more, strangers are wandering up to the third floor and I wouldn’t want them to think the Tin is hosting some stick-up-his-butt sober writer.

I like meeting the wandering strangers.

Just the other day I looked up and a guy, maybe about 45, was standing over my desk.

“Is there a bar in this building?” he asked. Took me about 10 seconds to realize he was serious.

I told him he’d labored up three floors, past three bars and a 6-pack shoppe, to find the only floor that didn’t serve hootch.

I stood up and pointed straight down. “There’s a great bar called ‘Flappers’ one floor below our feet."

Then I walked him across to the cornhole room, pointed and said, “Two floors below this room is the ground-level Main Street bar. And down near the 6-pack shoppe is a flight of stairs that leads to the basement Rathskeller that’s been there for, oh, gee, about 260 years.”

Remarkably, I did all this without sounding even a bit sarcastic. I was explicit in my directions because I knew if I saw him wandering again I’d feel compelled to take him by the hand and lead him to some alcoholic quenching.

I guess I’m happy for the guy that the Tin isn’t a 15-story building.

My friend Scott Levin of the Tin Lizzy Bistro asked me to write the following 1,000-word advertorial that is running in Laurel View Living Magazine. I was happy to oblige.

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The Tin Lizzy

Where the only things destined to outlast the building are the good time memories.

Your first thought when stepping through the varnished doors at the historic Tin Lizzy will probably be, “Man, this place must be really, really old.” The last thought when you depart many happy hours later will likely be, “Man, this place is really, really cool!”

And you’ll be right both times.

Experts have determined the building’s foundational elements date to clear back to the ‘50s.

The 1750’s, that is.

The vestiges of that epoch are evident in the buildings timbering, its fireplaces and and a lively aura known to attract everyone from ghostbusters to connoisseurs of charm and ambiance.  And the only thing more enchanting than the Tin Lizzy’s past is its glorious future. A new team of executive chefs have become the perfect fit for a beloved building that manages to be both historic and hip.

Together with long-time owner Buck Pawlosky, the Tin Lizzy is welcoming guests who enjoy convivial atmosphere, great food and lively companionship in a town already renown for launching larger-than-life legends.

This is Youngstown, Pennsylvania, pop. 400. Turn right out of the Tin Lizzy and you’ll end up on Fred Rogers Way; turn left and you’ll be on Arnold Palmer Drive. Yes, that’s Mister Fred Rogers and Arnold Palmer, both born and raised just down Main Street from the Tin.

“I like to think we offer something unique,” says Pawlosky. “We have three distinct taverns that give you the option of dining in seven different rooms and a seasonal balcony. I have people that live on the option-rich South Side who drive all the way from Pittsburgh to spend a night here. They say it’s just like the South Side, but at the Tin Lizzy all the fun’s under one roof.

“People come here in the summer to golf at Latrobe Country Club, enjoy the Westmoreland County Airshow or Steeler training camp at St. Vincent College. We have always enjoyed great word-of-mouth business and I’m sure that’ll only increase with Scott and his crew here.”

The enthusiasm is mutual.

“We’re thrilled to be here as part of the Tin Lizzy and all it means to the community,” says owner/chef Scott Levin. “This is a special place and we’re looking forward to bringing the kind of quality and affordable dining that’ll keep people coming back again and again.”

His commitment shows in that the Tin Lizzy Bistro is the second eatery he’s opened in Youngstown in just two years.

In 2015, he’d been eager to apply all he’d learned and experienced working for 20 years at the popular Bella Luna restaurant in Murrysville. He found opportunity in Youngstown in the building just up the street from the Tin Lizzy at the site of what for years was the landmark Mekic’s Market.

He opened the Youngstown Grille & Market and has been doing gangbuster business there ever since. But when the Tin Lizzy restaurant became available, Scott sensed opportunity. “People just fall in love with this building. It just felt like the perfect place to run a restaurant. It felt like home.”

The homeyness is evident in the Main Street ground floor bar where locals have long gathered beginning at 7 a.m. when the doors open Monday through Saturday. It’s the kind of place where in the summer someone’s always leaving a basket full of surplus garden vegetables and in the winter they’re right there ready with jumper cables for when you’re in a frozen fix.

Most of the patrons are locals. Sometimes they’re famous and come from as far as Hollywood. One of the regulars is famous and comes from less than a mile away.

In 2014, actors Steve Carell, Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo were in the Laurel Highlands filming the award-winning “Foxcatcher” about homicidal billionaire John du Pont. They stayed at the Marriott SpringHill Suites just up the road and asked the front desk where they could get a good meal.

“Go to the Tin Lizzy,” they were told. “You’ll love it.”

So three Tinseltown A-listers were for at least one-week Tin regulars.

One true local who’s even more famous is even more regular.

Arnold Palmer and his family have been dining at the Tin Lizzy for years. In fact, Palmer is a second generation regular. In his 2000 autobiography, “A Golfer’s Life,” Palmer writes about the his father’s enduring affinity for the landmark hotel when it was Amer’s.

“He loved drinking ‘shots and beers’ with his buddies at the firehall or at Amer’s Hotel in Youngstown.”

It’s even rumored some of the regulars come from farther away than even Hollywood.

They come from the great beyond.

“Lots of people believe it’s haunted,” Pawlosky says. “I’ve never seen any evidence of anything spooky. But about once a year we get some group of paranormal detectives who ask for permission to investigate the place. I’m happy to let them have their fun. They take out a bunch of fancy equipment and start hunting for spirits, but sooner or later they wind up just ordering some food and a bunch of drinks.”

It’s what any sensible ghostbuster would do.

Besides the Main Street bar, there’s the wonderful Rathskellar, a true step back in time. This is where the bones of the old Tin Lizzy rattle loudest. Low timber rafters and bedrock fireplaces give warm ambiance, and the actual bar is about 50-feet of one-piece solid timber, all gnarly and varnished. Pawlosky tells about the day he and a squad of friends took out a window and spent the day painstakingly maneuvering the bar top into place.

The “new” part of the building — everything above the basement — dates back to the 1890s. The floors and hallways are wonderfully creaky, like an old carnival fun house. 

The second floor bar (and adjacent balcony) is the wonderful Flappers, a 1920’s themed bar so elegantly appointed local advertisers use it to film commercials. It’s a martini bar tucked so discretely back into the building that wandering into it feels like discovering a secret speakeasy.

“In all my life,” Scott says, “I’ve never seen a building that’s a more perfect fit for the kind of fun dining my staff and I deliver daily at the Tin Lizzy.”

So go for the food. Go for the fun. 

There may not be any ghosts in the Tin Lizzy, but it’s the kind of place anyone given to living will love to haunt.

Related …

My new office!

Blog tourists coming to Youngstown

I’m lovin’ cornhole! Who wants to join me?

My history of drinking at/near work

Someone stole Buck’s book from the Tin Lizzy!

I am America’s drinking buddy

Someone stole Buck's book at Tin Lizzy

(795 words)

I figured at $16.95 my book was a real steal. I just never figured anyone would ever really steal it.

But that’s apparently what’s happened.

I guess that means my little morality play is backfiring.

See, Buck paid $20 for the book last week but we pretended he paid $50.

Buck owns the Tin Lizzy, which in a small town way is like saying Walt Disney owned Disney World.

People say the Tin Lizzy like it’s just one place. In fact, it’s six very distinct places under one roof.

There’s the Main Street bar where I spend most of my non-office time. It’s where Buck and the regulars cluster.

Then there’s the Rathskeller, a perfectly cool basement bar with foundation, fireplace and timbers that date back to 1780.

The second floor is Flappers, a 1920’s-themed martini bar. It’s very posh and intimate. When guests come to visit, I make sure we have at least two or three cocktails in there. In the summer, the adjoining balcony is very popular.

Also distinct are the Jaffre’s Italian Restaurant dining rooms on the main and second floors. They serve great food to the entire building.

So it’s quite a complex.

And up above it all overlooking the town’s only street light and just across the hall Westmoreland County’s only indoor cornhole court (link below) is my shabby little office.

It’s all perfectly cool. And just last week I confirmed Arnold Palmer was either born here or spent his first months here.

How cool is that?

I confess I’ve been reluctant to write about moving from my old place to the penthouse suite at the Tin Lizzy for fear it would be like a twice-married husband comparing his wives.

And, please don’t allow the wobbly analogy to cloud your perceptions of my marriage, but I must convey what an essential part of my daily existence a good bar is.

It’s been a very happy transition for me. I really enjoying being a part of this vibe.

And Buck’s always stopping by the office to insult me.

He tells me my hair’s a mess, or that I’ve worn the same flannel shirt three times in the past week, both of which are patently true so maybe he’s more observant than rude.

But after he hurts my feelings he always invites me downstairs for a drink, which always improves my mood. I always stay for three or four, so he’s a very shrewd businessman.

He likes to joke, too. That’s how he wound up pretending to pay $50 for a book someone eventually stole.

I underestimated interest in reading this satiric kind of book.

Heck, I underestimate interest in reading any kind of book.

But people are so far really liking “The Last Baby Boomer.” One guy bought nine copies and orders of three or four are becoming common. I never dreamed it would become a gift book.

Best so far? A Bridgeville woman recommended the book to her reading group and they bought 15. They invited me to come speak to them, which I happily agreed to do.

So I’m emboldened about the book’s prospects and am trying to conceive ways to gin up a lot of interest, in this case by using a man interested in drinking lots of gin.

When Buck said he wanted to buy the book, I said sure, but let’s conduct the transaction in the bar when it’s crowded.

“And let’s pretend you’re paying $50.”

He agreed, he said, as long as there was no way in hell he’d have to actually pay $50.

Deal.

And, boy, did we lay it on thick. We made the simple transaction seem like we were historic participants concluding the Louisiana Purchase negotiations.

It became in those few moments something more grand than a mere book. It was like literary Viagra or the cure for something itchy.

Alas, our little skit may have been too convincing because somebody stole Buck’s book.

“Yeah, I had it out upstairs and would stop and read a few pages, but I went by there about an hour ago and it was gone. I’d only read 10 pages.

Damn. I told him page 11 is when it really starts getting good!

I asked if he wouldn’t mind calling the police or the FBI to report the theft.

He declined.

I asked if we could do the whole thing over, again pretending a $20 was a $50.

He declined that, too.

He figures it’ll eventually turn up. He’s probably correct.

I fear he’ll soon report he found the book being used to prop up one of the restaurant’s dining room tables.

It’s a likely scenario.

Alas, the only thing more wobbly than the floors in this dear old building are my daffy bar analogies.

Related . . .

My new Tin Lizzy office

Jaffre’s opens today at Tin Lizzy!

Is the Tin Lizzy haunted?

My history of drinking at/near work

I’m loving cornhole! Who wants to join me?

My book is $20

What happened Sunday when I gave a strange woman a ride

(983 words)

No. 95: “If you see them on some desolate highway, they’re hitchhikers and could be dangerous. But if you see them standing at your local bus stop in the pouring rain, they’re just soggy neighbors. Go ahead—stop the car and give them a ride.”

As far as colorful living tips go, I consider this one a solid and workman-like suggestion. It’s easy to do and is guaranteed to add color to your life.

It’s right there on page 31 of “Use All The Crayons!” Neither funny nor boring, it’s just one of 501 that will add a welcome dash of color to your life without requiring you to don a cape or do something outlandish.

You’ll be doing a good deed. You’ll be making a new friend. You’re adding another chit to your karma kitty.

I include the caveat about being wary because today that’s essential. Although we’ve yet to descend into the zombie apocalypse, it’s best to be careful.

 And I can attest to the thrust of the tip. I’ve never stopped to help a stranger who wasn’t as colorful as an Atomic Tangerine.

Happened again Sunday morning.

Sunday morning is a time of worship or rest for most of you.

Not for me.

It’s always the most hectic part of my entire week. That’s because Val plays the organ for services at our Lutheran church at 8 and 10:30 a.m. And she does so with much joyful gusto. She’s wonderful.

But the logistics of her duties means it falls to me to wake, dress and feed the girls and cajole them into being ready for Sunday school at 9:15. Josie, 13, is self-sufficient and of immense cheerful help, but it’s still a weekly struggle for me and disruptive the at-home serenity I so seek.

So my church attendance has become pathetic.

I think God understands because He made me this lazy and must know I’m the kind of man who whines about things like pouring Sunday cereal for two precious girls when other parents endure many more challenging hardships.

And I try and balance the books by doing little good deeds whenever the opportunity arises.

That’s why my antenna was up after I’d dropped the kids off at church and was heading to my office to retrieve the newspaper and saw the woman trudging through snow.

I glanced at my car thermometer. It read 17 degrees. Outside it was blowing snow.

And there trudging down the highway in the opposite direction was this woman who looked about 50. She was a good mile between any homes and any logical Sunday morning destinations.

I thought, you know, if she’s still there on my way back, I’m going to give her a lift.

And, lo and behold, there she was.

I pulled up beside her in the drifting snow and rolled down the window. 

“Need a ride? I don’t know how far you’re going, but I’m heading as far as the grocery store a couple miles up. I hate to see anyone out in this weather.”

She got in without a word.

Up close she looked older than 50. I do not wish to disparage her appearance, but I’ll say this: I decided right then and there if she was going to out of gratitude offer me a parking lot quickie for my kindness I’d politely decline.

I told her my name and asked where she was going.

“Up to that new Mexican restaurant. I’m Sarah.”

She was very abrupt and appeared determined. It dawned on me I’d probably picked up a crazy woman. Not that I was upset. Crazy is a brilliant color all its own.

But it was 9:30 on a Sunday morning. The Mexican restaurant, El Padron, had opened four days previously. Val and I had lunch there and were very pleased.

We were happy there are now two Mexican restaurants in town bound to engage in a healthy competition -- and, yes, I am talking about the Taco Bell as the only other Mexican restaurant.

I asked her if she was scheduled to meet someone there.

“No. But I cook Mexican food and I’m going to be their new chef.”

I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but the restaurant’s demographics seemed to be working against her. The staff we saw during our lunch were exclusively young males of apparent Mexican descent.

I asked if she’d ever been a chef previously.

“No, but I just saw this show on the Food Network. They were making tacos.”

I was pretty sure the restaurant would be closed, but it wasn’t far out of my way. I took her the whole way.

Sure, enough, it was a ghost town. No cars outside. Lights off. Not a soul in there.

Sorry, I said, looks like you’re out of luck. Even though I had to get back to retrieve the kids, I asked if I could drop her off someplace else.

“No. I’ll wait. Thanks.”

I drove off admiring her tenacity and sensing the owners of the new Mexican restaurant were about to enjoy a colorful encounter of their very own.

But I think maybe I made a mistake. I should have taken her with me to church. She would have enjoyed hearing Val play and we have a wonderful pastor who might have had some spiritual advice for this frozen wanderer.

Still, the optimist in me hopes I’m wrong.

I hope the next time Val and I return to El Padron we’re surprised to see my new friend is the chef, a vibrant flash of culinary authority whipping her young Mexican charges into shape.

Maybe she’ll out of gratitude offer me a bowl of free guacamole for my taco.

And me being more excited about the prospect of a bowl of free guacamole than a parking lot quickie only makes the whole story that much more colorful.

Related . . .

My good deed and karmic consequences

Sins of the Sabbath