Showing posts with label Youngstown Pa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Youngstown Pa. Show all posts

Friday, March 17, 2017

My dollar on the wall forever at Flappers


Maybe the one bar honor that’s eluded me over the years was secured last month when Josh Starrett took over management of Flappers, the beguiling 1920’s speakeasy-style saloon on the second floor of the historic Tin Lizzy.

I was the first customer. 

Really, as bar feat’s go, it wasn’t like the time in ’87 at The Junction in Athens, Ohio, where George and I remained upright on our barstools for 15 straight hours, or in ’92 when I guzzled four yards of ale at Mario’s on Pittsburgh’s South Side.

There’ve been many, most of them now long forgotten.

That’s the thing about amazing drinking feats; they’re usually forgotten as a direct result of amazing drinking feats.

Being the first customer is another matter entirely. It’s just a matter of good timing. 

Josh is a well-liked area musician and is eager to turn Flappers into the thriving nightspot it deserves to be.

He has my full support.

He’s a great bartender because he’s both interesting and interested. He tells good stories and is eager to hear yours.

So on his first day I stopped in to wish him well, sip a double Wild Turkey and just shoot the shit.

Josh surprised me by sliding one of my dollars back and handing me an uncapped Sharpie.

“You’re my first customer,” he said. “I’d like you to sign your dollar so I can put it on the wall behind the bar.”

I was flattered.

“May this be the first of millions!” is what I wrote and I hope it comes true.

It’s been up there for about nearly a month now. I like to visit it.

I always look at it and point it to out to other drinkers, a fact that won’t be truly cool until it’s been up there for another 30 or 40 years.

It’d be helpful, of course, to business — both mine and Josh’s — if something would happen to make me overnight famous.

Then I could show people the dollar and say, “And here’s the dollar from back when all I had was a dollar.”


I wonder if Josh had any idea how risky it is to put up a dollar from a man who has historically had so few of them.

Like what’ll happen if I’m short on cash some night and need that dollar back?

Is it mine or is it Josh’s?

It still feels like it’s mine and it does have my name on it.

I’d suggest we could connive to have it settled by one of the TV judges. We could both wear bar T-shirts. It would be good publicity.

But I’d come off looking awfully cheap and cheapness is something I detest.

What’s odd is I’ve for years been known for leaving my very last dollar in bars and now in at least one cool place I’ll long be known for leaving the very first.

It’s a minuscule investment, one that’ll earn no interest, but is bound to be forever interesting.

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!



Related …




Friday, November 25, 2016

Upcoming book signings including Tin Lizzy Friday!


A quiz: Which of the three book signings over the next seven days will most likely result in me needing a designated driver?

a: City Books, tomorrow, 1 to 2 p.m., 908 Galveston Ave., North Side, Pittsburgh, for Small Business Saturday.

b: Barnes & Noble, Altoona, Thursday, December 1, 5 to 8 p.m.

c: Tin Lizzy, Friday, December 2, 5 to ?

Okay, it’s a trick question.

I should have a designated driver for all three.

“Ran into a chum with a bottle of rum and we wound up drinking all night.”

That’s a line Jimmy Buffett wrote in 1976 when I was in the 7th grade. It describes,  perhaps coincidentally, something that’s happened to me on a near weekly basis since, oh, the 8th grade.

So all three book signings might lead to prudent designated driver involvement.

Of course, the Friday one’s the likeliest.

It will be Friday at the Tin Lizzy, the building that houses my office and, again perhaps coincidentally, three full-service taverns.

Sounds like a recipe for boozin’ to me!

So how did this happen?

Well, there’s lots of flattering local interest in my books. Word-of-mouth is really strong. Near daily someone is getting in touch about gift purchases.

The great thing is selling books in person is to many a social occasion.

Some friends from New Kensington ordered eight books. I thought we’d have to mail them but, wait, the husband would be in Greensburg Tuesday morning getting a fancy undercoat at TST Inc. Could I meet him at 11 a.m.? 

Certainly. I figured it would be a quick howdy and catch up and I’d be home by lunch.

Wrong. He brought cigars!

So right there in the parking lot we had a good long smoke. It was wonderful.

Had either of us thought to bring a cooler we’d have both missed dinner.

You just can’t enjoy that kind of one-on-one experience with a typical PayPal transaction.

That was one of the points I tried to make with Buck, the Tin Lizzy owner and my office landlord here since July 2015.

Ours is a complicated relationship. He’s supportive of my books while being bitterly disparaging about things like my haircut and my custom of wearing the same old flannel shirt four or five days in a row.

I admire a man who sees no irony in dressing daily like a guy who’s about to gut a deer lecturing me about fashion.

But we both enjoy philosophy and believe sobriety can be an unnecessarily cruel impediment to free thinking. 

Truly, I could spend all day drinking and BSing with a man like Buck, which makes me the perfect tenant for a bar owner who profits from mindsets like mine.

Still, I admit to a certain nervousness when I broached the notion of having a book signing at his bar. I wanted convincing arguments.

I told him lots of people are looking for special gifts and that signed books by a local author would be perfect. I said enthusiastic social media would help spread the word. I said how many people would use the occasion to buy books and enjoy dinner and drinks right here at the historic Tin Lizzy.

The only reason I didn’t resort to fancy pie charts was I didn’t have time to drive to the fancy pie shoppe in Laughlintown.

When I finished my presentation, I asked Buck what he thought.

“I don’t give a ‘darn’ what you do,” he said.

I’m paraphrasing his exact words because I wouldn’t want him to get in trouble with the LCB when it learns one of its licensees uses potty talk.

So I hope you’ll stop by in City Books Saturday, Altoona on Thursday, and right here at the Tin Lizzy on Friday. I’ll be stationed in Flappers on the second floor from 5 to about 9.

Buck said it was okay, too, to have a post-signing party up here on the exclusive third floor. We can make a night of it.

Oh, and about an hour after he gave the green light to my idea, I had one more question for Buck: Had he given any thought to what he’d wear Friday for my book signing?

He told me, yes, but I’m convinced it’d be impossible to artfully paraphrase the storm of profanity that greeted my question.

Let’s just say he’ll be wearing clothes.


Related …


Monday, August 29, 2016

The giant Trump who ate Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood


Seventy days before election day and Donald Trump is already bringing jobs to western Pennsylvania!

They hired a security dude to make sure nobody vandalizes the 20-foot likeness of him at what is known as the Trump House right here in Youngstown, Pa. 

It’s a wee bit late. Somebody last week drilled a BB about a foot from the smiling Trump crotch, what I imagine was the intended bullseye.

The unassuming two-story house became Trump House in April when property owner Leslie Rossi, who might be a more avid Trump supporter than even Melania, had the structure painted to resemble the American flag.

I liked it. Who wouldn’t? 

I mean besides Colin Kaepernick.

But the giant Trump is controversial, as is Leslie, with whom I am casual Facebook friends.

She is, of course, beloved by Trump supporters here and from coast-to-coast. She and her creation have been featured by CNN and in The Washington Post and the Los Angeles Times, among numerous other media. And the house is a full-fledged tourist attraction with people from all over stopping to meet Leslie and pose for pictures.

Her father-in-law founded Westmoreland Mechanical Testing & Research right here in town. They’re an international colossus hailed for their superior results in testing cutting edge technology used in the aerospace, automotive, nuclear and medical industries. They’re a big deal.

And the family is renown for their generosity. There’s a reason the still-new $9 million Greater Latrobe High School athletic complex is named Rossi Field.

But Leslie’s effective because in addition to a lot of money, she also has a lot of moxie. She gets things done.

I’m now reminded of that about three or four times each and every day when I drive by the Trump House.

Friends of mine who have a hunch as to my political leanings — go ahead, take a wild guess — ask if I find daily seeing the giant Trump repellent.

Not at all, I say. In fact, I much prefer it to the naked Trump statue the subversives have been inflicting on unsuspecting cities.

But more and more I find myself wishing if we had to have an outsider reality TV host run for president, why couldn’t it have been Jeff Probst?

Or maybe the late Fred Rogers.

It’s a supreme irony that Trump has taken over Youngstown, the tiny village that gave the world both Rogers and Arnold Palmer, two men renown for decency, tolerance and a soulful warmth so bubbly they seem carbonated.

It’s interesting, too, that one of the few yards in town that doesn’t have big Trump signs out front is the one that belongs to the only man in town who actually knows Trump personally.

That’d be Palmer. Trump’s been to Youngstown several times to golf and express his admiration for Palmer. But if Palmer, a long-time GOP stalwart who in the ’60s was urged to run for the office Trump now seeks, is supporting Trump he’s keeping it to himself.

I’m nostalgic for the days when I didn’t know your politics and you didn’t know mine.

Seems quaint, doesn’t it?

For the record: I’ve for years told anyone who wonders that Ken Starr and the Clinton impeachment trial turned me from a moderate into a knee-jerk liberal whose knee jerks most liberally whenever it’s in the vicinity of a conservative’s crotch.

But the rise of Trump has convinced me I’m not a liberal after all.

In fact, I now claim membership in a group that likely would rather not associate with one as uncouth as I.

I am an elitist.

I believe in manners, education, history, tolerance and having chummy foreign allies in good times and bad. I believe in diversity, diplomacy, optimism, compassion and extending the benefit of the doubt to those with whom I disagree. I believe in civility and that a real man’s hair should be composed entirely of real hair.

And because I believe most Americans believe like I do, I believe we’re about to witness an historic landslide in 70 days.

I will say this in Trump’s favor as someone who sees so for himself up close at least once a day: Trump’s hands are truly huge, the size of cafeteria toasters.

I only wish his humanity were as big as his hands.



Related …