I’ve been really busy with last minute campaign stuff, so i’ve been a little lax on blog posts these last few days. But on this Sunday night, I’ve got a few minutes to talk a bit about where I’ll be on Tuesday.
For anyone who knows me, it’ll come as no surprise to learn I’ll be waiting out the election results at Thirty Buck, the tavern owned by two St. Ray’s guys, Eric Beltzhoover and Rick Thayer. The former “Spa” has been a favorite spot of mine since, oh about, 1966. I’m guessing that’s about when my dad took me there for the first time, propped me up on a bar stool, and let me order a tall glass of Pepsi.
Actually, though, The Spa was not my dad’s most frequent hangout. I probably spent about 10 percent of my childhood existence in Gruben’s, a tavern at the corner of Hickory and Lime streets in Joliet. It was owned by Dick Gruben, a man with a big smile and a bigger pot belly who treated me like one of his own kids while I was growing up.
He let me have the run of the place. I could serve myself from the cooler, make my own pizza in the stainless steel tavern oven, and change my own dollars for dimes and quarters for the bowling machine and pool table.
In Gruben’s, my dad taught me how to play pool. Former Joliet City Councilman Pete Pastore and a nice guy named Jack O’Brien taught me how to play pool for money. I got so good by the time I was 12, the men in the bar would bet on me playing against strangers who’d wander in the door from time to time. I also learned how to play euchre by standing over the shoulders of the men who used to play on the square table with the built-in chalkboard for scoring and the little shelves built inside the legs to keep the drinks safe and the tabletop dry.
Through all the years I hung out there on Saturdays with my dad, I met people from every walk of life in Joliet: from guys who drove city streetsweepers to judges like Big Jack Gnaninger. I loved going to the tavern, where I could be a kid, yet get the chance to listen in on the world of adults.
I used to fetch the patrons their smokes from the old pull-lever cigarette machine and restock the potato chips on the rack with the little clothespins. When the smoke would get a little too intense, I’d grab a Kayo (chocolate pop) and go sit ouside on the sidewalk, leaning on the wall. Every once in while, I’d wander across the street and visit the firemen at the old firehouse (now gone) on the corner. I’d help them wash the trucks and they’d let me sit up high in the driver’s seat. Ocassionally, they’d let me fire up the siren. When I became a teenager, I was invited into the Saturday morning golfing foursomes, playing every summer weekend at Woodruff for several years.
As I got into my mid and later teens, I started weaning myself off the tavern as my own social life started taking hold. But I’d still pop in there to sit with my dad and his buddies to watch a ballgame or shoot a game of pool. For all the years until my dad died in 1997, I’d occasionally walk in the door, go to his corner of the bar, pull up a stool and buy him a beer.
Gruben’s went through a couple of ownership changes through the years, but my dad stayed. And when he passed away, I took the $300 in change he left behind in his sock drawer, went down to the tavern and bought the house a round on Jerry. I’ve never been back.
Today, I take my son to Thirty Buck occasionally. It’s fun for him, but not quite the same as it was for me. In an age of Playstation and Xbox, he’s not nearly as fascinated with the availability of video golf as I was with the old sliding bowling machine. But he’s still there enough that most of the people know his name and the bartenders chat him up when he bellies up to the bar. I loved being a tavern kid in my youth. I liked knowing my dad had a place where a whole building full of people knew, liked and respected him. I’d like to think Thirty Buck is that kind of place for my kid.
So on Tuesday, that’s where I’ll be, enjoying some conversation and a few cool ones with some of my oldest friends and a few new ones I met along the path of this election. For months, a bunch of them have been calling me “Judge,” a pleasant pretense that will either continue or end with Tuesday. But it’s been great fun along the way. Thanks to all my friends–old and new–at the Buck.
To contact Tim, write timplacher@yahoo.com
For more information on Tim’s campaign, visit www.timforjudge.com
