Ray Flynn's Golden Dollar Bar and a memory of Tommy

I often find my self seriously considering that I was born in the wrong era. The eighties and all of their self indulgent behavior, the nineties and all their grit and the two thousands and all of there alarming societal self destruction just don’t seem to fit in with my views on the way life should be led.

The thirties and all of it pre war speak easies, the forties and the beginning of the cocktail revolution and the Rat Pack era, hard drinking but classy days are where I belonged.

This was a time in the world when people like Humphrey Bogart exuded class and Lauren Bacall dripped with sexuality. Dean, Frank and Sammy tore up the charts (and a few nightclubs) with there cynicism, good looks, voices and whit. These my friends were the Golden Era of the Bar Industry. Martinis had taken over the world and Manhattans were closing in fast.

These were the Golden years of Ray Flynn’s Golden Dollar Bar.

Anyone who is privy to my previous blogs is aware what special and deep rooted memories I have of Tommy Flynn and his bar. Tommy Flynn was a gracious man with a big heart. His smile and personality were the essence of what the Hospitality Industry was built on. Tommy oozed class and charm. He was the nest Bartender I have known and the nicest man I have ever met.

One vivid memory I have from my youth of Tommy Flynn occurred in March of 1992. My Grandfather had passed away a year before and my family made their yearly pilgrimage to Ray Flynn’s. I missed my Grandfather, He and Tommy had a long standing friendship which went back to their youth.

I remember climbing a bar stool, which at the time seemed like an insurmountable tower. I was ordering a pop when Tommy came around the bar and smiled at me. I smiled back. I remember his crooked smile and his powder white hair.

I summed up all my enthusiasm and said “Hi Flynn!”

Tommy erupted with a fit of laughter as did half the people standing around. “Hi kid.” Tommy said with a smile. I remember looking at his big smile.

“You knew my Grandfather.” I said with the wide eyed innocence of a five year old child going on six. I remember feeling remorse; this was my first Parade without Popsi.

Tommy just smiled. “Yeah kid, I did, that’s right. He was one of the best men I ever met.” I remember getting my soda after that and going to open birthday presents. I remember seeing Tommy every year after that.

And then I remember the sorrow in Tommy Flynn’s sad eyes when he announced to the bar that he would be closing for good. It was 1999, I was 13 and it was the last time I ever saw Tommy Flynn.
I would be lying if I told you I made an overt effort to contact Tommy. I had many times considered it. But I never thought he would remember me, much less care to tell me stories about my Grandfather. Then I received a post on my blog. It was from Tommy’s daughter. She told me how much my memory of her father meant to her. My memory, that amused me. I described her father’s bar as a palace of peeling possibly toxic lead paint.

But then I stopped to consider her feelings of the place. To her, just like me, that broke down bar meant the world. She had glorified it as I had. It was truly a palace to us. The memories of family and friends and the time spent in that bar are what truly glorified it the most for everyone.

Then something stranger happened. Tommy’s daughter sent me an e-mail. Her father had passed away. Tommy Flynn was eighty years old. He had finally given his last toast. It was now time for him to walk around and take a seat on the stool, time for Tommy to finally rest. If there is a Gin Mill in the great beyond, I bet you it looks a lot like Ray Flynn’s Golden Dollar Bar.

The world could learn a lot from the charisma and charm of Tommy Flynn. We have truly lost a class act. Buffalo has truly lost a legend.

Cheers Tommy, this drink is for you.

Mac The Bartender

The Parade...

So I survived another year. We all did. The insanity I would face was clear as soon as my car rolled onto Delaware Avenue. Hordes of drunken idiots with backpacks full of beer. Had it not been for missing my family I would have probably thanked having to work. I should probably apologize to my boss at my real job. He didn't deserve to have to deal with all the whining I did on Sunday before I went to work downtown. But I digress.

Trying to park was insane as always. I only had to park four blocks away this year... A personal best. My walk down to the bar was calm and serene. The noise of Irish music and those big green horns street vendors sell filled the air. Head down; I walked through the streets taking my time and watching people as they partied. They were juiced and prime real estate for a lucky slob like me waiting to take their cash hand over fist. I wanted to have to bring a dump truck in to haul my loot away.

I walked up to the Club and stared in amazement. The line was six or seven people wide and streaming down the street to get in. I had an uneasy feeling the first few hours were not going to be fun. I pushed my way through the mass of people, hundreds of them all here to see Jackdaw and drink their faces off. Works for me... I duck under the lifting section of the bar and jumped to work. The bar was so busy, we weren’t even ringing if we didn’t have to. Know the change? NO SALE the drawer and give them their change. We'll do an open liquor charge for whatever is extra in the drawer later.

About fifteen laps in and I realize the bar is slowly drowning. There are too many people and I'm starting to lose my cool. I start to retaliate at the angry drunken idiots.

Snap your fingers at me? Back of the line.

Get an attitude with me? Back of the line.

Don't know what you want, after you spend twenty minutes screaming for me?

Fuck you, get out!

A woman starts screaming at me and pounding on the bar top.

"Are you fucking serious? Hurry the fuck up!" I shoot her my thousand yard Vietnam stare and drop everything I am doing.

"Listen you needy fuck, there are 300 people jamming cash in my face for a drink and you just walked in. So shut the fuck up and wait." I get a round of applause and a few shocked looks from the people around her. I don't care, that type of self entitlement people carry around with them seriously pisses me off.

"Fuck this I'm leaving!" She screams.

"Good, one less asshole in the bar to deal with." I retort.

I'm in the weeds and now I'm yelling at drunken people. This isn’t a good combination. All of a sudden I see a face that calms me down. It's Rick and he's offering to help. He jumps back and goes nuts.

You see, Rick is an old friend. He owns the Electric Avenue, a bar just north of the Central Library. He's a great bartender. He's fast, he's funny and he just doesn’t give a shit.

Now it's Nick, Travis, Rick and Me all working out of the same drawer. I have this new kid, Matt, that I had seen hanging around the Club backing us up running beer, liquor, ice and change. Matt saved my ass. Now I kind of feel bad for making fun of him for teaching himself Java or C++ or something gay like that. Kind of... Time seems to be zipping by. It seems like I just got here and it's already 7:00. Three hours gone in a flash.

I keep running by this guy who looks like a mix of Jim Henson and Quai Gon Jinn from Star Wars... Weird thing is I'm pretty sure I know him. He stops Rick and me and offers to buy us a shot. This guy has already tipped me nearly twenty bucks and given me a pile of pens to use for credit cards. We graciously accept. I could use one right now, it'd probably calm my nerves. I realize this guy is my friend's boss and the Bar Manager at The Left Bank. No wonder he is so friendly. He knows what it's like.

Jackdaw finishes up and the bar thins out a little. Rick rolls over the top of my bar and gives me the finger.

"Fuck off, I quit!" He screams in usual fashion. He smiles and starts hitting on some woman (who bears a striking resemblance to the less two famous girls from Destiny's Child) who was standing next to him. They are making out before I even have a chance to reply. I smile, he saved my ass today and I owe him big.

We start rotating breaks. When it's my turn I stumble out into the warm sunlight. Trav runs and picks us up some hot dogs. Mine are gone before my body had a chance to know they were in my hands. Still not enough. I'm starving. Thank God there are donuts in the office. Back to the grind.

My feet are throbbing. At this point I'm on ten solid hours of work. I'm lucky I have such a solid team behind me... Michael Bly band starts playing and my family shows up. They are all annihilated. I go and snag my big fancy camera from downstairs and snap off some shots of my drunk, dumb family. Blackmail. My family drinks and parties until I call my father to come pick them up. Being sober and watching this I realize why he doesn't come down anymore.

Don't get me wrong. I loved seeing them, it's been too long. But I just don’t have time to play personal bartender for my mom and her family. The bar is still moderately busy and I'm looking to start cutting staff and cleaning. No need for seven bartenders right now. Laura, Mike, Jenna and some new kid who busted his ass are all cut. Laura because she's wasted and acting like an idiot. Mike and Jenna are pretty much playing grab ass and that new kid busted his ass so hard he can't feel his feet.

I ask Jenna to sweep up a little before she leaves and she bitches about Nick pulling her drawer and sending her home. Long story short, she didn’t help with any of the cleaning.

Staples is out shortly after. I still can't get over how much he looks like my friend Charlie. It's fucking uncanny. Even my girlfriend thinks he is somehow cloned or a bastard of one of Charlie's parents. I opt to keep Lisa, Jamie and Matt (who has sworn up and down that after he finishes his current task he is leaving, but just finds something else to do and keeps working.)

Sully shows up talking with an Irish Brogue. Obviously Quote had a good day. I pour shots for his friends and my remaining staff. We shoot the breeze talking about how great it was today and how much the weather helped. We make plans for Tuesday and part ways. I sell a couple more shirts and finally turn up the house lights and call it. It's been a long day and I just want to find a hot dog vendor and a cold beer. Rick shows back up and we all pile into vehicles in search of somewhere that is going to be open this late. We luck out at Staples on Allen. Chris is falling asleep (literally) at the bar. We finish our beers and decide to call it a night.

My bed could not have come soon enough. I passed out somewhere around 5:00 this morning and didn't move for a solid nine hours. I needed it. I iced a few calls and laid around for a little while before returning them. Brian called from work. He is swamped with payroll and the Bar is busy. Guess I'm going in early... Back to the grind... What can I say; I love what I do...

Until next time... Don't do anything I wouldn't...

Mac The Bartender