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