TUESDAYS AT THE PUMP

The scrolled wooden sign read; "THIS TOWN IS TOO SMALL FOR A TOWN DRUNK, SO WE ALL TAKE TURNS" Ah yes, another tuesday at the Town Pump Bar, a quaint little place where I enjoy a beer or two or at most...three once a week or so. You just never know who you might run into while leaning your elbows on the old wooden railing, sippin a fresh icy mug of Miller Lite.

I had never really paid much attention to the dim interior of the place but as I gazed at my reflection in the counter length mirror behind the bar, I once again became aware of the almost mystical power a drinking establishment sometimes casts upon its patrons. The first thing that captures your attention is the color and texture of the dozens of potions available.

Magical shades of greens, browns and purples reflect in the soft light of an invisible lamp above the bottles; Jamiesons, Black Velvet, Kesslers, Jack Daniels,and Bacardi containers offer a nearly overpowering welcome. Personally, I am captivated by the bronzed statue of a beautiful young girl kicking up her petticoats while dancing one-legged on a barrel of Blatz beer.

As I gaze to the right of the dancing queen, several other sights pique my interest: The hand stitched sign that informs customers, "REIDS TOWN PUMP SALOON, ESTABLISHED 1969"; An eye level box of small wrapped packages advertising, "NU BREATH. DON'T LEAVE HERE WITHOUT THEM! PASS THE BREATH TEST!"; And of course, the familiar sight of a gigantic head mount taking up the entire rear corner of the bar. The thirteen point elk looks forlornly at me from his stationary position next to the popcorn machine.

It is at this point of my observations that a young man in brown shorts and a grey t-shirt plops himself down on the black vinyl seat next to me. At first I am too busy doodling in my journal to notice him but it isn't long before we strike up a conversation as he takes deep drags from a very annoying cigarette placed in the tin ashtray in front of him. The only bad thing about the Pump is that occasionally it seems like everybody in it smokes at the same time. Your clothing reeks of the smell after you leave.

The young man's name is "David". David is out of work, has a fourteen month old child with "the true love of his life", but also maintains a relationship with a girlfriend. Somehow, he must tell the girlfriend that he wishes to "get back with" the aforementioned true love (there is no mention of marriage to either woman); he also has two very purple, black, blue and bloody eyes. After listening to a long list of his life and problems, I ask; "So what happened to the other guy?"

It takes David a minute to figure out that I am talking about his eyes.

"Oh, yeah...now I getcha. The other guy looked pretty good" he says, laughing just a little, "I was in a cage fight up in Traverse city a couple of weeks ago. I looked a lot worse back then!"

David proceeds to tell me all about the fight; how he actually got a leg-lock on the guy but ended up on his back with his opponent slamming his fist into Dave's face as he lay helpless against the floor of the ring. He doesn't remember a lot after that which is probably a good thing. I ask him if he will fight again, expecting that the beating he suffered might make him a wee bit anxious in the future;

"Sure, man. I think I'll actually fight two or three more times because I enjoy it. I actually won my first fight!" he proudly proclaims.

As my hour in the Pump draws to a close I find out a lot more about David. My wife says I ask too many questions sometimes but people's lives fascinate me...especially young folks like David. He collects beer cans to get bar money and rode his bicycle to get to the bar. I rode my bike to the Pump too but it wasn't because I lost my drivers license or I couldn't afford a car. David went to a military school as a last resort to get his GED and as it turns out, his dad is exactly the same age as me. David is not a bad guy, it's just that I have a hard time mustering up sympathy for a twenty-six year old, unemployed father (just lost his job as a bus boy). Still... I truly feel sorry for him.

Maybe its because I am a good listener or perhaps because I remind him of his dad, David surprises me on my way out;

"Hey man...do you think I could get your phone number?" he asks hesitantly, "I'd just like to talk to you sometime, man". He looks away as I answer him while trying to gaze directly into his swollen blue eyes;

"Dave", I reply, "I don't give out my phone number to anyone I just met but I will see you around town or I am often in here on tuesdays if you ever want to talk. It's nothing personal, I hope you know that"

David looks sadly at the well worn red and white formica top of the bar,

"It's ok. man...I just thought you were one of those "mentor" guys thats all". As I pat him on the shoulder and tell him I will catch him around sometime, his next words stun me; "I love you, man" he mumbles.

"Me too", I say softly as I head for the back exit.

In my soul I know that what David needs is to make a commitment to doing something to better his life and that has to begin with him. Giving up those $7:00 a pack cigarettes he was smoking would be a great start but I didn't tell him that. Maybe the next time I buy him a beer at the Pump I'll venture into the land of advice, something he has probably gotten a lot of but in a much sterner tone of voice from his dad and others.

Pedalling my bicycle into twenty mile an hour gusts of wind, I make my way home as the breeze washes the smell of stale smoke from my clothing. I am left to ponder who I will strike up a conversation with on my next trip to the Town Pump and hoping that David will eventually make something of himself. Sometimes the best thing a person can do...is listen.