Tyke's Place

"There are hundreds of stories in this place"

The Beginning

Tykes Place Stories? Id imagine there are almost as many stories in this place as there are in the local library over on Ninth. I have heard most all of them, you see I own the place. Which in a corner bar like this means I tend bar, wash the glasses, stock the coolers, sweep the floors, mop the piss and the puke out of the bathrooms when somebody has had a bad night and flip burgers whenever the cook is out; after washing my hands of course. Hell, Ive even grabbed my guitar and sang a few songs when the scheduled entertainment was either late or too drunk to go on stage. Oh, and before you ask, my name isnt Tyke. Well, actually, it sort of is. Tyke was a nickname I had when I was a kid. But the place was named Tykes long before I bought it. Thats sort of how I found the place, but well get to that later on. Tykes is nothing fancy, just a typical corner bar near enough to the airport to catch a few travelers and close enough to the train station to catch commuters on their way home. There are a few regulars as well and Ill tell you about them too if you stay around long enough. The place has been here about 60 years and the building its in, and the area around it, show signs of age. Inside it is not much better but I try to keep the place up as much as I can. The booths and tables are a bit worn around the edges and here and there someone has scrawled their name on the wall with one of those permanent markers that you just cant get out or carved their initials into the woodwork. I used to get pretty pissed off when Id find something like that but then I read in a magazine about how a couple of bars downtown were paying decorators to mark their places up to give them that corner bar look, so now I just let it happen. Guess it all just gives the place some character.

The bar business is always pretty good. People drink when they are happy and want to celebrate and people drink when something is bothering them and they are feeling down. A few drink just to drink. Besides drinking, the one thing they have in common is a story and most of them will tell it to you if you care to listen.

Speaking of stories, I told you I would tell you about Tykes and how I came to own the place. I found Tykes about 20 years ago. I was traveling a lot back then and got stranded in Atlanta due to bad weather. I had a few hours to kill so I caught the train from the airport into town just to kill some time. When it stopped at the station and I saw the sign that said Tykes I thought what the hell, maybe its an omen. It was. There wasnt anyone in the bar except an old black man sitting down at the end and the bartender. He was washing a few glasses and staring up at a TV hung in the corner. I asked him if he had any single malts and his response was to reach for a bottle of Craggenmoire. My brand; another omen I guess.

After he poured my drink, he went down to the old black guy and spoke quietly to him. I watched TV for a bit. A while later, the bartender came back up towards my end of the bar and started washing dishes again. I asked him if the place was always this quiet. He looked at me like I was asking him to explain the meaning of life. Finally he said Sometime it is, other times it aint. Great I thought, a philosopher. I went back to watching TV.

A few minutes later he wiped his hands on an old bar towel, poured another drink and sat it in front of me. Your name Tyke I asked?

The old man looked thoughtful for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he was or not, then said, Nah, I just work here. They used to call me Tyke when I was a kid and I havent ever heard anyone else called that. Anyway, I was just killing time waiting for the next plane back to Dallas and saw the place was named Tykes so I thought I would check it out. Live in Dallas? he asked.

Do now. Actually I was born a few miles from here but then we moved to Michigan when I was pretty little. My parents got divorced when I was about ten and my old man left town a year later. Always figured he came back here but I never heard from him again and I never tried to find him. Guess I figured the son of a bitch didnt care about me, why should I care about him.

The old man just nodded. I realized I was the only one doing the talking. Then he did an odd thing, he topped off my drink, reached for a glass and poured himself one. He lifted his glass towards me, I touched glasses with him. He downed his scotch then went back over to the sink and started washing glasses again. I wanted another, but he didnt pay any attention to me, just keep washing and watching the TV. Finally, I tossed a twenty on the counter and headed out the door. On the way out I noticed both a Help Wanted and a For Sale sign in the window. No shit I thought, may as well sell the place if that is the best you can get for help.

I went back to the airport, caught my plane and never gave the place another thought until a couple of years later when my life took a couple of twist. First, I lost my job. The economy was in a bit of a slump and companies were cutting back their IT budgets. I had been doing pretty well as an IT consultant but when companies cut back, consultants are the first out the door. I felt sorry for myself for a few days and wound up sitting in a bar thinking of things I could do besides consult. I thought about how I had spent the last few years; traveling, living out of hotels, spending my evenings at some bar someplace far from home. Like I said, I was mostly feeling sorry for myself. Consulting was all I knew. That and bars. And since I couldnt consult any longer and couldnt afford to buy a bar, the only option was to become a professional drunk. At least that was something I knew how to do.

On the way home that night I stopped at the mailbox to check the mail. I had sent off a few resumes, maybe something was coming back. Right. Letters from American Express and Diners Club, gentle reminders that I might have overlooked my latest payment.

The only thing I had overlooked was my bank account and there wasnt enough there to pay postage on the payment let alone make one. There was one very official looking envelope from a law firm in Atlanta. Great I thought, the sharks smell blood now, at least the end is in sight.

I tossed the envelope on the counter and left it there for few days until I finally figured I might as well open it and face the music. At first I thought the letter was a scam. It said that I had been identified as a beneficiary from a blind trust and that I should contact the law firm immediately for additional details. I looked for the 1-900 number or a winning sweepstakes number but damned if the thing didnt look like the real thing. The number shown was an Atlanta area code and the document had what looked to be an actual signature on the bottom. When I contacted them, they asked when I might be available to travel to Atlanta and if I had a preference on the airline. I guess I still didnt believe the whole thing until I was on a plane headed for Atlanta with a ticket I hadnt shelled out a dime for. Good thing, since my credit cards had been shut down for a couple of weeks by then.

A limo met me at the airport and I was taken to the law office of Lewis and Tucker in a strip mall where the other tenants included a pawn shop and a liquor store. Okay I thought, heres where it all goes to hell.

But I was wrong, once inside the office a young, good looking young thing in a skirt slit up the side just far enough to make you remember why you hate pant suits offered me coffee. I had just started to sip it from the cup, porcelain not Styrofoam, when a young guy in khakis, a starched shirt and a loosened tie burst out of an office. Flight okay? he asked and then not waiting for an answer said Good, cmon in. We can get to the details and get you back on your way as quickly as possible. Must be getting a flat fee for this instead of an hourly billable I thought. Guess were probably not talking about a fortune here. Wrong again. Oh, not the fee part. The details

of the trust revealed that the fee indeed was a flat fee. But the amount of the trust was a shocker; a little under a quarter of a million dollars. Not a fortune, but given my current status a veritable godsend. And it was all mine, with only two stipulations. I was not to be told where the money came from and I was not to investigate the matter in any way. If I did, all possible future funds would be forfeited. I asked what was meant my future funds. The young lawyer replied that even he did not know, he was only handling the discussion of the trust with me and that another law firm, the name of which of course he could not disclose, handled the rest of the estate. As he understood it though, there were additional assets associated with the estate that were yet to be settled. At such time as they were, I would likely receive additional monies. You need only sign here indicating you agree to the stipulations and that you have received the initial check. We have your return flight already scheduled and you will need to leave immediately to make the airport on time. What if I want my lawyer to look this over? I asked. Im afraid that is not possible. If you do not sign today, the offer is rescinded he replied. Well, in the words of Johnny Cash What could I do? I signed. On the way back to the airport, we passed by Tykes. Another omen? Hell I dont know. It looked dark as if the place was closed and I noticed that, although the Help Wanted sign was gone, the For Sale sign still remained. I asked the driver to stop and jotted down the real estate agents number shown on the sign. To this day Im not sure why I decided at that moment to buy the place, but I did. The negotiations didnt take long at all. I was right, Tykes had closed and there were no other bidders. The owner had apparently died and there was apparently no family interested in taking over the business. My offer was accepted on the first go round,

making me think I had probably offered too much but the agent handling the purchase for me assured me that I was getting a bargain. The down payment took most of the money I had left from the trust fund after paying off my bills and I had a pretty hefty note to carry but what the hell, I was a business owner.

When I first walked in the place it looked just like the last time I had seen it, only a lot dirtier. I spent a couple of days cleaning the place and restocking and was waiting for the city to come in and give me my final inspection so I could open the place. To kill time I was putting a coat of wax on the linoleum floor when the front door opened and the old black man that had been in the bar the first time I saw it came in, sat down in the same seat at the end and laid a five dollar bill on the bar. Sorry sir, were not really open yet I apologized. Door was. I know, but.. Crown, neat. What the hell I thought, cant sell it but I can give a loyal customer a drink. And right now he was the closest thing to customer I had. I broke the seal on a bottle of Crown Royal, fitted a measured pour spigot on it and poured him a shot. Shit he muttered, guess ya ole man never taught ya how to pour. My first customer, I thought, and already off to a bad start. Sorry I offered my hand, names Ed and Im the new owner. Thought yo name was Tyke. Yain changin da name of da place too ah ya? He ignored my offered hand.

I hesitated a second, then realized the bartender had probably said something to him after I left. No, its Tyke. The bar I mean. I dont go by Tyke anymore. Ya was always Tyke to him. Ats why he named the place afa ya and I reckon ats why he left ya da place.

I stared at the old man, what the hell was he talking about. I started to explain that nobody left me the place, I bought it, when the front door opened again. I turned around to yell Were not open yet when I recognized the young lawyer that had handled the trust. I had sent him the address of the bar as my new address just in case something came up on the estate settlement. I thought it would be quicker to catch you here. Flat fee again I figured. There is an additional settlement on the estate. I just need you to sign these waving a set of papers at me. I started to read the papers. No need to check, you have received the full amount of the sale of the property. Flat Fee was apparently in a hurry. All legal fees were prepaid. The check is for four hundred sixty five thousand.

Four hundred sixty five thousand, exactly what I had paid for the bar. I looked over at the old man. He just nodded at me and took a sip of Crown.

I signed the papers in a state of shock. Flat Fee exited as fast as he had entered. I turned back to the old man. He knew who I was?

Da minute ya walked in dat door. Why didnt he say anything? He wuz gonna. Come ova an tole me he wuz gonna tell ya he did. But whateveh ya said cut at em. After ya left, he sat ova der in dat booth and drunk he self till I closed up fer him and locked da door. Afta dat, he nevah talked bout it or ya agin. Did he talk about me before that? All da time. He wuz always talkin bout ya an sayin he wuz gonna find ya and pologize fer runnin out on ya an tell ya he didin have no choice. He wuz broke and knew ya and yo mamma would get mo hep from da welfah iffen he wuz gone. So he went. An now I gotsa go

He got up and shuffled toward the door. I scooped up the five bucks he left on the counter and started after him. Hey, I cant sell liquor yet, havent had my inspection. This one will have to be on me. I know he said still hobbling toward the door. Ats yo tip. I alwuz leave a five spot tip. Yo daddy woulda tole ya dat iffen ya dun let em. Lotta otha things too I spose So thats how I came to own Tykes. Ive had the place a good many years now., watched people come and go and heard their stories. Some will make you cry, some will make you laugh, some just make you say damn, imagine that. Excuse me while I tend to some customers. If you care to stick around, Ill stop back and tell you some more.