Garden Party
I went to a garden party at Kevin’s. All the best people were there, including a past trade minister from Canada. I started off with a shot of tequila and a beer chaser. Moved on to eggnog which was heavy with rum, then finished off with a couple of glasses of Merlot.
“Doesn’t all that mixing bother you?” asked Alain?
“Never mix never worry,” I quoted Honey from Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf.
“Oh! I remember that movie!” Gushed Alain.
“Well, so far so good,” I said.
Jimmy Can’t Dance is a Jazz and Blues club located in beautiful downtown Louisville, Kentucky on 7th street.
My young friend Victoria and I Ubered our way down there to drink with the grown-ups and listened to the jazz. Nate Lopez and his Eight String were playing for our listening enjoyment and I must say they exceeded our expectations.
So when I ordered our drinks I asked the girl back of the bar would it be OK to teach Jimmy to Dance? She said no, I didn’t say Jimmy didn’t know how to dance, I said Jimmy can’t dance. There’s a difference. That got me to thinking, why can’t Jimmy dance? Maybe Jimmy got no legs. Maybe Jimmy dead. Maybe Jimmy just don’t exist. That’s what I said. But one thing’s for sure. Jimmy can’t dance. But he sure plays a mean eight sting guitar!
Nate Lopez and Nioshi Jackson
Nate Lopez
Honey Grace
So I went to the bus station to pick up my young friend Victoria who was travelling from Nashville back to Louisville. It was about 8:00 in the evening on a cool spring night. It wasn’t quite dark yet.
Since we were downtown we thought it would be a good idea to have drinks at the 21C Hotel bar.
I drove the six blocks or so to the the hotel and parked out on the street. 21C was a favorite of ours. We really weren’t dressed for the place but in Louisville that didn’t really matter.
We entered through the restaurant and made our way to the bar and sat on a couch on the rear wall.
“Just like being in our own living room,” I remarked.
“Yeah, but better because of the people watching,” she said.
I ordered a Jack and soda and she had a Rum Coco. Something she had started drinking since she came back from Cuba a couple of months ago.
We had our drinks and some nice conversation about her latest trip to Missouri. She went there with her mother and grandmother to visit her uncle who was doing eleven years in the federal penitentiary in Springfield.
We looked the menu over but we didn’t see anything we wanted to eat so we decide to go the the Tavern in old Louisville to round out the night and get a late night snack.
We finished our drinks and walked out through the bar to the restaurant exit out onto the street. To our surprise it had started raining. It was really coming down and it was a cold rain. We ran the two blocks to car and got soaked. Once we were safely ensconced inside I was huffing and puffing from the exertion.
Victoria ventured, “I’ve never seen you run before.” And she let out a little laugh.
“Well it is is pretty unusual,” I said. “It doesn’t happen very often.” And I laughed too.
I caught my breath and drove to the Tavern where we had more drinks and shared an order of wings.
On the way there I was put in mind of a song I like by Beth Hart: Caught Out in the Rain.
Here it is. Hope you enjoy it.
Baby, Baby, Baby
One of my best friends from back in the day was the renowned football player Reggie Garret. Reggie once played for the Pittsburgh Steelers and had two Super Bowl Games under his belt.
Naturally he had two Super Bowl rings. One with one diamond and one with two. Sometimes when we went out together barhopping and catting around he would wear both massive rings, one on each hand. Needless to say, he was a chick magnet. The women would just gravitate to him and surround him. I always felt lucky to get his overflow.
One night while at the Brass Rail we were chatting up a very pretty black chick. After a while it became pretty obvious she was more into me than she was into him. Since we were a salt-and-pepper team he just couldn’t understand how a black chick could be more into me than into him. Oh well! Anyway, he never got over it and whenever the subject came up later on he referred to it as the, “baby, baby, baby…” incident. Even years later. We always had a big laugh over it whenever it came up. Sometimes we would even answer the phone, “Baby, baby, baby,”
On another occasion we were out having drinks at the Frontier Club across the street from the factory where we both worked. It was happy hour. We were drinking with our boss, Jim Smith. Now Jim liked to take his subordinates out to drink and have them pay for it and then put it on our expense accounts. That way we all got to drink for free.
Well this one night at the Frontier Club we were having drinks up at the bar and a friend of Reggie’s comes over and says, “Is that fat faced motherfucker your boss?”
Well Jim’s jaw dropped opened, his face got red, and his eyes popped.
Reggie started in to stuttering and I excused myself to the gents. When I got back Reggie’s friend was long gone, Reggie was hanging his head in shame, and Jim was getting up to leave.
We got a big laugh out of this one too later on but we never brought it up around Jim.
We made bottles for the beer industry. Budweiser was just down the road. Whenever we went out we were expected to drink Budweiser which I couldn’t stand. I preferred Heineken. We don’t make bottle for Heineken, Jim would say, but Budweiser. This Bud’s for you!
Well I ran across this passage from The Road to Wiagn Pier by George Orwell, which pretty much sums up how I feel about Budweiser beer: “Look at the filthy chemical by-product people pour down their throats under the name of beer.”
That was it. It was beer in name only.
Baby, baby, baby….
Oh, the black chick? We got married.
On one fine day in May I was strolling through one of old Louisville’s beautiful “walking courts” with my good friend and trusted side-kick Victoria Mansion. When much to our surprise we came upon a phenomenon down toward the end of the block for which neither of us was fully prepared. A Pink House! Now this wasn’t any ordinary sort of pink house it was an extra fancy with raisins sort of pink house. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t a house at all but a palace.
What caught our interest was a small gathering on the porch. Everyone had a drink in their hand and seemed to be having a good time. Come on in, they beckoned. Well it was just too hard to resist. Turns out it was an open house put on by a local real estate agency. The old Pink House was for sale!
Now let me tell you what they had to offer for refreshments: beer, whiskey, two kids of wine, cheese and crackers, and sushi. Well, we came right on in and helped ourselves. We were invited to explore the house which we did.
A little of the history of the place. The “Pink Palace”, circa 1896, features beautiful period architectural details and a massive turret. The entry foyer and elaborate and ornate staircase are impressive to see as you enter the front door. You will see quarter-sawn “Tiger Oak” floors and woodwork throughout and magnificent stained and leaded glass windows. The “turret” rooms are located on each level of the house are as you might imagine round and filled with light. Great for sitting or reading.
This glorious mansion began its history as a Gentleman’s Club and Casino for the male residents of St. James Court and Belgravia Court to relax and unwind. They enjoyed a good cigar, brandy, stimulating conversation and cards, as well as other past times including the services of ladies of the evening.
The Gentleman’s Club was in existence for only a few years before it was sold to the local chapter of the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union who bought the mansion for their headquarters and promptly painted the red brick structure pink. Hence the “Pink Palace.”
It is said the Pink House is haunted by a friendly ghost named Aviary.
He only appears at times of danger to warn the residents…
You can see Aviary in the mirror above the fireplace.
It was on a very merry day in May…..
Ghost Dog 