Not-so-Mighty Casey at the Bar

I headed over to the bar about 4:15 in the afternoon to meet up with an old friend of mine from the West Coast. He was ultimately on his way to Europe but had arranged for a day in New York along the way to take care of some business. Since he had a couple free hours, he suggested we get together for a drink or two between his afternoon meeting and a dinner.

He's a brilliant and enigmatic fellow, armed with a rich and prolific imagination, which has kept him busy since the late '60s. The last time I saw him-about a year ago now-he was in the very preliminary stages of getting his latest "project" under way. At the time, in fact, it was little more than speculation. Now it was "finished," all ready to go, and he was in town finalizing everything with the folks who would be putting it out.

I was always both touched and amazed that, for as many things as he was juggling at any given moment, he always found the time to see me whenever he came through New York City.

I knew the bar, knew it was dark, and I knew I was early, so I made sure I was swinging the cane when I stepped inside. Didn't need people thinking I was drunk already. A hostess led me to an empty stool, where I plopped my hat on the bar, stashed the cane and ordered a pint. Apart from the two men a few seats down sharing a plate of fried calamari, it was as quiet as I'd hoped. That's the big reason I always liked meeting people there. The food's not great and it's not the cheapest bar in town, but it's always quiet.

I had about a half hour before he was going to show up, so I thought I might just nurse that beer. Didn't want to be too sloppy when he arrived. That would be bad form.

Well, that beer was gone before I knew it, and I still had plenty of time, so I ordered another. No matter how much I may like a person and enjoy their company, I always get nervous when it comes to meeting people face to face. A couple preliminary beers could only help, I figured. Besides, it was about 4:30 now, and the shakes had started kicking in around 4. It usually took two to still them.

"So how you doin' today, sir?" the Irish bartender asked.

In the darkness, I'm never really sure if people are addressing me or not-and assuming they are is a mistake I've made more than once-so I asked, "Me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, I must say."

"Beautiful day today, huh?"

"I guess it was-but they're saying it's supposed to get crazy tonight."

"Crazy like in snow?"

"Nah. Thunder, rain, mayhem."

"Typical, isn't it? With St. Paddy's Day comin' an' all?"

I had no idea what he might have meant by that, so I agreed. He would know better than I would.

My friend showed up right on schedule and ordered himself a beer. We had about an hour-and-a-half before he had to go off to dinner.

After getting caught up with the basics and the things we were each working on, the conversation wandered and morphed, from Jack Kevorkian's painting career to the Judas Priest suicide case and the cyclical nature of history, Gilles de Rais and a few less notorious criminals, Las Vegas then and now, his trip to Europe the following day, the art of avoiding executives and a few other expected inscrutables.

I had another beer, and another. The next morning I would be wondering if my speech had been too badly slurred, or if I got too loud. I don't think I did, but my memory can be foggy.

The time passed quickly, and soon he realized that he was already late for his dinner appointment. Fortunately, it was just a 10-minute stroll from the bar. Still, he was kind enough to walk a few blocks with me as I made my own way toward the subway.

After we parted ways, I lit a cigarette; it had been good to see him again. Then, I heard another voice come out of the darkness from the opposite side of the sidewalk.

"Hey buddy-can I get a cigarette from you?"

I stopped. "You mean me?" I asked.

"Yeah."

"Sure," I said, "if you'll come over here and get it." The cane had me pointed in the right direction, and I didn't want to discombobulate my drunken self by veering off to the left several yards.

"OK," he said. I heard him grunt as he pushed himself up from wherever he'd been sitting.

"Thanks," he said, as I handed him the smoke.

"Need a light?"

"Yeah, I think I'll take a light, too."

After I lit the smoke he asked, "You know who you remind me of? "

Oh, here we go, I thought

"I ? I think I'm gonna call you?'Casey.'"

I was silent for a moment as this sunk in.

"OK," I said finally.

"Well, Casey, you have a good night. And God bless you."

"Well god bless you too, sir."

"All right then, Casey!" he said, patting me on the back and sending me on my way once again.

It had been a very interesting night. A night filled with little mysteries.