The Cowboy Bar

There is a small town in the southwest corner of Wyoming that has a bar. Actually, almost every small town in Wyoming has a bar, and this one is fairly typical. It’s been a local watering hole for 75 years or so, and looks just like it did when it was built, except older and droopier. Oh yeah, now it has a new, neon Budweiser sign in the window.

Now, I’ll grant you that 75 Wyoming summers and winters have aged the bar a bit, but no more so than the people that frequent the place. They (the bar and the people) look like they belong together.

The bar was built on Main Street in the little town, and was conveniently located adjacent to the feed supply store, the bank, and the hardware store. You could run your in-town errands and grab a quick beer with the boys, all without moving your pickup truck (or horse. There was a hitching rail outside, just in case.).

I suspect the builder assumed the Cowboy Bar would burn down from time to time, so it was sort of thrown together. Heck, whole towns used to burn down, so what chance did a bar with a bunch of drunks rolling their own cigarettes in front of a wood stove have? But fate was kind to the Cowboy bar, and it still stood proud and original, if crooked. There was not a single level surface, or square corner anywhere in the place. The imitation oak bar may have been square and level when it arrived from Denver, but the warped floor didn’t allow it to stay that way.

Everything slanted off to the northeast, floor, bar, and tables- the whole works. You could drop a marble on any surface in the place, and know exactly where to go to find it. That is, if it didn’t get hung up on one of the warped floorboards on the way.

Shaky as they may have been on building standards, the builders sure did know what a proper bar ought to contain, and the Cowboy Bar had it all:

· A long wooden bar with a brass foot rail the length of the bar, with a big oak framed mirror behind the bar.

· Bar stools tall enough to reach the bar, and steady enough not to drop a customer, and chairs with arm rests to help the customers stay in the saddle.

· Steady, solid tables not likely to tip over or collapse if sat on or fallen on, and furniture too heavy to be conveniently used as a club.

· A pool table heavy enough not to get knocked around by unruly patrons, and too hard to sleep on.

And lastly:

· A big wood stove in the corner of the room, sitting on a big metal plate, with a metal stovepipe wandering crookedly up and out of the room.

Oh, there is one last thing any good bar MUST have- a bartender.

Good bartenders should boast of being equal parts priest, psychologist, bouncer, accountant, and salesman. That being the ideal, bartenders in the Cowboy Bar were short on one or two of the primary qualifications, usually determined by how much the bartender drank, and how early in his shift it was.

The bartender is such an integral part of the life of the bar, the bartender’s state of well being often sets the mood. If the bartender tells a new joke and everyone laughs, good times for all. Perhaps even a free drink. The downside was listening to that one new joke over and over until somebody comes up with a new one, or the place closes for the night. Even with a few beers to ease the pain, the same old joke could wear on the nerves. On the other hand, a churlish barkeep would almost assure that the mood of the bar would follow suit, and SOMBODY would get punched during a long evening.

Most bartenders at the Cowboy had to be imported from somewhere else. It’s OK if the owner was local, but he’s got to have the good sense to bring in a bartender from the outside. Outside bartenders brought new stories, and tended to be more impartial when there was a dustup.

The bartender at the Cowboy Bar was from the city. Green River, Wyoming to be exact, a real city right on the freeway with the railroad running right through.

Even with the occasional temper flare up, the Cowboy Bar was about as safe as anywhere in the world. Mostly, the patrons and the bartender took care of one another. It was, after all, in the bartender’s best interest to keep as many friends as possible, and the patrons knew they would be doing business with one another for the rest of their lives. When tempers flared, a punch might be thrown, but apologies and free beer followed within a day or two.

I can only remember the local deputy sheriff going to the Cowboy bar once. He had a beer and left. The reason for the deputy’s visit was to find out why the bartender sometimes left beer on the back steps of the bar at night. The bartender told the deputy that occasionally the beer cooler got too full. That seemed reasonable to the deputy, so off he went. In reality, the back step was the pickup point for local high school boys looking for a 6 pack of Bud Tall boys. I’ve always wondered why the deputy didn’t figure out that the cooler would be less full at closing than after the beer delivery. No Sherlock Holmes here.

Most in town figured it was safer to keep the boys in town than have them drive into Evanston or Green River, (a 60 or 70 mile round trip) to get and consume a beer or two. They were mostly right, except for an unplanned pregnancy or two. Besides, the bartender made a bunch more money in bribes off the kids that way.

Welcome to the Cowboy bar. If you’d like, next time you’re here I’ll introduce you to some of the patrons.

I’m afraid you’ll need to buy your own beer.