St. Patrick's Day
In Denver With RayFebruary 15, 2006
I remember St. Patrick's day, probably 1984, in Denver. New to town and with few friends, but a good one was my drinking buddy Ray. He was recently divorced as was I, lonely, also new to Denver. We piled into my rusted-out 4-door Toyota Corona Deluxe and hit the bars on the south side of town. Glendale, Littleton, etc.
Our 2nd or 3rd stop was a popular 2-story Glendale nightspot sporting green-colored beverages. The place was absolutely packed, with deafening conversation and music. We went upstairs, each of us having a beer or maybe more than one.
I went to the bar to get another round for Ray and I, and that wasn't easy--that place was crowded--a guy sitting on a barstool struck up a conversation with me, very friendly and intimate. Too much so.
No, he wasn't gay and coming on to me, instead he had had a drunken heart-to-heart earlier that night with someone else that I guess looked like me--and he got fairly pissed as I kept telling him I wasn't the fellow he'd spoken to earlier. "I don't know you". He just grew angrier and more strident.
Finally I broke away after getting our beers. I'm short and slight, my survival strategy in touchy situations is to gracefully disengage whenever possible.
Ray was shaking his head as I turned away from the bar. "I don't know how you did that. I would've slugged him."
I explained I haven't won a fist fight since I was about age 6, and I avoid fights at all cost. On the other hand, Ray was a burly guy with a walrus moustache who grew up in Chicago. He'd told me stories of duking it out, one time even shoving the loser into a dumpster out back of a bar.
We were both pretty restless, and this was only 10:00 PM or so. We hit a few more bars, each more unsatisfactory than the previous. We returned to that popular two-story nightclub.
Upstairs, Ray struck up a conversation with an attractive woman. Not long after, a couple of armed and in-uniform police officers entered. One of them blatently hit on Ray's young woman, and she liked him--Ray was dismissed, and she was soon dancing with the cop. Not "by the book" for police procedure! But we weren't about to complain and get in trouble.
"Last call" came, usually that means we take our time over our last drink, but not that night. The cop who'd taken Ray's potential girl loudly announced that everyone needed to drink up and clear out. Taking the hint, we quaffed and headed downstairs, along with many others.
I recall it seemed unusually difficult to get through that crowd. Once I was outside in the crisp frigid air, I turned to say something smartass to Ray--but Ray wasn't there. Puzzled, I stopped, then started back towards the door.
Suddenly Ray appeared, shoulders hunched, head down, moving fast. "We gotta go. We gotta go now."
I spun around, puzzled. "Huh? What happened?"
"I just decked a guy. Let's go. Now."
Astonished, I followed. My Corona was a reliable old girl, but sometimes hard to start. Each time I cranked the engine, Ray slapped his hands on the dash saying, "Come on, baby! Come on!" She fired on the fourth try.
As we pulled out with no pursuing policemen, he explained.
"That asshole upstairs who gave you a hard time? Downstairs, he tried to trip you when we were leaving. So I hit him. Knocked him off his barstool. I stood over him on the floor and then I thought, uh-oh, there are cops in here..."
"You what?" I shouted, and started to laugh. "I didn't even know that guy tried to trip me. I just remember having a real hard time pushing through the crowd. I had to high-step over something, his leg I guess."
We both pounded the Corona's dashboard, and roared with laughter. I'm not violent, but I thought that guy got what he deserved. I'll never know if he walked out on his own, or if he woke up in detox.
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