Cheap Whiskey and a Crumpled Dollar Bill(Lee Conrad) Russell Freeman, long white hair tied back, dressed in brown slacks and blue cotton shirt, got off the bus and walked down a side street of the city he grew up in. He looked around and shook his head. Urban renewal in the late sixties had taken much of the character out of the center of the city and replaced it with parking ramps, cheap prefab buildings and fake facades. According to city elites the old sturdy brick buildings of the past were obsolete and old fashioned. We must look to a bright new future, said the politicians as money flowed to demolition companies. “Renewal my ass,” Russell mumbled. He was on a mission and his destination was the Royal Lounge. He instinctively knew the way but wondered… when was he last there?

The Royal Lounge opened in the thirties after prohibition ended and catered to city dwellers for decades. Tin ceiling, wood floor and dark ambience. The only thing Royal was the name. It too eventually labeled old fashioned. But the building survived. The Royal Lounge, now named Penmans, had gone through five owners and five names. Russell seemed to remember that as well as the gaudy façade of white and yellow that now hid the old brick although confusion racked his brain as he went inside. Where were the cigarette machines, the jukebox, the dingy walls covered with cigarette tar, the old timers in a mindless stupor leaning into the mahogany bar watching a black and white portable TV on a shelf? Where were the posters for upcoming concerts by Quicksilver Messenger Service and Jefferson Airplane?

Now there were bright lights, an internet jukebox and multiple flat screen TVs tuned to sports channels for the masses. Warily he walked over to the bar. The mahogany painted over with a shiny black. A twenty-something girl with green and purple hair looked at him.
“What will you have pops?”
“I’ll have a CC and ginger please.”
She looked at the bottles on the shelf.
“Uh, I’m not sure what that is.”
He shook his head in exasperation and was sure they had been through this before.
“Just give me your cheap whiskey and ginger ale. Don’t screw me with that high priced shit.”
He looked around the bar as he waited for his drink. He was certainly the oldest in the bar… far older. Some were talking but most were just staring into cell phones.
The girl brought over his drink.
He reached into his jeans pocket and put a crumpled dollar bill on the bar.
She looked at him and waited.
“Haven’t been out in a while have you.”
“I’m not sure. Why?”
“The drink is six dollars”.
“Jesus! For the cheap shit?”
He pulled out a twenty, smoothed it out and put it on the bar. He wasn’t sure where it had come from. Did someone give it to him or did he steal it?
“I remember when these drinks were 50 cents,” he grumbled as the girl scooped up the bill.
She shook her head and went to the cash register for change.
He sipped the cool drink and looked around for a familiar face. His mind saw Vinnie, long hair, denim bell bottoms and jean jacket rocking to the song “Gimme Shelter” from the Rolling Stones on the jukebox as he played pinball. Tony and Gary bad mouthing Nixon as they played pool. A couple of Vietnam vets, newly home, backs to the wall at the far end of the bar, nursing their beers, suppressing nightmares.

He remembered the good times in this bar. Local rock groups would play covers of the most popular songs as people danced. Cigarette smoke and something sweeter filled the air. The talk was animated, fun and sometimes angry. The war had taken a few from this bar. Some came back and some didn’t. As time went by, he lost track of his friends who stopped coming to the Royal. Some died or disappeared. Most got married and forgot the Royal. Russell didn’t. He held out as long as he could.
He slammed the whiskey and ginger.
“Give me one more then I have to split. I got places to go, friends to meet,” he said to the girl.
She poured the good stuff into his glass and didn’t charge him full price.
“For old times’ sake,” she said.
He looked at her.
“Have we met before?”
She smiled and walked away.
He was on the last of his drink when they came walking in.
“Figured you would be here, Mr. Freeman. Time to go back.”
“Ah, you caught me boys,” he said in his best Humphrey Bogart voice holding his arms out for
handcuffs that never came.
He gave the peace sign to the bartender. “It’s been a gas, babe.”
She laughed. “Until next time Russell.”
“Ok, boys, home we go,” he said to the two attendants from the Shady Pines Long-Term Care Facility. He turned and put a clenched fist in the air one last time to friends no longer there.

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