I couldn't help but smile last Sunday afternoon when I arrived at O'Maddy's bar on Gulfport Beach to find two half-tanked codgers heatedly debating the merits of the American Way. Francis had a thick Eastern European accent and looked to be in his 80s. He drank Myers's dark rum with a splash of cola and a wedge of lime — put 'em away at a pretty impressive clip. I liked him immediately.
"I worry about the guys in their 20s and 30s," Francis said. "There's going to be nothing left for them."
Ken, who was about a decade younger than Francis and sported a Super Mario mustache, took a sip from his own rum 'n' cola. He adjusted the big round shades that obscured his droopy eyes and argued that hard work will always lead to success and security and the house with the white-picket fence — until a blast of the Grateful Dead's "Mexicali Blues" from the jukebox drowned him out.
Diane, the middle-aged blond bartender in a pink tank top, grabbed me a cold bottle of beer from the cooler. I took a pull from my beverage and admired the Octopus'-Garden-style cartoon mural that lined the walls. A long counter with colorful tiles connected the inside and patio bars. The doors were open and a salty breeze swept through the joint. It was a lovely day to be seaside.
"Here comes Hopalong Cassidy," Francis wheezed. "Hop, hop, hop."
Aided by a walking stick, Francis ambled toward the men's room to relieve himself of all that rum.
"I ought to steal that from ya," Ken said to Francis. "You don't need that goddamn cane."
The two men laughed liked the old friends they were. It was nice to witness. Twentysomethings typically don't think much about retirement plans. College, new career, family and all that other stuff usually get in the way. But last Sunday, while soaking up the funky little coastal city of Gulfport, I decided it would be a nice place to wind down my days. The thought of wasting away afternoons drinking rum 'n' cokes, discussing our country's future and then watching the sun set on The Bert and Walter Williams Pier seemed as good a way as any to behave when and if I ever get to "retire."
"Cheers, Francis, this will be good for you," Diane said as she rested the old man's fresh drink on the bar counter.
A well-endowed gal in her 40s walked in wearing a T-shirt and no bra. Francis and Ken stopped their debate to greet her. "Give me a hug," Ken said. She obliged both men with a friendly embrace before moving toward the outside patio.
A woman across the bar loudly brayed about the previous night's misadventure, which involved tasting shrubbery. "I hate those bushes," she squawked. "That's not the first time I fell in them."
She was joined by what looked like her boyfriend and another couple. They all appeared to be in their late 20s and were the youngest people in the place. They were a bit too loud and obnoxious for my taste.
I got up and found a bunch of classic rock and outlaw country on the jukebox. There was also a John Prine best-of that included "Hello in There," the song with the heart-wrenching line about old trees just growing stronger and old people just growing lonesome. Prine owns a home in Gulfport. I half-expected him to plop down on a stool at any moment. Hippies and bikers like the ones that attend his concerts lined the bar at O'Maddy's on Sunday.
Unwilling to pay $1 for two songs, I walked away from the jukebox, past the pool tables over to O'Maddy's Crazy Wheel. On Friday and Saturday nights, patrons can give it a whirl and win a free drink or maybe get stuck buying the bartender one. When I got back to my stool, Ken and I got into in a male-bonding, ex-girlfriends conversation.
"She read my wife's obit and then we hooked up," Ken said. I tried not to laugh. He proceeded to explain that his girlfriend was the jealous kind, didn't approve of all the parties he was attending with his buddies in Gulfport and the women he kept in touch with online. Plus, she wanted a ring. Ken, having already been married, just wanted a little fun in his golden years.
"We got along fabulously but …" and then his voice trailed off. He finished his drink and went home to wash his dog before the sun went down. Francis was busy talking to another guy at the bar. I ordered a second beer and relocated to a seat outside facing the water and the pier.
A woman in her early 20s studying to be a lawyer and a man her age wearing an "I'm Voting for Pedro" T-shirt debated over who had it tougher: lawyers or doctors. Their conversation made me want to puke. I paid my tab and nodded to Francis on my way out. Walking back to my car I spotted a "For Sale" sign outside a little old cottage. It'd be a fine place to call home someday.
O'Maddy's Bar and Grille, 5405 Shore Blvd., Gulfport Beach.
This article appears in May 2-8, 2007.
