Okay, Whitney passed away, and that’s an inevitable bummer.  But, like Louis C.K. says, there are more of us dead than alive. 

It’s different tho’ when someone you can consider a mentor, passes away.

Webster’s dictionary defines the word this way:

1men·tor

noun \ˈmen-ˌtȯr, -tər\

Definition of MENTOR

1
capitalized : a friend of Odysseus entrusted with the education of Odysseus’ son Telemachus
2

a : a trusted counselor or guide

We found out just recently that one of our mentor’s passed away recently.  Jimmy was the manager, patriarch, peacemaker, and disciplinarian at a bowling alley, (All Star Lanes) and Lounge/Dance club (Wine and Roses), in Milwaukee, WI. 

Like a lot of things in life, sometimes you don’t realize their impact until much much later.  Both Jean and I had our formative bar tending experiences under Jimmy, in the late 80’s. Yes, the late 80’s!  The obvious choice when you want to supplement an income, bridge a social gap, or party like a rock star during an impending breakup (read “the Big D”ivorce) becoming a bartender.

Enter Jimmy.  Jean answered a newspaper ad, having already been bartending at the Pfister Hotel, and growing up in her folks tavern business. She showed up in  high heels and a business outfit, from her full time job, thinking she was going to be interviewed; nope, it was her first night! Yup, you guessed it.

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For myself, it was the impending breakup, and the need for a social life.  It was also my very first gig.  I was handed a vodka bottle filled with water, and told to go home and practice free pouring over the weekend.  It’s seemed odd at the time, but Jimmy was “old school”  and expected us to perform to his high standard. 

So there we are cutting our teeth at a bowling alley, hoping to make it next door to the lounge/dance club.  You had to apprentice at the alleys before Jimmy, and Dean and Joe (the owners) would let you move up to the club. 

With Jimmy’s mentoring, we ended up at the club, and working a racetrack shaped bar at least 4 times as big as the bowling alley’s, and if you really could be trusted, you would work one of the satellite bars near the dance floor. 

We had a good run too.  Working the Gold Rush night on Wednesday, Thursday night was Dance Night, and of course the weekends, and Superbowl, and New Year’s Eve. We also endured the swath of humanity that came through the front doors, along with a few who went back out through those same doors, under slightly different circumstances. Chick hair pullers, stumblers, cheaters, thieves, retirees, cougars, youngsters, cops, and an assorted gang of fellow slingers of booze from a dozen other establishments.

Fast forward to modern times, and Jean and I are once again supplementing our income, and bridging some gaps in our social life by bar tending at the local supper club, Anchor’s Away.  Those lessons learned, the stories we tell, and the ability to pour a solid drink have stayed with us ever since. 

Thanks Jimmy!