Last Call at Finnigan's

Herb van Claussen is in the middle of his joyous retirement party.Everybody is having a good time, patting him on the back and congratulating him for being with Berkermans for over four decades. Yes, everyone is having a blast except Herb van Claussen. Time like a tide came too quickly and he feels he is being washed out into the sea.

“Hey, Herb, got any plans for your retirement?” Brett Highmyers asks as he delivers a friendly slap between Herb’s shoulder blades.

Wincing Herb grimaces answering, “Gardening.”

Brett’s expression changes to one of disappointment, “No cruises?No trips?”

“No Brett, me and my wife are homebodies.” Herb explains as he brings a mug of beer to his lips. Marty Shumman is driving Herb home from Sha-bangs so he can enjoy some spirited beverages, but the only problem is Herb is not really enjoying his retirement party at this happening night spot downtown. He feels as if he no longer belongs in Sha-bangs, a modern ritzy club where the music is always too loud to have a decent conversation without shouting.Maybe once he would have enjoyed the hard rock ambience, but not anymore. He feels as if he is an enigma caught in some vortex of a future in which he no longer has a part.

“Homebodies, eh?” Brett gets the context and moves on to greener pastures where he might find better grazing.

“How’s it going?” Marty plops down into the stool next to Herb.

“I think I might want to go home.” Herb sighs.

“What on earth for? This place is really jumping.” Marty is in his early thirties and is dazzled by the glitz and glamour of the posters of the latest superstars hanging on the wall emphasized by a long string of colored lights affixed to the walls and ceiling.“C’mon Herb, let’s have a few more before we call it a night. Whadda say?”

“Alright.” He shakes his head and finishes his beer.

“Herb, there you are.” Karen Davis, the boss Graphics Section at Berkermans, attaches her hand to Herb’s elbow. After working in her section for the last six years, he loathes her double crossing, cut-throat management style. Known for her brutal tactics of cozying up to a graphics specialist as she gets ready to hand them a pink slip, Herb remembers like she did to Lester Manz who used to sit at the desk next to his. In a highly competitive market, Berkermans has always been known as a ruthless employer. He glances at Kevin Granger sitting at the end of the bar jabbering with a couple of the younger guys. Kevin graduated college a few months ago and will be taking Herb’s place come Monday morning.

“Gonna miss ya.” Karen offers Herb one of her best professional smiles. Seeing her in blood red lipstick and dark mascara, she reminds Herb of a vampire hunting for her next victim.

“I’m going to miss coming in on Monday.” He bites his bottom lip.

“Well, you’ll be fine.” She says as she flits over to a table where a few of the women are sitting drinking from glasses adorned with little umbrellas. Watching her flit away, Herb begins to feel like an outcast. Marty is in deep conversation with a couple of guys from the accounting division. Herb knows they have a serious football pool which keeps them trash-talking about this or that.

Shaking his head, Herb van Claussen exits Sha-bang without anyone noticing. It has been raining and the streets glisten under the streetlights. He sees a cab parked a block away.

“Taxi.” He calls out. The hack does a three-point turn and rushes to the curb where Herb is standing. “Apartments over on 14th.”

“The Bellevue?” The driver is chewing on an unlit cigar.Tobacco juice drips down to his chin.

“Yeah.”

“Hop in.” The driver yanks his thumb toward the backseat.Herb gets in the cab.

“Heck of night, eh?” The driver chuckles.

“Yeah, you can say that again.” Herb sighs.

As the taxi cruises down Lincoln Avenue, Herb sees Flannigan’s, but the lights are not on.

“Hey what’s going on with Flannigan’s?” He asked.

“Urban renewal.”

“What?”

“Aw, they’re gonna tear the place down. You know it’s been there since the Great Depression.” The driver put on his turn signal.

“Stop up there.” Herb pointed.

“What happened to the Bellevue?” The drive appeared confused.

“When I came home from Vietnam in 1970, my dad took me in there.I had turned twenty-two while I was over there.” Herb inhaled, “And he bought me all the beer I could drink.”

“Sounds wonderful.” The hack pulled over to the dark bar. There was a sign that read, “Keep Out.Building under demolition.”

Herb slowly got out of the cab. His eyes were glued on the dark neon sign that read, “Flannigan’s.”

“My dad fought in the war in the Pacific. He was a marine.” Herb spoked over his shoulder as he fished his pants for his wallet, “He landed at Iwo Jima. Got shot, but he survived after they amputated his left arm. He passed away about ten years ago.”

“Condolences.” The hack took the money Herb handed to him and got back into his taxi.

“God, I remember that night like it was yesterday.” Herb whistled. “They can’t tear this place down. Don’t they know what this place means to me?”

“Everybody wants something new and groovy.” A voice sounded from inside the dilapidated building.

“Buzz is that you?” Herb walked as if he was in a trance. He opened the door that barely hung on its hinges and walked inside.

“Hey man, peace.” The man held up two fingers, “When the heck did you get back?”

“Flew into Travis yesterday with some guys on medivac.” He embraced the long-haired man with a red beard. Around the man’s neck hung a necklace with a peace sign dangling on his bare chest thick with dark hair.

“Good to see ya, man.” He wore glasses with tinted yellow lenses.

“Buzz, it is so frickin’ good to see you.” Herb had tears in his eyes.

“Why are you still wearin’ that uniform?” Buzz held his friend at arm’s length.

“Had to.” He sniffed, “If you fly the Saigon Red-Eye, you have to be in uniform.”

“Never gettin’ a break. No sooner they hand you your diploma when your number came up in the draft.” Buzz shakes his head.

“Yeah, but I came home in one piece. Better than some of the other guys.” Herb put his hand up to catch the bartender, “Draft, please.”

The bartender nodded.

“I’ll get that.” Someone said standing behind Herb. When he turned, his eyes went wide.

“Dad?”

“They told me you were on a flight home.” He smiled as he put down some money on the bar.

“Dad, I am so happy to see you.” Herb grabbed his father in a bear hug as tears flowed down his red cheeks.

“I am so glad you’re home.” His father said as tears flooded his eyes.

“Herb.” It was a woman’s voice.

“Glenda?” He turned just as she planted a kiss on his wet cheek.

“Glad you’re home.” She held his head in between her hands.

“I am glad to be home.” He reached out and put his hand one her soft cheek.

“Jerry didn’t make it.” She bowed her head.

“I am so sorry.” Herb shook his head.

“Neither did Neil.” Buzz added.

“Yeah, I heard about him.” Herb sat on the bar stool, “It was awful.Fire fights. Guys running around shouting. Some of the guys yelling for a medic. You were afraid to look down. Afraid of what you might see.” Herb glanced over at his father, “Hey everyone, this is my dad.”

“Frank.” He said as he shook Buzz’s hand and then turned to Glenda and shook her hand.

“My dad was a marine who landed on Iwo Jima.” Herb said proudly.

“Yeah, that was an adventure.” He shook his head.

“War sucks.” Buzz snorted as he tipped his glass of beer.

“It may suck, but we’ve won ‘em all.” Frank piped up.

“I love this place.” Herb scanned the entire bar from the Air Hockey table to the jukebox that was playing “Okie from Muskogee” by Merle Haggard. There was a light fog of cigarette smoke hovering just about the fluorescent lights over the four pool tables. Two guys were tossing darts at the dartboard.

“Mr. Flannigan put up the new paneling last week. He did it all by himself, too. Whadda think?” Maude, Pete Flannigan’s wife, explained.

“I like it.” Frank beamed. “Like that calendar you got hanging up over there.”

“Yeah, my husband likes them young things with the big boobs.” She chucked as she filled another beer glass from the tap.

“Yeah, me too.” Frank smiled with a twinkle in his eye that Herb had never seen his father revealed before. After a year in Vietnam, Herb had seen a heck of a lot worse. Some of the bars featured fully nude young ladies dancing on a rickety stage. It was sad knowing most of the dancers’ mothers were watching their children while they worked.

“Howdy fellas.” A man walked behind the bar.

“Hey, Pete.” Frank nodded.

“How’s it going?” Pete smiled.

“Doing just fine.” Frank held up his glass, “Herb, my son, just came home from Vietnam.”

“Really?” Pete looked at Herb.

“Yes sir.”

“I was in Korea myself.” Pete tilted his head. “I’ve heard things are a mess over there.”

“It has been rough.” Herb shook his head.

“Pete here was in the Chosen River.” Maude declared.

“Yes sir. The Frozen Chosen.” Pete pointed to a tattoo on his upper arm. “Those were some rough days.”

“Iwo Jima was no picnic.” Frank added his two cents.

“When I came home, my old man told me that I could take over Flannigan’s.” He smirked as he glanced at his wife, “So I did.”

“Glad you did. This bar has been here since I was a kid.” Frank slapped his open hand on the bar.

“And we intend to be here until the Second Coming.” Pete laughed from somewhere deep inside.

“Hey kid, how ‘bout a game of darts?” One of the dart throwers asked.

“Sure.” Herb agreed and followed the guy over to the dartboard.

“My name is Sully and this here is Bob.” He pointed to the other guy who had been playing darts. “We play for money. Twenty a game. Game to thirty.”

“Sounds fair.” Herb nodded. “I’m Herb.”

“Good to meet you, Herb.” Sully tipped his ball cap and handed three feathered regulation darts. “Good luck.”

“Are you a soldier?” Bob asked as he drained the shot glass in front of him.

“Yeah, just got home from Nam.” Herb let the first dart fly. It stuck in the board near the bull’s eye.

“Yeah, they need to stop bombing those people.” Bob slapped the table he was sitting at.

“Were you there?” Herb asks as he puts the next dart squarely in the bull’s eye this time.

“My brother was. He told me all about that shit.” Bob lit a cigarette.

“Did he tell you about the body bags containing the bodies of our boys?” Herb’s voice stiffened as he let the third dart fly. It stuck in the board.Another bull’s eye. “Beat that.”

Sully shook his head, “You know Bob, I think we have a ringer here.”

“Yeah, I played a lot during my down time.” Herb shrugged, “Now either toss your darts or pay up.”

“You know we don’t pay no ringer.” Sully shook his head with a sour expression on his face.

“Pay the kid.” Frank walked toward Sully.

“Listen old timer, stay out of this. Ain’t your affair.” Sully snarled.

Frank reached out, grabbed Sully’s wrist and twisted his arm behind his back.

“I forgot to tell you; this is my dad, Officer von Claussen.” Herb bent down to meet Sully’s eyes as Frank pressed Sully’s head to the table with his forearm.

“How about that money?” Frank pressed harder on Sully’s neck.

“Alright.” Sully’s voice was muffled by the hold Frank had on him.

“My son served his country when his turn came.” He looked at Bob who sat there stunned by the turn of events. “He deserves your respect.”

Bob stayed silent.

“Do you wish to join your friend?” Frank began to release his hold on Sully.

“No, no.” Bob shook his head.

Sully handed Frank a wad of legal tender.

“Thank you.” Frank handed the money to Herb

“Thanks dad.” He stuffed the money in his pocket.

“You two need to find another bar.” Frank ordered Sully and Bob, “Flannigan’s is a nice neighborhood bar where people come to socialize.”

Neither one of them said a word as they scrambled for the exit without glancing over their shoulders. Frank chuckled as he watched them leave.

“Thanks Frank.” Pete walked over and patted Frank on his back. “I’ve been having problems with rift-raft lately.”

“No problem.” Frank resumed his place at the bar.

“Herb, let me buy you a beer.” Pete poured a draft and set it in front of Herb. Before stumbling home with his father, everyone in the place bought Herb a beer as a small token of their gratitude for his service.

“What the hell are you doing here?” A disembodied voice asked.

Flannigan’s was dark. The place was empty. The only sound was water leaking from one of the pipes in the sink behind the bar.

“I asked you what you are doing here?” A short man approached him wearing a suit and long coat.

“I was having a beer with my friends.” Herb’s voice was barely a whisper.

“What friends?” The man leaned on the bar. “I don’t see nobody.”

“They were here.” Herb did not look at the man standing next to him.

“Yeah. Did you forget to take your medications?”

Herb shot an angry glance at the man with the thick eyebrows and a receding hairline of black hair.

“You can’t be here.” He said in a more sympathetic tone.

“This is the place I come. For years. After my wife passed away from cancer. After my son got divorced and took his life.” There was a catch in his voice.

“Hey, I get it, but today we are going to demolish this place.” He explained, “My name is Mr. Brazinski and I’m in charge of demolition crew.”

“What happened to this place?” Herb scanned the dark room.

“Same thing that happens to a lot of places.” He sat on the stool next to Herb. “It got old, and the management figured it would be better to sell it to the city rather than meet the code.”

“I just don’t get it.” Herb shook his head. “This was the place I came to smooth over some of the rough patches in my life. I’ve gone into other places, but none of them have the charm of Flannigan’s. I would walk in and people would greet me like an old friend. Where can I go to get that once Flannigan’s gone?”

“I wish I could tell ya. You know how it is out with the old and in with the new.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I get it.” He said sourly, “Once you come to a point when you are no longer useful, they put you out to pasture.”

Mr. Brazinski shook his head apprehensively. He was rapidly approaching retirement age himself, but he was in denial. After building his business as a demolition contractor, he knew the day would come when his business would no longer need his expertise. And just like the building he would be razing in an hour or so, he would no longer be useful. He would be replaced the minute he walked out the door for the last time.

“So, I guess this is last call, eh?” Herb said mournfully, “Last call at Flannigan’s.”

“Yeah.” Mr. Brazinski answered breathlessly

“I came by when I found out they were going to take it down.” Herb bowed his head. “I had a lot of good memories here. Hate to see it go.”

“City bought the place and contracted us to take it down. Someone wants to build a strip mall here.”

“Great. Just what this place needs is another strip mall.” Herb shook his head.

“Don’t let it get to you. Happens all the time.” Mr. Brazinski stifles a chuckle.

“You think people would learn to appreciate the past.” Herb slaps the bar with his open hand, “Look at this solid piece of history. Solid oak. The first time I walked into this place, this bar was here. It was solid when I wasn’t. I’ll bet it could tell some stories, eh?”

“Tell you what. We are going to start in another hour.” Mr. Brazinski glanced at his watch, “Why don’t I drive you home?”

“I guess.” Herb stood up and walked to the dartboard. Mr. Brazinski cocked his head as he watched Herb remove something from his shirt pocket. Taking one of the rusty old darts, he put a photograph on the board and stuck the dart in it. “It’s a photograph someone took of me and my dad when my dad brought me into this place for the first time. It’s last call and I want him here with me when you bring this place down.”

“Are you sure?” Mr. Brazinski opened the door letting the toxic sunlight splash across the tattered wooden floor.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” Herb followed Mr. Brazinski to his car. As they pulled away from the curb, Herb rendered a final heartfelt salute.