Many people came into my life in the few years of the mid 70s when I worked at the American House Tavern and Restaurant as a bartender. Most of them were treasures, full of character. They were who they were.
Still, there are always a few phony people tucked into the masses. Mostly they can be spotted easily by a bartender as they walk in the door. It was fun watching them rattle through their spiel, trying to impress me. I often wondered why they bothered. What was the reason behind it? Were they bolstering themselves and why did they care what the bartender thinks of them? Some of the guys were trying to make a score. When that didn’t happen, they turned to try it on the next gal who came through the doors of this old, historic building. These guys were shallow, thankfully they were few.
Historic buildings were not what the average customer was thinking about. . . .
THE HORSEY SET-arlene s bice
they came with bruised, calloused hands
coarser than sandpaper
to lift a shot of whiskey chased by a
cold mug of beer,
a reward
for hard work done out in the elements,
thanks not given
except
what they gave themselves;
not a lot of time
to linger; even on
Christmas Day
horses had regular schedules
to keep
and these
workers were there
to keep ‘em
they came from all parts
of the country, from
Canada, and the
Caribbean, landed here
in the center of
New Jersey,
to work on
one particular horse farm
or another;
‘how did they find us’
I wondered
some from the west or mid-west;
wasn’t that a reversal
of history?
They came as
owners
foremen
trainers
drivers
jockeys
walkers
water boys
stable hands
more on the list
of guys & gals
hard working
no shifting duties
either you were good
carrying your own weight
or you were
out
