Opus Buehler

Every small town in America has one, their own version of Addicus Finch, as portrayed by the legendary actor, Gregory Peck in Harper Lee's monumental book, "To Kill a Mocking Bird." In Iowa Falls, Iowa, our Addicus Finch was not a lawyer but a mountain of a man, both in physical appearance and social importance to his town. Dr. Robert Johnson. Or just plain, old Dr. Bob.  The man that welcomed every new born from mulitple generations into this world. He was the center and core of Iowa Falls' life force and existence. To visualize and imagine his respect and presence, all you need do is to remember that classic scene in Mel Brooks' "Blazin' Saddles" where the good folks of Rock Ridge solemnly and humbly respond to the mere mention of his name,  like "Randolf Scott." He was worshipped by the entire town with one exception. A tiny yet powerfully built, fearless man who was never impressed by Dr. Bob's status and saw him only as his neighbo...

I recently reconnected with my long time friend, Eric J. at Larry Ayre's memorial and it brought back some great memories. Eric is Dutch and, at that time, was married to Dawn, a very American Woman, but not in that crass, Canadian band, Guess Who kinda way. We had a lot of fun teaching Americanisms to Eric and my favorite was that good old baseball tradition of not using the two words of "no" and "hitter" in the same sentence while one was actually happening.  We were at the John Barleycorn rooting on the Giants.  It was late innings and, of course, we had a no hitter working when Eric walked in and promptly asked, 'Hey? Is that no hitter still on?" Before we could all cringe at this massive faux pax, it was a swing, hit and up the middle it went.  Giants actually went on to lose as I remember but my friend learned a valuable lesson and, naturally  he bought a round or two to wash his sins away! Americanism number 2 flew by Eric on another ...

One of my first memories of Rachael was from the 80s and before she became the matriarch of the beautiful Ayre family.  Rachael loved Halloween and I mean, she REALLY loved Halloween. I hit the Barleycorn early on this massively big holiday for San Francisco and I run into Rachael at the bar and, wow, her costume was just amazing.  She really was a beautiful princess, complete with a long flowing dark purple gown, sparkly purple heels, an honest to God, pointy purple princess hat with a light purple taffeta drape that went from the top of the point of her princess hat to swirl around her shoulders and waist and then to dramatically transform itself into a purple train contrasting perfectly and to borrow the Dude's line from "The Big Lewbowski," it really did tie the outfit together. We greeted and chatted briefly.  She and some  friends were off in search of Halloween adventures and I was headed in other directions. I returned to the Barleycorn before ...

We were all big Steve Miller fans at the John Barleycorn and we had several of his 45s on the juke box. I particularly loved the Steve Miller thing of including previous song titles in newer songs that he wrote. In 1957,  Johnny Watson wrote and sang about the "Gangster of Love."  In 1968,  Steve Miller covered "Gangster of Love" and also wrote about "Living in the U.S. of A."   In 1969,  Miller's "Space Cowboys" had the line,  "I told you 'bout Living in the U.S. of A. and  you know that I'm a Gangster of Love." In 1973,  Miller then wrote "The Joker" and kept this string moving forward with, "Some people call me the Space Cowboy yeah Some call me the Gangster of Love Some people call me Maurice 'Cause I speak of the pompatous of love." I tell you all this to show just how the John Barleycorn was also a very functioning neighborhood bar, regardless of who you were and what you ...

It was in 1996 and I was living in Atlanta and had finally convinced my company that I would be much more valuable to them if I was located back in San Francisco, and imagine my surprise, when they agreed and gave me a budget for the relocation. I had all the tasks identified, including the selling of my beloved 1963 Buick Riviera, named "Bob" as in Big Old Buick and there are more stories to tell of how "Bob" helped Danny, Kathy and I blow thru Atlanta during the World Series in a manner not seen since W.T. Sherman's attempt of the previous century. I had set a fair price and posted several ads.  One guy calls, sounds vaguely interested and wants to come see it with his wife.  We agree on a time.  His car pulls up and I'm standing in the driveway with Bob proudly parked on display behind me.  His wife, bless her sweet Georgian heart, exits the car, gasps and yells to her husband, "Honey!  That's THE one I want!" My fair price went imme...

Danny was working that night down at the Barleycorn and he had a nice crowd enjoying themselves.  I was there. not particularly paying attention but engaged in deep philosophical discussions with Pelkey, the blind printer.  Yes, I did state that correctly. The Barleycorn at California and Larkin was just up the street from neighborhoods that had a lot of homeless and occasionally we'd have someone enter and try to panhandle a little.  Danny noticed an obvious street person enter who stood at the back quietly and politely.  In his hand was a brown paper bag containing what looked to be a bottle of wine. When he had an opportunity to approach Danny, he had pulled down the top of the bag which exposed the bottle's neck and showed it to Danny.  It contained a cork.  The only thing this man said were the following three words, "Imagine my surprise." Danny smiled, grabbed his corkscrew,  pulled the cork and returned the bagged bottle.  He was give...

Arlo Gutherie had an epic song that also tells the story about a certain Thanksgiving at a restaurant called Alice's where one could get anything they want, 'ceptin' Alice, of course.  The narrative also tells of his experience on the legendary Group W bench with all the miscreants who weren't moral enough to join the army.  If you doubt me, just for giggles, google "Group W Bench" and check out all the urban dictionary explanations of this term. The legendary John Barleycorn bar was just off the California Street Cable Car line at Larkin Street.  As you walked into the door, you immediately walked into a litle alcove that provided extra drink and elbow space for those standing just behind the bar.  This alcove forced you to turn right to enter the bar.  After this turn, you would be facing the very eclectic juke box and to your immediate right, along the outside wall were former Cable Car benches, formed into an "L" shape with two tables.  The...

With apologies to all European stereotypes.  You know who you are. My friend Robbie used to state, that in a perfect world: The English would be the cops, The Germans would be the auto mechanics, The French would be the cooks, The Italians would be the lovers, And the Swiss would run everything. Robbie would then add, that in his not so perfect world: The English would be the cooks, The Germans would be the cops, The Italians would be the auto mechanics, The Swiss would be the lovers, And the French would run everything. Robbie was, to my knowledge, the only sleep walking patron of the John Barleycorn. I stopped by, late one night, and Robbie was standing at the left side of the bar, by the high shelf, dressed in his bath robe and, with eyes wide shut, slowly sipped his pint of beer. "Shsssssss," Larry would announce to all around, "Don't wake him." Robbie then finished his beer, turned and walked out towards home.  Larry s...

It was 1990. I was living in Mill Valley, riding a motorcycle and doing contract graphic arts for a big time consulting firm located on the 40th floor of one of the Embarcadero Centers. In fact, just the year before, I happened to be exiting that 40th floor men's room , enroute to my local, the John Barleycorn, to grab a barstool and enjoy the World Series, when the Loma Prieta earthquake hit in full 7.1 shaka shaka shaka. That men's room was moving 15 feet in each direction. I was thankful that it didn't hit 5 minutes earlier. The way this firm worked was the consultants would spend the morning interviewing clients, then spend the afternoon preparing their presentation and finally handing it over to us graphic artists to prepare the artwork and presentation slides, all way before PowerPoint made it oh so easy. I would show up around 5 or 6pm and we would sometimes spend all night in preparing the artwork so the consultants could present back to the client in the m...

I just recently learned that my friend Fletch had passed from Cancer and I wanted to relate a few quick remberances of him. I was sharing a house in the Richmond district of San Francisco with Fletch and his wife, Mary and this was in the 80s, 1986 to be specific as we were enjoying the Boston / New York Mets world series with Bill Buchner and all that hijinx. It was also fleet week and the Blue Angel's were performing.   We started the day enjoying Pee Wee's Playhouse, then switched to the Sox/Mets game.  At the sound of booming jet engines, we'd madly dash out into the street trying  to catch a peek at their high speed, low altitude fly overs.  Fletch was working at the time doing graphic arts for a chain retailer and was constantly in trouble for pushing the limits of good taste.  He was tasked to create a placard that listed the Chinese woks that were on sale.  His management was just not amused at the caricature of an elderly Asian women i...

The East Bay Model Engineer’s Society is a model railroad club that has been in existence since 1933.   In 1985, the   Golden State Model Railroad Museum was created to work with the State of California in transforming a vacant 10,000 square foot maintenance building in Point Richmond into the home of three extensive model railroads; N scale, HO scale and O scale. I discovered it quite by chance around 1987 and have been a member ever since.   It’s location in Miller-Knox Regional Park in Point Richmond is always appreciated by the children of all ages who still and will always love the magical lure of a train. When I joined, one of the original members, an old curmudgeon named Bill Drudge, took me under his wing.   We were in the process of building the giant O Scale layout, which would eventually include 40’ high mountains complete with a network of maintenance cat walks, just like Disney’s Matterhorn, but without an abominable snowman to scare the kidd...

I  had been up the previous night with food poisoning symptoms and had gotten little sleep.   I only had an early morning run of picking up a five-star client at his home in the Healdsburg area at 6:00 am, and then taking him to his office in San Francisco.   Done for the day and home by 10:00 am.   Easy Peesy. Upon completion, Dan, my friend and owner of the limousine service, walked up to me cursing madly.   It appeared that one of his reservationists had booked a run at too low a cost to make it profitable, unless Dan, himself, drove which would eliminate all labor costs.    The run needed to happen soon, but Dan was now involved with other, pressing business needs which were preventing him from taking off on this transfer run, from Sea Ranch to San Francisco.   He must eat the bullet on this one and do it as a loss.  He didn’t have time to get another chauffeur and there I was, finished for the day, with nothing to do and about ...