Liars Dice at the John Barleycorn

Ever since I first moved into San Francisco in 1984, the John Barleycorn Pub, just off the California Cable Car line, had been my home away from home.  In my drinking days, I’d spend hours in joyous camaraderie with the wonderful San Francisco characters that called this “Cheers” type of local pub home.  It really was a place where everyone not only knew your name, but also what your drink was.

Even now that I limit my drink to a glass of very premium Sonoma or Napa vintage, those one or two special nights that I spent in there on Larry's or Danny’s shift, sipping coffee and catching up on the latest news of long-lost friends were very special.  The atmosphere of the “JB” was pure San Francisco; benches from old St. Mary’s Cathedral, old street stones from pre-1906 earthquake as the fireplace, the bar back from an old Pacific Heights mansion, the so-called "Group W" bench was actually authentic Cable Car benches and the roof planks came from an old Petaluma chicken ranch.

One time, years ago, I was once again in trouble with the IRS and needed a second job.  Larry, the owner, on the promise that I’d give it at least 6 months, let me be the day bartender on Saturdays and Sundays.  That gig lasted for 7 wonderful years.

I could fill a book on the characters, the stories, the drama, and the humor that has happened to me and my friends from the John Barleycorn.  This is my favorite story.  Three separate events that were joined mysteriously that day and I’ll never forget how the result conspired in a way Chuck never saw coming.

It all started very innocently, as all good stories do.   It was a Saturday in the early evening.  I had just finished my shift as bartender and was sitting on the “other” side of the bar with my friends Steve and Chuck.  Larry, the owner, had taken over for me and was comfortably holding court over the bar, as he loved to do.   We were playing that second most wonderful game in the world; liar’s dice.    As you know, the best game in the world is poker and liar’s dice has a lot of the similarities; the math, the odds, the bluff and the need for steely cold nerve.

Steve is a chemist and a very good liar’s dice player.  We’ve played for years and our games were very similar and we always seemed to just pass our money back and forth to each other.  Chuck, on the other hand, was a gambler and easy money.   We were all sipping cocktails and playing some serious, very serious dice.

Chuck, by the way, is the focus of this story, so let me tell you a little about him.  He was a grip man for the cable cars.  That meant, he earned his living out in the cold, wind and fog, riding little cable cars half way to the stars and having to answer the same old stupid questions over and over again from the millions of San Francisco tourists.   This has made Chuck a lovable curmudgeon over the years and a hard drinker, known to experience memory gaps.   

Chuck, also, constantly wore this great coat that he worked in to keep the cold out.  It was full of pockets and, with this coat, Chuck somehow always reminded me of “Mr. Green Jeans” from the old Captain Kangaroo show of my childhood.

So here we are, Steve the chemist, Chuck the Cable Car Grip man and yours truly, involved in a big stakes game of liar’s dice when another friend, Clint, walked in.  Clint was a professional San Francisco Cab driver and a bear of a man.  I’d guess over 6 foot and 275 pounds, but gentle as a lamb.   Clint passed away a few years ago and I still miss him.

Now Clint loved to gamble but he never went for the skill of the game, but only the luck of the even money proposition.   He loved nothing more than betting great sums of money on “one flop, nothing wild.”   This meant each player took a dice cup with five dice in it, would shake it up, flop it on the bar  (This was never done loudly, by the way, as we frowned upon such a lack of social grace) and whomever had the best 5 dice poker hand would win.  No skill, pure luck.

Clint had a big pocket of money as he was going to take his lady, Janet, out for a big night on the town.  Clint insisted on joining our game but we would not let him.   Clint insisted and insisted and finally, Chuck, who had busted out of our current game agreed to do “one flop, nothing wild” with Clint for 10 bucks.   They each put a sawbuck on the bar, shook and flopped the dice cups.  Chuck had a better hand and scooped up the 20 dollars.

“Double or nothing!” roared Clint.

Chuck put the twenty back on the bar, Clint added another 20 and whoosh, slam, plink.   Chuck revealed another winning hand and scooped up 40 dollars.

“Damn!  Double or nothing!” roared Clint again.

Same thing, same result.  Chuck 80, Clint zero.   Again!   Chuck 160, Clint zero.  Again!  Again! And finally, one last time.  Chuck cleaned Clint out for just over three hundred dollars.   Steve and I had even stopped our game to enjoy the carnage taking place next to us.

Clint, now absolutely dejected, was wondering how he was going to convince Janet that a quiet evening at home would be much better than a night out.  He quickly left the bar.

Chuck, who had been drinking all afternoon, grabbed all the money and shoved it into one of the huge pockets of his coat.   We resumed our game and Chuck ordered another round of drinks.

The next chapter of this saga started when our friend Kathy walked into the bar.  Kathy was one of the world’s great gardeners and was always the greenest of green thumbs.  Kathy knew that Chuck also loved to putter in the little green space he had.  Kathy had recently ordered some very special fertilizer.    When it arrived, she had opened the unmarked inner sack it came in, taken out the portion she wanted, folded over the sack and brought it down to the bar, hoping to find Chuck and share this special treat with him.

She greeted us as she walked in with “Hey Chuck!   I’ve got some really great fertilizer here and I thought you might like some of it.”

Chuck put down his drink, a scotch on the rocks, took the bag, thanked Kathy and proceeded to shove it into another of his great pockets and returned to his cocktail and the game.

The rest of this episode was uneventful.  We finished our game and I left and went on with my evening.   We don’t know for a fact, but we all assumed that the remainder of the evening went a little like this for Chuck.

He finally realized it was time to go home and called a cab.    Upon walking into his place, he probably sat down on his bed, emptied his pockets, laid back and promptly passed out.

The final episode took place the next night with Larry bartending.    Chuck walked into the JB, looked very sheepish and didn’t approach the bar, but just lingered back by the juke box and "Group W" bench for a while.  He nervously eyed everyone in the bar to see if anyone was talking about him or giving him any notice.

Finally, he got his nerve and approached Larry.    Having known Chuck for years, Larry knew that he probably had no memory of last night, and, being the quick-witted soul that he was, Larry realized a chance to pull a little joke on Chuck.

“Hi, Larry.”

“Hi, Chuck.  How are you feeling today?”

“Uhhh.  Fine.”   A long pause.   “Say, uh, Larry.  I woke up this morning with, uh, a  LOT of money on me."   He didn’t mention the fertilizer, but Larry was well aware of all the events of yesterday.

Without missing a beat, Larry immediately quizzed Chuck.  “Are you telling me that you don’t remember…”  a long pause   “… The Bet?” 

Larry could see some color drain from Chuck’s face and a small stagger backwards as this didn’t sound good to Chuck.   Whatever had happened, must have happened because Chuck had over three hundred dollars this morning that he did not have last night.

“The b-b-b-b-b-et?”   Chuck meekly asked.

“Yes.  The Bet.   You don’t remember…”  another pause   “… the bet last night?”   Larry replied, slowing setting up his trap.

“Oh, no.”  whined Chuck.    Should he ask or just drop it.   He didn’t want to but he had to know.   “What bet?”

Larry paused, again, for effect and hit him with the punch line.

“You don’t remember betting that guy three hundred dollars that you could eat a half bag of shit?  Wow!  It was incredible, Chuck.  I didn’t think you could do it.”  

That did it for Chuck.   I mean, after all, he did wake up with the money and he did have a half bag of shit that he didn’t know where it had come from.    Any color left in this face drained immediately.    He staggered back, turned and left the bar as quickly as he could.  The rest of us, sitting quietly off to the side, fell off our seats in laughter.  

In a few days, Chuck returned and we let him in on the joke.  It was a bit longer before he forgave us, but now, even he giggles along with the rest of us when this story is mentioned.

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Authors Note:
Today, February 25, 2019, I attended the Memorial Service for Larry who passed away after a long struggle with illness.  While it was great to reconnect with the Barleycorn irregulars, most I haven't seen in just way too many years, it was a sad loss of our dear friend.

We all agreed that today was the perfect way to remember Larry in that, even from the other side, he still did what he did best and that was to bring good people together.