Robert Gardner -- The Verdict

Once upon a time when I was younger and friskier and had a better

memory, I wrote a column about famous bars I had visited during a not

completely abstemious life. Today, what with galloping senility, I can’t

even remember the name of the bar I am just leaving.

I used to know the names of every bartender in town. Now I can’t even

remember the name of that bartender who used to leap up and down in front

of the Arches. He still may for all I know, because I don’t get down

there, but probably not. The Arches doesn’t need any such public

relations nonsense. Anyone who doesn’t know the Arches is either too

young to drink or is confined in a hospital bed on a 24-hour basis.

But on the subject of bars, I am reminded of Bill Ireland’s justly

famous Balrumboas. In those days, drinks were two bits, except at Starks,

where they were 20 cents unless Shorty Charle was the bartender and a

friend of yours, in which case they were 15 cents. A guy could throw down

a dollar bill and shout “Drinks for the house!” and get some change.

Marcus McCallen did the same one time with a $100 bill, and it was a week

before some of the habitues crawled out.

But Bill Ireland’s Balrumboas were an exception to the rule. A

Balrumboa cost 75 cents. Nevertheless, it was a bargain because it

contained four jiggers of rum. Thus, you got an extra jigger of rum for

your 75 cents, an important consideration to a drinking man. A Balrumboa

came in a tall glass with lots of fruit juice and other goodies mixed

with the four jiggers of rum.

One day, I was in Bill Ireland’s slurping on a Balrumboa when a man

sitting next to me asked, “What in the world is that you are drinking?”

The man was a then-famous motion picture actor whose name, along with the

names of so many bars, I have now forgotten.

I told him. He said it sounded interesting and ordered one. He took

one sip, made a face, said it tasted like urine except, of course, he

used the slang for the word urine, which I have learned by experience the

Daily Pilot does not like to print.

I pointed out to him the obvious. “You don’t have to drink it.”

He said, “I won’t.”

Ever the opportunist, I asked, “May I have it?”

He said, “Be my guest.”

Later, this actor wrote his autobiography. When it came out, I rushed

to the library to read it. To my sorrow, the incident at Bill Ireland’s

and our dazzling exchange was not even mentioned. Instead, the book was

full of drivel about pictures he had starred in and beautiful women he

had courted.

The guy simply didn’t have a nose for a good story.

* ROBERT GARDNER is a Corona del Mar resident and a former judge. His

column runs Tuesdays.