Some days, I don’t know exactly what vibe I’m feeling until I see myself in a selfie. Today was one of those days. I knew I had a striking, teal paisley-on-brown Tie o’ the Day around my neck, but it was only after I shot this photo and glanced at it that I noticed I am experiencing a Dick Tracy vibe today. It’s not just about the hat. The hat adds, but my very own face—with its squinty eyes and deep-set lines—is giving off the Dick Tracy mojo. I like how it feels, very much. Perhaps I’ll go out and catch a villain who has a catchy, comic book name this evening. I’ll certainly take selfies if I do. 🤠 (Pretend the cowboy hat on the emoji is a fedora, and pretend the emoji’s smile isn’t smiling at all.)
I considered my “Pub time” mostly my “SWWTRN time.” Here I am when I drank beer. I was at my drinkin’ weight, of course.I teased the late Lee Jorgensen (far left) by re-naming him “Brokeback.” He was such a cowboy. I’m the one wearing the bow tie. My SWWTRN is always in the middle. And Gary, every woman’s hubby, is always on the far right 😉.Here, Mom and my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless, are watching the news on our private TV at our private table by our private window—which we decorated seasonally throughout the year. This window display includes our mini tank of goldfish and frogs. Clearly, it was summer.Gary, Darrell, and Mike. The Three Wise Men? The Three Stooges? The Unholy Trinity? Take your pick, and you’d be right.
Word has reached TIE O’ THE DAY that the Pub in Delta has closed its beer-and-pool-and-pizza doors. The Pub was my fave Delta place to hang out after I returned to Utah in 2000, until we sold the Delta house in 2017 and I was no longer a Millard County resident. I was a regular at the Pub back when I drank their beer, and I was still a regular when I got sober and drank only their Diet Coke. The bartenders let me keep my own cup in the cupboard, and they let me fill it up myself at the soda machine whenever I was ready for another round of caffeine. I was allowed to be my own soda bartender. Oddly enough, my bar pals were a bigly part of my getting and staying sober. Any one of them would have jumped between me and an incoming beer, in order to save me from it.
When I walked into the Pub in 2000, after I had returned from living away from Delta for nearly 20 years, I found myself somewhat of a stranger in my own hometown—at least with those who were much younger than me. When I entered the Pub for that “first” time, I walked in alone. I sat down at a table that looked like it probably didn’t belong to any of the regulars, which meant it was smack dab in the middle of the room. I was literally the center of attention. Everyone seemed to be holding a bottle of Bud Light, so I ordered a Bud Light. And then I made my move: I opened my messenger bag and pulled out a book and a notebook and a pen. I set up my little desk on the table, opened my notebook, and began writing. A Bud Light arrived at my table. I thanked the bartender, paid up, took a swig, and went right back to writing. Slowly but surely, I could hear the whispers build amidst a table full of cowboys I hadn’t yet made eye contact with. They were Pub regulars, clearly, and I was a newcomer to them. I was certainly an irregular on the scene, as I have always been. Things seemed to be getting a bit tense.
And then it happened. One of the guys stood up and walked straight over to me at my table. I looked up at the man’s face, prepared for whatever remark—friendly or foe-ly—was coming. I immediately recognized what Delta family his face belonged to, but I couldn’t place him exactly. In my peripheral vision, I could see every eye in the place was on us, and nobody was making a sound. I swear, even the jukebox shut off so everyone could hear what was to come. The young man said to me, “Hey, aren’t you related to Travis and Kyle? They lived across the street from me and we played basketball all the time when we were kids.” I said, “Yup. Their mom is my sister. And you are a Roper.” Tension gone. Those burly cowboys had sent Ricky Roper to investigate me. Ricky Roper bought me my next beer, and I was a stranger at the Pub no more. My book and notebook and pen were not a threat, nor were the burly cowboys.
