Triggered Memories
Reviewed by Justyna Kret
The Tender Bar.
Moehringer, J.R..
New York: Hyperion, 2005.
384 pp.
The past is deeply embedded in the obscure corners
of the mind. Many memories are forgotten, while others are promptly recalled
with the help of a trigger---a smell, a phrase, a taste. Sometimes, the details
are seemingly insignificant, but when thought about in the context of an entire
event, one realizes that it is the small things which matter. This is why
writing a memoir is very demanding of the writer. To be true to the experience,
one must not only rely on one’s own recollection, but also on the input of
others.
A few decades removed from
his youth, J.R. Moehringer embarks on piecing the puzzle of his past in The Tender Bar. Looking backwards from
the rat race that is adulthood, he examines the glory days of youth, smiles
because they happened, and aches because they passed.
Moehringer’s biography
could read like a rags-to-riches story: a boy from a dysfunctional family goes
to Yale, writes for the New York Times,
and eventually wins the Pulitzer Prize as a feature writer for The Los Angeles Times. Instead, the
focus of Moehringer’s memoir is a bar, The
Bar, as he quite touchingly points out that, sometimes life’s most important
lessons are learned from the most unlikely places, from the most unlikely
teachers. Moehringer writes a poignant ode to the neighborhood watering hole -
the place where he finds acceptance, finds love, and most of all, he finds
himself.
Moehringer’s sanctuary is
a neighborhood pub on Plandome
Road in Manhasset, Long
Island. Publicans, a
word meaning “tavern keeper” or “bartender” was just “142 steps” from his
boyhood home. With a penchant for details such as those, Moehringer
painstakingly recreates the characters and the dialogue which bring Publicans to life. He is not overly
sentimental, and is keen on spewing out the facts: the who, what, when, where,
why, and how. And he truly masters the how.
Moehringer’s storytelling is simple, yet powerful, as he has meticulously
researched, interviewed, and recreated each character of his boyhood. He
manages to reconstruct the story of a romance which develops between the boy
and the bar and tells about the charming side of bar culture. As the boy is
abandoned by his father, and is reared by a single mother struggling to make
ends meet, his story develops into a tale of unusual heroes, all of whom
Moehringer credits with helping him become a man. The cast of characters
include Uncle Charlie, the somewhat surrogate father-figure; Steve, the bar
owner; and Charlie’s cronies and bar regulars which include Colt, Joey D, and
Bobo. What’s so appealing about drunken men, sulking patrons, “pickled people
marinating in regret,” and that musky odor that accompanies most taverns? Evidently,
there is a lot. Moehringer’s recreation
of the bar atmosphere is right on, complete with the customary nicknames, which
usually identify regulars by their first name and a profession, a quirky trait,
or a catch phrase - Bob the Cop, Smelly, Fuckembabe. Such minor, yet vital,
details allow for a sneak peak into the exclusive fraternity that is Publicans.
This meticulous attention
to detail is what makes Moehringer’s memoir so appealing: He describes the
ordinary, but does it in such a way in which he gives life to the seemingly
mundane. He makes a great effort in vouching for his claim that the bar was
more than just a bar. He does this by infusing various facts about man’s fancy
for brewski, including pointing out that (unbeknownst to me) the Puritans
“build a bar before they built a church” (5).
Moehringer’s story is
engaging, almost novel-esque at times. After all, he profiles the town served
as the setting for The Great Gatsby. In
fact, there are a number of similarities between J.R. and Jay Gatsby - namely a
chase after the American dream, and, more importantly, a love affair with
alcohol. In that Long
Island novel, as one would recall, the liquor too flowed freely
and a good time was the way of life. The
Tender Bar is not just about that, Moehringer points out; for example, he includes
several touching scenes with his mother. He recalls the car rides with his
mother to the ritzy part of town, where mother and son would daydream about
living in the grandiose mansions. As the two gaze with desire, they must soon
return to their lonely reality. Soon, however, with a quick run to The Bar for
a pack of cigarettes for Uncle Charlie, Moehringer exits solitude and with his
first step into the bar, the nine-year old takes his first step toward manhood.
Moehringer’s tale takes us
on a long and bumpy rollercoaster. He moves between Manhasset and Arizona, drunkenness and
sobriety, and success and rejection. Each detailed is profiled along the
journey. Perhaps one of the more interesting places he stops is in an Arizona bookstore. With
a Yale degree under his belt, Moehringer recounts the days of his “true” education,
and fondly recalls Bill and Bud, an eccentric pair for whom he worked at the store,
whom he credits for introducing him to the beauty of the written word. After a
particularly moving Cheever work, he writes: “I didn’t know sentences could be
made like that” (117). Just as
Moehringer finds art in the everyday tasks of stringing words together, we see
the value in carousing along the dark wooden plank with friends and with
strangers. One may not know that the bar could function like that. Yet, there
is something to be learned from the goers, the drinkers. Who they are. What
they drink. Why they don’t. There are the little things, such as simple pub
etiquette - from buying someone a drink (backing him or her up) to making every
third drink on the house (often a customary procedure of “buying back”). It’s
friendship, it’s loyalty, it’s thanks. For all you have, for who you know.
Moehringer revisits his
childhood home years later, a man several years “on the wagon,” who has
realized that becoming a man meant kicking his frat boy habit. The bar has been
renamed and that chapter of his youth is gone. Though the book has been
written, Moehringer reminds all that it can always be open and one can always
sneak a peak into those childhood days of bliss.
_________
Justyna Kret is an MA student at STJ's English
program.