BEERS AT THE NIFTY

As I age – Medicare! – and head for the on deck circle of death, I find that virtually all my bucket list items have been fulfilled: Got my kicks on Route 66, played miniature golf with a midget caddie, suffered kidney failure on the AT, and had my head shaved against my will by my state senator.

But I also find that I am developing a bucket list for heaven: meet my in-laws for dinner at Fanny’s, attend a Cardinals game with my brother Dan, have beers with my Mom around our old kitchen table – among other things. Mainly I’m looking forward to renewing acquaintances with those who have gone before. So there will be lots to do.

But I got a head start on all that at the Nifty in Omaha. Mary and I were in town for a family wedding, and out for a drive when the Nifty appeared just ahead.

The Nifty was the great white whale of my childhood; featured in multiple tales of my Father’s and Grandfathers’ ‘exploits’ on Sunday afternoons, when they would play the son-in-law/father-in-law card – – as in, I didn’t want to spend all afternoon at the Nifty but my SIL/FIL made me. The bar was just a block from my grandparent’s house, so weaving distance. And apparently, back in the 40’s you could send one of your children there and they were able to bring home a pail of draft beer, along with any missing SIL/FILs. So it had a real aura about it.

I was not lucky enough to meet PJ, my Mother’s father, but I’ve heard a whole stack of incriminating PJ stories – most of them around our old kitchen table, many of which I’ve copied with my own embarrassing twist. So one of my first Heavenly activities will be to meet he and my Dad at the Nifty. Then I’m headed to the big band ballroom, to have a champagne cocktail (they look amazing in the old movies) and listen to Glenn Miller.

The downside to PJ: he always had a hat on in family pictures, which never bodes well for future generation hairlines.

But back to present times: Mary and I pulled into the lot and headed inside. The interior of the joint had been renovated in the last 5-10 years, and looked great. But best of all, they had retained the original bar, which was beautiful, and better yet, had a foot rail. We bellied up, ordered a beer (IPA on tap!), and began to gawk at our surroundings. I made the bartender aware that he was now part of my bucket list and he was moved – I think he was hoping for a tip. Better yet, he remembered my Dad and actually lived in the house next to our familial home. And then the waitress chimed in that she also remembered my Dad, and her house was just a block from our house as well. Everyone wanted a tip, I guess.

But the punch line came when their 2^nd longest tenured patron (there were bar plaques for he and #1) came in. He too remembered my Dad and was one of his tax customers. That moment made me yearn for my father’s tax advice. When asked about any type of deduction he would reply “Take it. No one’s looking”. It also made me wonder whether having a plaque on a bar with your name on it was a good or a bad thing.

It was the best visit imaginable. We were sent out the door with Nifty napkins, coasters, and other paraphernalia, and best of all, a Nifty glass. The latter made me return the glass I intended to steal. So the Nifty really brought out the best in me.

But there’s a cautionary point to this tale – isn’t there always ?  My parents were the most selfless people I’ve ever known and personified the “I’m going to do everything to make sure you have it better that I do” generation, and I’m left wondering if I ever properly expressed my gratitude.