Death and Texas

Found out the other night that the mean old lady who ran Dry Creek, a longnecks-only dive atop Mt. Bonnell in Austin, passed away last year at 95. It wasn't surprising news, but I was still surprised. I assumed she'd be old forever, like the jar of pickles on her bar that no one had dipped into since the 70s, or “The Ballad of the Green Berets”, her jukebox's eternal greatest hit. The place is famous for its rickety deck, which overlooks the lake. Every time you bought a beer, she said the same thing: “Bring back your bottles. And no gambling.” She never actually went upstairs, so patrons ignored her and played cards, which she considered gambling even with no money on the line. But everyone brought down their bottles.

(photo from maggiesaustin.com) 

The girl who told me went to law school at UT. Years ago, one of her classmates saw a guy passed out on a table upstairs. Eventually it became apparent that he wasn't passed out. He was dead. The law student ran downstairs and frantically told the owner, who didn't even look up. “Yeah, yeah, already called, cops are on the way”.

I had a friend in Dallas with a similar story. When I knew him, he was a sommelier at Liberty Noodle (Dallas' version of Republic Noodle), but in the early 80s he was the preeminent drug dealer to Dallas' punk scene – at 6'6” with an outrageous pompadour, his profile was not low. One time he showed me a Polaroid of him and a buddy, smilingly propping up a third guy who they thought was passed out. Eventually it became apparent that he wasn't passed out. He had tried to swallow a burger whole while under the influence of a drug I'd never heard of, and bad things happened.

I don't think anybody expected that guy to live forever, but I bet my friend was still surprised.