Last night I had the luxury of hanging out on the 'right' side of the bar. I was on hand to help out a newer bartender if needed, and entertained myself by playing records, chatting, and occasionally checking facebook on my laptop. Duncan, the rock-star-looking guy I had hired the day before to be our newest bar back and unofficial bouncer dropped by for a beer. He was followed by Ty, the owner of one of our neighboring bars and a Marfa icon due to his larger-than-life personality and striking resemblance to the Marlboro Man. Ty took a stool next to me at the end of the bar and Duncan quickly parked himself on the other side.
I shut my laptop when Ty began talking about the tiles in the two arches behind the bar. I had heard snippets of the remodeling saga of Padre's from several people who were around and involved, but Ty was the contractor and did most of the actual work himself. I started asking questions to keep him going. The bar really was made from the original flooring, and apparently if you are repurposing wood like this, you must be prepared to have your finished product be a small fraction of the size of the original. The entire old hardwood floor was used in making the bar, and a new pine floor was put in it's place. To save money, and because no one would know the difference anyway, Ty used old stove pipes for the metal bar siding instead of the fancy tin that the designer had planned. He went as far as Presidio to collect enough metal, and carefully fit the pieces together in his shop.
When I have set-backs in my quest to make Padre's a successful business, I only need remind myself of the hardships that were endured in building the place. I knew the roof had fallen in as a result of the work being done on the old building, and the entire top of it was raised by several feet when a new one was made. What I didn't realize was the amount of time this took, both in the working and in the waiting. Those who made this place were very patient and determined. Raising the roof with metal beams holding it up allowed a center wall to be removed, making the nice big space we now enjoy when live music graces the stage. The building had actually been divided into two separate businesses in it's first incarnation.
Ty mentioned an auto shop, and I had heard that it was also a feed store before the funeral home; I asked him if he could confirm this. He said that one side had actually been a general store, and the other was a wagon shop which became a Model T shop with the advent of cars. The garage door was too small for the early cars to get through, so a rut had to be dug out in the adobe floor below to allow them to get in and out for work. Ty also had the real story on the funeral home, including it's lay out. There are rumors that Padre's kitchen was once an embalming room (how's that for an appetite killer?), but according to Ty, that dirty work actually took place in the men's room. Much more fitting. I don't even want to say what the mop closet was; suffice it to say, the strange odor that wafts out whenever that door is opened now makes perfect sense.
Ty took his leave after finishing his whiskey and Lone Star, and for a short time we all went back to our separate diversions. Moments later, Duncan got word that a friend of his was killed in a motorcycle accident earlier that day. Paul and I met Rich and his wife our first week in town, and he fascinated us with his stories of working back-stage security at a big club in Houston. He had lived an interesting life, and had actually stated in the course of our conversation that he wasn't afraid of death.
Rich and a few other members of the Bandidos motorcycle gang were at Padre's just this past Saturday. Seeing the four of them sitting at the bar in their jackets inspired me to run and get my camera. Rich indulged my photo, and actually posed, asking if it would be posted on facebook. For a member of a motorcycle gang who had lived a lot of life and looked it, Rich was the nicest, gentlest person, and gave me words of encouragement and praise for my work at the bar. After lunch and a beer, the Bandidos left us, but the sky turned very dark in the north and east, and thunder as loud as the train that quickly passes just feet from our building made us take notice. Before long, the Bandidos returned. Rich said the storm they encountered when they were half way to Fort Davis made even the toughest of them decide that turning back was the best option. Several other patrons were trapped with us for a good hour while rain and hail pelleted the metal roof of Padre's. I agreed with Rich that it was smart that they followed their instincts this time and didn't ride in the weather even though they had survived similar storms in the past. I can't help feeling now that Rich simply bought himself another week in that hour at Padre's, and I hope it was a good one for him. I know that he was where he wanted to be and was living his life the way he wanted to, so I'm sure it was.
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