Blind Pig
Jock Pichette

 

My friends Dad, Mr.Dembisnki owned a Blind Pig on the eastern tip of Pointe St.Charles back in the fifties, located only minutes from downtown Montreal. The Blind Pig was next door to a Junk Yard, only seconds from the hub of the neighbourhood, and surrounded by major industrial companies, which employed our parents. Compared to Pittsburgh,PA, it was a small town, but tough as nails, with enough drinking establishments to drown a stable of horses. In the same block a liquor commission owned by the Government supplied Mr. Dembinski with hard liquor. Located across the street from the liquor commission, was a tavern with a capacity for two hundred patrons. When the siren's from the factory's indicated closing time, it was just a matter of minutes before throngs of blue collar workers were heading towards a cold beer, arriving between five and six o'clock. Meanwhile, down from the liquor store "The Arawana Club", which catered to the Irish, and an upscale crowd, the John Collin's was flowing. The word on the street was if you wanted the best John Collins in the city, head down to the Arawana Club. Professional athletes would frequent the place on occasions. If you were a drink at home type, there was always Barlock's, and Di Perno's the local grocery store who sold the most popular beer in town with delivery to boot, and Jocko worked both sides of the street, delivering beer, and making great tip's.
 
So why would Raymond's Dad, have a Blind Pig? It's simple, there was a market, great location, the booze was cheap, and the other establishments closed early. Mr.Dembinski immigrated to Canada from Poland, enjoyed a drink or two, smoked like a chimney, and loved the women. Mr.Dembinski was the ideal Blind Pig owner, small in stature, knee high to a grass-hopper if you wish, barely five feet tall, yet each night he sat among his patrons, all of whom were a foot or more taller. The green painted door showed signs of age, and the white curtains behind this door had reached a stage of impenetrable darkness from lack of water and soap. A special knock-knock code opened the door at this address. Trying to peek through the window, did not help, because once beyond the glass and curtain, a pollution of cigarette smoke hovered at eye level right into the main room. Although the law was aware the Blind Pig existed it was hard for them to investigate, only because they could never tell if one of their own was inside.
 
With only three rooms in this house, and a bathroom in the hallway, the crowd occupied the main room along with the buzz, the smoke, the guy's and yes on this night two ladies. Space was at a premium, and Mr. Dembisnki always sat near the back door enjoying the ladies, one on each side of him. He wore a fedora tipped, and touching his right ear, a cigarette hung from corner of his mouth. Smoke climbing up his face towards his squinty eyes, he was a jaunty sight. Even while feeling no pain, he had a sharp mind for the few on the cuff, and the patrons always paid their bill. Raymond and Jocko were not allowed to stick around when the place was full, so we headed towards Hector's place on St. Columban Street, sat on the steps waiting for an accident to happen, or the eleven o'clock train. Raymond's Dad had this trunk next to the back window, and on this night Jock asked Raymond, do you know what's in that trunk next to the window? Raymond shot back, no, and my Dad would kill me if I opened it! Just curious Raymond.
 
The main room was the VIP area, with a small wooden table, with chairs for six customers, a stool,and the intriguing trunk next to the window, good for two, and plenty of empty beer cases lining the walls for the less talkative ones. Smoke hovering over the table was so low, the glow sprayed the table. Forget the tabletop, beer bottles covered the top, with a sprinkling of ashtrays, and right in the middle, a large bottle of pickles, and a piece of kielbasa with a knife. A black dog roamed the floors, small, which walked from the main room to the front door and back all night. To this day, Jocko never remembered if he had a name, barked or even if he belonged? Nobody played with it, he had two spotted white eyes, with short legs, and a trim belly close to the crummiest floor that was so dirty from lack of sweeping, that if you worked in an office you would have to shine your shoes first thing, the next day.
 
Jocko's friend Raymond had two brothers, and all were taller than their dynamite father, and slept in the same room, just off the main room. It was dark and dingy, not once did Jocko see light come from that room, other than daytime, when daylight through all its frustration penetrated a cloth, filmed with dust. It was a manly place, and fun place to be. The oldest brother Walter had a system for changing his socks, he would throw them up towards the ceiling, and if they stuck, he would change otherwise they were good for another day. The second oldest was the most serious, and his ambition was to work at the stock yard, just like his Dad, cutting up meat day in day out. Jocko's buddy, Raymond was a good student, and dreamed of owning a farm. The room they slept in had a certain aroma that blended with the main room, an aroma very much like smoke meat, a bar room, one day later, and a sweatshop. You could not find a happier bunch of men living together, and every second week, it was up to the stockyard with Raymond to meet his Dad, and help bring back an assortment of meat, like steaks, mincemeat, bologna, pork shops, and who can forget the kielbasa, lots of kielbasa.
 
In all the years Jocko visited Raymond's house, never did a fight break out during the evening hours, a time when patrons would make the Blind Pig its final stop before heading home. Yet, patrons would be three sheets to the wind when they arrived. Phillip who was a regular on many nights sat on an empty beer case near the wall, he was an ugly individual, but kind. He lived a few streets away, next to the Old Danny Witch. He suffered, because of his looks, young kids would tease him, and when he would ride the tramway cars, people would move away from him, not knowing he had a heart of gold, and a pussy cat. He was extremely intelligent, and spoke only to solve arguments of history, geography, and current events. He was king at this Blind Pig. In contrast, Jimmy, a strapping Irishman, all of six feet five inches, sat with his head in the cloud of smoke sucking back quarts of beer, was feared by most, with hands of cement, he never walked away from a scrap, but never at this Blind Pig. On the other hand, the tavern which he frequented, at the corner of Bridge and Wellington, he was the king. An unlicensed, diminutive Mr.Dembinski demanded respect, and he got it from all his patrons.
 
There were nights when Mr. Dembinski would say out loud, now boy's no scuffling tonight. In the house sat the big boy's, the Mullin's, Nolan's, Taylor's, with Jackie the peddler, and Andrew the bug making an unusual appearance. Each man a foot or so taller, and weighing at least one hundred and fifty pound more than our fifty year old Polish immigrant who could pass for a biafra poster boy. Not a peep from these guy's, just laughter, stories, drinking, and smoking.
 
One lunch hour while sitting around the table, a pickle fight broke out between the brothers. It started when the oldest brother
Walter was not too happy with Stanley's work habit. He was chewing on a pickle when he lunged at Stanley pushing the remaining piece up his nose, sending Stanley flying off the chair and into the sleeping dog in the corner. Oh, yes, Stanley shot back, into the jar he goes grabs the biggest pickle possible, chomps off a piece, charges Walter, misses his nose, but smacks Walter right between the eyes, sending the taller brother screaming backwards towards the shared bedroom. Oh, yes, Walter screams, by this time Raymond and Jocko are splitting a gut with laughter, when Walter charges his brother with a long piece of kielbasa, and whacking Stanley behind the head, sending him towards the back window, and the blue trunk. Raymond and Jocko moved around as the two continued their friendly fight, when Raymond said, we better go, I'm not cleaning this mess. As we left the front door, Jocko asked Raymond once more about the blue trunk stanley fell on next to the window, what's in that trunk? Raymond replied, I don't know.
 
To be around the Dembinsky was gold, three boy's who loved each other, yet an insult would create havoc unknown to the little man. When he spoke to the boy's they listened, and when the father came home, homework had to be done, no excuses. it was the boy's job to make sure that at least the table was free of bottles, and clean ashtrays. Raymond's Dad made sure that he had enough beer, cigarettes, pickles, and a few pieces of that great Polish Sausage, Kielbasa. One day Raymond finds the key for the trunk, calls Jocko over, and although scared stiff that either one of the brothers will show or for that matter his Dad. Raymond places the key into the lock, carefully removes the lock, and slowly opens the top. Raymond looks at Jocko whose eyes have just grown an inch or two, as Jocko yell's are you sure your Dad works for the stockyard, what's he doing with knuckle dusters, a gun, handcuffs, a billyclub, knives, chains, shut this damn top Raymond and lets get out of here quick before your Dad shows up and gives us a beating. Jocko learned two things on this day, Raymond's Dad just grew a few more inches, and be careful of a small man, you never know what he might have in his keepsake.

 

 

Copyright © 2000 Jock Pichette
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