LEWIS

Across the street from my father’s hardware store was Nick’s Bar and Billiard Parlor, an establishment of modest decor but a happy home away from home to many. Hernando County was “dry” in those days, so the bar sold only beer, and a small selection of that. After all, Nick’s patrons were not connoisseurs, they were beer drinkers. They were not interested in labels.

Among Nick’s more notorious patrons was Lewis Kilpatrick, one of the town’s several ne'er-do-wells, who in middle age still lived at home with his mother, and earned a little money by taking whatever odd job might be available on a given day. He drank moderately during the week, made necessary more by limited funds than by any desire to temper his alcohol consumption. But Lewis always seemed to have a payday on Saturday, and on Saturday Lewis got his load on.

He started shortly after noon, Saturday morning being part of the normal work week. Lewis was what was called an “easy drunk.” It didn’t take much for him to get to the point where one of his drinking companions had to stand on either side of him to keep him from falling off his bar stool.

Eventually, Nick would cut him off: “You’re through for the day, Lewis. Go home.” And Lewis would nod obediently, stand slowly, align himself with the door, and head out, teetering, rolling, and wobbling like a scow in a storm.

On most Saturday afternoons, my uncle Curry and several of his cronies gathered in front of the hardware store to listen to a ball game, gossip, and wager at precisely what time Lewis would fall off the sidewalk as he left the bar. He always did. That step from the sidewalk to the street was just too much for him. He usually stood for a few seconds, surveying the task before him. Then he slowly lifted one leg, waved it about cautiously for a moment, and stepped off, to be followed by the anticipated flop on his face. Across the street, money changed hands.

The sport had a hiatus for several months while Main Street was closed to be widened and repaved, a project that also caused the street to be lowered by about two feet. The curb became two steep steps.

The game resumed the first Saturday after the street reopened, and the results were not unexpected. Lewis had no chance. When he fell, he went the new distance right onto his head.

The boys hustled Lewis to the hospital, where his only injury was found to be a nasty cut that required a few stitches.

That incident didn’t deter Lewis from resuming his Saturday afternoon drinking, but it did insure that someone took him home as soon as Nick cut him off. The betting game was over.