Diving into Jimmy's Woodlawn Tap

Jimmy's Woodlawn Tap,  1172 E. 55th Street

     They roll the sidewalks up early in Hyde Park. Surprisingly so, for a college town. The Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists conversation about their Doomsday Clock that I moderated at International House — thank you everyone who came out — ended shortly after 7 p.m. Pulling myself away from enthusiastic Sun-Times readers who wanted to say hello, share a story, or register complicated opinions regarding past columns, took 15 minutes or so. By 7:20, and we headed to dinner, first trying a noodle shop, but that was about to close, so we went next door to Medici on 57th.
    The waiter seating us said the kitchen closed at 7:45 p.m. — I glanced at my phone — 7:35.  He added that, if we want dessert, we should order it now. We passed on dessert. I got the steak sandwich, which was excellent, the bun fresh, the meat tender and garnished with a pleasing medley of diced peppers and onions. A generous helping of coleslaw, shaming the eyecup that most places serve. 

     By 8:20 Medici had almost completely emptied out. I wasn't going to make the 8:35 Metra. There wasn't another train until 9:45. But we couldn't stay here. I asked a waiter if there was somewhere to get dessert, maybe ice cream. He mentioned Insomnia Cookies, a student hangout. I made a face — big soft melty oversweet cookies aren't my thing. "Or the CVS," he ventured. "Something to go...." Eating a Little Debbie Cake in the car didn't sound like a good idea.
     How about a bar? I asked, and Jimmy's Woodlawn Tap was mentioned. "I've never been to Jimmy's Woodlawn Tap," I said, and that sealed it. Over to East 55th Street. "I don't drink, but I still like to go to bars," I said as we walked in, and my companion, who doesn't drink either, agreed. The place was hopping, but two open stools beckoned us right in the middle of the bar.

     "Do you have any NA beers?" I asked.

     "Yes," the bartender said. "Heineken Zero and Coragghle..." The last word was lost in the bar noise. Heineken 0.0 is adequate, the imported version of O'Doul's. A fan of novelty, I told him I'd have the second one, whatever it was. My companion ordered a Shirley Temple.

     Conversation ranged from what is a Shirley Temple — ginger ale with a splash of grenadine — t0 the role of a good bartender. I mentioned Phyllis Smith, the bartender at the Billy Goat on Washington. "We got to be good friends," I said. "I visited her at her home when she was dying of cancer. She'd been to my house, for parties." 

     Some accounts of the Woodlawn Tap allude to Dylan Thomas drinking there, as if it were some hazy, unverifiable rumor lost in the mock heroic past. It was no rumor; the great Welsh poet drank there on March 16, 1950, stacking his empty glasses up, one after another, and the bar's guest book has his signature to prove it.

     There is much to recommend drinking, while not-drinking is often given a short shrift as some kind of deprivation. But you know what real deprivation is? Being dead. Dylan Thomas died at 39. I might wish I had come up with something like "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night," but I wouldn't swap the past quarter century of being alive for it. Not drinking is its own kind of fun. I've grown to like it. One makes fewer mistakes. My faux beer arrived, a Corona with a lime jammed in its neck. I never drank that sort of thing back when it was popular — apparently it still is — but gave it a try. Actually quite good — the lime providing a citrus note, the malt very beerlike.  

     There is something about sitting at a bar that encourages confidentiality, even if you aren't drinking, and we leaned against the deeply gouged bar and talked about important things for half an hour. Time passed quickly. I looked around the place, thinking to take a photo of something distinctive, but Jimmy's, with its black walls, didn't really offer up a lot of decoration, beyond a backlit university seal, which I positioned in the upper right corner of the photo above. It's a classic dive bar, beloved by locals, famous for mixing all types, mechanics and professors — though I imagine, nowadays, the former does better than the latter. 

     The food looked good, and is indeed supposed to be very good. I'll certainly be returning to Jimmy's soon. It's the sort of place where, back in the day, I'd enjoy a cheeseburger and a Jack on the rocks or three. But now just the cheeseburger will do fine.