45 Fairly True Tales from the Old Corner Bar Ships Free!

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Come on in to the old Corner Bar! Meet the gang. Lift a glass. Join the fun. Laugh at the latest jokes or another late-night prank gone awry. Learn more than you might wish to know about the goings on around town or in the only other tavern in the village. These tales will leave you laughing or shocked or sad or utterly flabbergasted when you learn how clever some patrons of the old Corner Bar can be one minute, yet how dimwitted the next. So what are you waiting for? Grab a copy of this salute to every old Corner Bar and enjoy this journey into days gone by. Step into the past in the old Corner Bar. We’ve been waiting for you! Note: 6 of these stories are found in James Brakken’s other short story collections, Billyboy, the Corner Bar Bear and The Moose & Wilbur P. Dilby. But the remaining thirty-nine tales are all new. Written for adults but suitable for all ages.

The Chapters:

Edna

Lucky Louie’s Lake Lot   

Generosity

Moving the Privy 

Nice Fish  

The Sign

Snook Wilson

Triplets

Midnight Marksmen

Louisville Slugger 

The Androy Affair 

Chrystal’s Ice Cream Parlor

Jokesters

The Senator 

Clarence’s Necktie

Up North

Billyboy, the Corner Bar Bear  

The Winter Dam Incident

Exeland   

Boys      

Eye Opener  

Norbert’s 2nd Comeuppance 

Big Bucks 

Fireworks

Insurance 

Mincemeat 

Bullfeathers!   

Last Pocket  

Changing the Channel

Deer Me!

“Detective” Norbert Finstead 

Saturday Night      

An Old Fashioned Tale 

The Bet    

Tim-berrr 

The Raid

The Runaway   

A Friendly Bar

Dinner for Two

Irked    

The Boss

Mutt and Jeff 

Wilmer

The Wedding Singers

The Ghost Buck 

Addendum:     The Truth behind the 45Tales                           

This excerpt features Sonny Peterson, a fictional character comprised of a half-dozen "characters" I've assembled for your amusement in the book. He appears in no fewer than 13 of the 45 tales. His counterpart is often Snook Wilson, Snook is made up from 3 or 4 game wardens I've known. It makes for some great fun!

Mincemeat

I no more than sit down at the bar and order a bottle of Fitger’s when I hear the door open. And in stumbles Sonny Peterson, shaking like a leaf and white as a ghost.

“Jeez, Sonny,” I say. “You feelin’ alright?”

“I’m better now,” he replies. “But I wasn’t a little while ago. You see I’m lucky to be alive …”

Now, this is not how most stories started at the old Corner Bar. A more common conversation usually went more like …

“How’s it goin’, Sonny.”

“Okay, I s’pose. You?”

“I’m here, ain’t I?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“How’s the wife?”

“She’s over to the Cities visitin’ her ma awhile.”

“Your dog doin’ okay then?”

“I’ll say. Flushed a partridge yesterday.”

“Get ’im?”

“Missed him clean. Scared him, though.”

“Catchin’ any fish?”

“Nah. You?”

“Not so much. Well, I better get goin’.”

“See ya ’round, pal.”

“Yeah, see ya, Sonny. Keep her between the ditches.”

“You, too.”

That’s how most conversations went at the old Corner Bar. Thus, you see how surprised I was when a shaking, sickly looking Sonny stumbles in from the street one September morning saying, “Sheesh! I’m lucky to be alive.”

“What the heck happened to you, Sonny?” I ask.

“It’s like this,” he begins. “Me and my dog was hunting partridge down along the Namekagon River. Over by Les and Helen’s place. On the way back, I spots me a nice buck along the road so I pulls over down the road a ways and grabs my bow and doubles back, hopin’ for a shot.” Sonny waves at Harvey. “Bring me a Blatz, Harv,” he says. “And a shot of Old Crow to settle my nerves some.”

“Coming right up, Sonny,” says Harvey. “Say, you’re white as a ghost. You feeling okay?”

“I’m better now,” he answers. “See, I was sneakin’ up on a buck this mornin’ but, when I got there he was gone. So I turns back and right there across the road up in this tree is a bear.”

“Then what?” I say.         (To be continued)

Below: This bear cub and porcupine diorama hung above the backbar for decades.

Forty-five Fairly True Tales from the Old Corner Bar

Ah, the good old days! When the rivers of time flowed slower and local taverns served as public meeting places. Although these “fairly true” tales could have come from almost any watering hole, most originated in the old Corner Bar in Cable, Wisconsin, a usually quiet village not far from Lake Superior and deep within the Chequamegon-Nicollet National Forest.

While names and some of the “particulars” have been changed, these stories are based on true events as told to or recalled by James Brakken, Bayfield County’s award-winning author of historical fiction novels and short stories.

So, come on in. Meet the gang. Lift a glass and join the fun. Laugh at the latest jokes or another late-night prank gone awry. Learn more than you might wish to know about the goings on around town or in the only other tavern in the village.

These fairly true tales will leave you laughing or shocked or sad or utterly flabbergasted when you learn how clever some patrons of the old Corner Bar can be one minute, yet how dimwitted the next.

Step into the past in the old Corner Bar. We’ve been waiting for you!

 

Note: 6 of these stories are found in James Brakken’s other short story collections, Billyboy, the Corner Bar Bear and The Moose & Wilbur P. Dilby. But the remaining thirty-nine tales are all new. So what are you waiting for? Grab a copy of this salute to every old Corner Bar and enjoy this journey into days gone by.

This excerpt comes from The Winter Dam Incident. It is based on two stories told to me about game warden Ernie Swift from Sawyer County. The story is being told at the Corner Bar by "my" game warden, Snook Wilson. Snook is telling the gang about two Chicago thugs who were shooting muskies and sturgeon with Thompson machine guns at the Winter Dam. (See photo above left.) We enter mid-stream. Here's Snook:

“Now about this time, the man in the car says, ‘Forget it, Jake. Let this nobody game warden (Swift) have his fun. Just take the ticket to the boss and let him know about this. He’ll take care of things.’

“Then Swift hands each man his citation and says, ‘I want you to unload those Thompsons and pull the magazines. You’re not using them in Sawyer County ever again. And the next time I catch you poaching fish or game, with or without those sub-machine guns, you can plan on spending time in the slammer.’”

“See?” Edna shouted, “I told you so. That’s where those bums belong.”

Snook finished his beer. “So then Warden Ernie Swift walks over to his car, gets in, and drives off.”

“Just like that?” Sonny asked. “You mean he didn’t confiscate the sturgeon?”

“Nope. Those sturgeon were full of bullet holes and shot up so bad that Swift figured that they wouldn’t be good for anything anyway. He figured he’d leave them there to stink up the violators’ Ford.”

“So did they pay their fines?” Fuzzy asked.

“Well, that’s the clincher. The next day, Swift gets a visit. It’s one of the two thugs. He says there’s a man outside who wants to talk to him. So out from his office Ernie goes and there, in the back of a big, black Cadillac, is none other than Al Capone.”

The Al Capone?” Harvey asks.

The Al Capone, Harv. And Capone says to Swift, ‘Where I come from, if some lamebrain lawman pulled a stunt like that on one of my men, he’d never see another sunrise.’

“And Swift puts his finger in Al Capone’s face and says, ‘Well, this isn’t Chicago, pal. And if any of your men ever inflict harm on any officer up here, those men will never leave prison alive. And that, includes you, mister.’”

“Holy cow,” says Sonny. “That Ernie Swift had some backbone.”

“You bet he did,” Snook said, as he grabbed his ...    (To be continued. And YES, Swift DID give Al Capone a ticket. It was for fishing w/o a license!)

Here's a sample from the book. This is one of 45 great tales, each fairly true.

Edna

My mother used to say, “It takes all kinds to make a world.” Her words didn’t refer to the wide range of physical attributes of individuals. Rather, she spoke of personalities when she often repeated, “It takes all kinds.” The old Corner Bar offered many examples. There was gruff, grumpy Harry G, always complaining about one thing or another. Folks said that if he ever ran out of things to gripe about, he’d complain about that, too. And Harvey, the bartender who'd grin like a chimp with a fresh banana every time he'd hear the till ring. And remember sweet old Eben, the fellow always willing to share the trout he’d caught that morning? And how about tall, gushy Mona Sneed, with her coal-black hair and bright red lipstick? She’d grab a kid’s cheek and pinch really hard saying, “You’re such a cutie, Jimmy.” Boy, I hated that! It left a red mark on my cheek that lasted an hour. I’d run for it whenever I saw her coming. Yes, on any given night, one could go down the row of nineteen barstools in the old Corner Bar and find nineteen unique individuals, each with a queer quirk or two—or maybe eight or ten.

But of all the characters who held down the barstools, no one captured attention more than short, feisty Edna Fife, a dear old tippler and regular patron of the place. And of all the habits this octogenarian exhibited, one stood out. Way out! It began with a shout. “C’mere, you,” she’d holler as almost any age male walked through the door. “Gimme my kiss.” And the fellow in her sights had two options. The first, to succumb and let Edna lay a big sloppy smooch smackdab on the lips. Generally, the man’s reaction was to wipe his mouth, leaving a lipstick smear on both face and sleeve. A stroll through the barroom told you which guys the old gal had conquered that evening. They were the ones with lipstick-stained shirtsleeves.

But a fellow’s second option created far more excitement. Should he choose to ignore Edna’s advances, she’d dig in her heels. “C’mere,” she’d repeat. “Give an old lady a thrill, will ya, young fella? What can it hurt?” Or, “C’mon, cowboy. This old bronco is ready to ride.” And with that, she’d rush right up with arms extended, wrestle her victim into position and lay that smacker on him to the cheers of onlookers. If her quarry ducked, Edna dodged. If he bolted out the back door, she’d follow. If her man ran for the can, Edna would be right on his heels. With no place to hide, the object of her false fondness usually surrendered his lips, begetting praise from Edna Fife in the form of a loud shout. “What a man!”

Thus, nobody thought it odd when, one Saturday night, with the Corner Bar’s beer cooler half empty and many faces aglow, the crowd cheered when they heard Edna call out, “C’mere, you,” as two young men entered. With the element of surprise on her side, she’d corralled the first fellow and laid her lipstick-laden brand square on the chops. “What a man!” she yelled as she turned to his friend.

“C’mere, you, Gimme a kiss.”

“No thanks, ma’am.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t deny an old gal a thrill, would ya?”

“Not interested, lady,” he insisted.

“C’mon. Just one little peck?”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

Now, at this point, one might think Edna would retreat. Give way. Abandon her quest and withdraw. But Edna Fife knew well that if she let one fellow off the hook, others might likewise deny her saucy, sassy advances. So, with an, “Aw, sonny, just one,” Edna lunged for her quarry. He ducked. She dodged. He pushed past two gals yakking by the back door. Edna followed. He jostled three gents jawing near the jukebox, Edna in hot pursuit. Then, when he rushed around the pool table, Edna saw her chance. The old gal ...    (What happened next will amaze!)

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