Foundation Surgical Hospital now dominates Terminal Street, but back in the day, say about
1965-ish, stood a Miller Beer distributorship--and the first bar I and several Bellaire youngsters ever
stepped foot in.
Of my three older
brothers, Rick was my immediate elder and, at 9, he was five years my senior.
So when he asked if I wanted to tag along somewhere, anywhere, the answer was a
resounding "yes!"
Terminal
Street was only a block from my childhood home, yet I shudder to think how my parents
let their 9-year-old lead a 4-year-old off the street. But those days were
different.
Anyway, I stuck to my brother's heels like gum, following him right
up to a secret entrance to the distributorship's commesary. It featured
swinging doors just like the saloons we'd seen in westerns we watched with our
dad.
Rick pushed through them as if he were John Wayne in Chisholm. I simply walked underneath as they swung back and
forth overhead.
With enviable
confidence, Rick led me by the hand through the dim, smoky room right up to the
towering bar and hopped up onto a stool. Rick then pulled me up onto my seat
where I must have looked like the "Kilroy" cartoon figure with only my hands, eyes and nose
showing as I peeked over the counter.
He leaned in close with one finger over
his lips to shush me and said with a wink, "Be cool--I"ll do the talking."
Rick boldly
ordered two beers from a stunned barkeep in front of equally astonished
patrons. Moments later a pair of ice-cold mugs slid along the bar to my brother
and me.
The bubbly liquid was dark and rich with a tan froth. My first ever
toast was followed by a long cool chug of smooth and sudsy...root beer.
Here's to the memories...
Copyright 2006 by David Falloure
