Whiskey Wisdom and Dreams

Austin had announced last call about ten minutes ago, and he kept eyeing the group of frat boys sitting in the back corner. They came in from time to time for a few beers, and usually kept to themselves; however, on occasion, they were known for causing some trouble.

He watched them as they made their way towards the exit. One of them stopped, and threw a five-dollar bill on the bar, and said, “Thanks man,” as they filed out the door. Austin scooped up the bill and threw it in the tip jar, as he said goodnight to them. “Wow, a whole five bucks for putting up with their bullshit all night.” He grumbled to himself.

Sure, Austin could have been working in a busier or more trendy place, but there was something about this old, timeless, dive-bar that made him feel at home. It was like taking a step back in time. They had a jukebox, that had not been updated since about 1975, a dart board, and a bowling game for entertainment. The lunch crowd was small, and the regulars did not start to wander in until a little after seven. This allowed Austin to use the lull in the afternoon to concentrate on his writing and Larry didn’t seem to mind. Besides, some of these old timers tipped pretty well, so head bartender at Larry’s Lounge was Austin’s career choice for the time being.

His regulars were some interesting characters. Some of the old timers were ready to chew his ear off with their bourbon-fueled old war stories and long forgotten accomplishments. Others wanted to be left alone as they swallowed their gin, as their tales were too grim to repeat. A few mature ladies frequented the establishment to drown their sorrows, pining over their lost loves. While Austin was eager to listen to their stories, he was also looking for inspiration from their drunken tales.

As he looked around the room, Austin saw that he had one customer left, which was not unusual. He was an old English chap, Albert Thomas Whitefield. He came in every night, so Austin knew him well. Albert married young, had children, and was forced into his father-in-law’s advertising agency. He gave up his dream of becoming a writer, and worked a job he despised for fifty years. His wife became ill and passed away a few years ago. His kids were grown, moved away, and rarely came to visit, so Austin had become kind of an unofficial adopted son to Albert. Austin and Albert often stayed after the bar was closed, and talked for hours about an array of topics ranging from philosophy, politics, business, dreams for the future, and more. Austin told him about his childhood, and his aspirations for becoming a writer. Albert talked about growing up in England, his family, his travels, and his successful career. Yet despite all of his accomplishments, Albert shared how he felt unfulfilled.

Albert was never shy about giving you his opinion, and the wisdom of his years and experiences were unmatched. Austin enjoyed their conversations and always walked away with a tidbit of new knowledge. Albert was strong and intelligent, street smart, tough at times, but true kindness underneath it all.

But this evening, Austin could tell something was off with his friend. Albert was sitting in his usual seat at the end of the bar, nursing his last whiskey. He kept glancing around the room, waiting for the bar to empty, so he could talk with Austin. He seemed melancholy, distracted, like something was heavily weighing on him.

Austin locked the door and flipped over the sign to read closed. As he walked back behind the bar, he glanced at Albert and he immediately returned Austin’s gaze. “What is it, Albert? You look like you’ve got something on your mind tonight.” Austin said, as he picked up the bottle and refilled Albert’s glass and poured one for himself.

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. Just some regrets of an old man, in the twilight of his life” he replied with a weak smile, as he picked up his glass and downed the whiskey. “It’s about time I get going.” Albert paused before getting up to leave, “Remember Austin, dreams do come true.” He stood up, stared at Austin for a moment and smiled. He then handed him a small stack of bills to pay his tab.

Austin rang him up, and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Austin turned to give him his change, but Albert was already gone.

Well, okay then. Austin muttered to himself as he swallowed his whiskey. He finished cleaning up behind the bar, cashed out the register, and finished closing up. He shut the lights off and was headed for the front door, when in the dim light from the emergency exit sign he saw something on the floor under the barstool.

It’s probably a napkin, he thought to himself as he proceeded to the door. However, his curiosity got the best of him, and he walked back and bent down to see what had been left behind. It was a small black notebook. It was right under Albert’s seat. He moved closer to the light, looked around the empty bar, and opened the small black notebook to the front cover. There written in perfect cursive was the following: If Found Please Return to Albert Thomas Whitefield, 407 Cottage Way, Parkfield, PA 11110. Austin looked at the time, and he knew it was too late to return the notebook tonight, so he tucked it under his arm, locked the door and headed home.

The following day, Austin did his usual, went to class, ran a few errands, and grabbed a bite to eat. Even though it was his night off, he headed over to Larry’s Lounge hoping to find Albert and return his notebook. Not knowing what was inside, Austin didn’t want Albert to worry about it being lost.

Austin sat down at the bar and ordered a beer. He joined a game of darts with a few of the guys while he waited. He looked at the clock, and saw that it was already a half an hour past Albert’s regular arrival time.

Another round of darts, and there was still no sign of him. Albert was now over an hour late. Austin asked around to see if anyone had seen or heard from Albert, but they all sadly said they had not.

Austin finished his beer, walked out of the bar without saying a word, and headed to Albert’s house. He ran the few blocks and when he arrived, he saw that the lights were all on in Albert’s house. He walked up the steps, knocked and waited. There was no response. He knocked several more times; still no response. Before trying the doorknob, Austin looked around, surprisingly it was unlocked. Slowly he opened the door and shouted into the hallway, “Albert?” he waited several seconds before calling out again. There was nothing. The house was completely silent.

Austin began searching the house, still calling out Albert’s name. He came across a room toward the back of the house, the door was slightly ajar. He slowly pushed the door open, looked around, and took a few steps inside. This must be his library, Austin thought to himself. The lighting was dim and he could see that the fireplace had gone out quite a while ago. In the background a radio softly played the songs from Albert’s younger days. The room was warm and inviting and smelled of Albert’s musky cologne.

Austin walked a little further into the room, turned to the right, and froze in his tracks. There he was, Albert was lying on the couch and appeared to be sleeping. Austin knew the second he saw him that something was not right. He ran over to the couch and checked for a pulse, but the body had already grown cold. Austin stood there for a moment then finally dropped to his knees in sadness. He buried his face in his hands, and let out a pain filled sob. He cried for quite some time, as he realized he had lost his friend, mentor and “dad.”

Austin recalled Albert’s odd behavior and words last night, and began to look around the room for anything suspicious. He did not think Albert would ever consider self-harm, but Austin wanted to have all the facts before he called 911.

He walked over to the desk and was about to begin his search when he spotted a large brown envelope on the top of the desk. He paused for a moment when he saw his name “Austin Brady” written across the front of it in Albert’s impeccable penmanship.

Austin’s hands trembled as he slowly opened the envelope. He reached inside and pulled out the contents. There were two smaller envelopes and a letter addressed to him from Albert. The letter read:

“Austin my boy, what can I say? You only go around once in this life, and you need to be able to follow your dreams. I didn’t get a chance to follow mine, but you, you have a chance. The time is now! You’ve been both a friend and a son to me. Thank you for listening to an old man ramble. I know you are an honest, hardworking good soul, and you deserve to have your dreams come true. Please use the contents of the little black notebook I’ve entrusted to you, to your advantage. No one knows where it will lead you. Your friend, Albert Thomas Whitefield.”

Austin dropped the letter on the desk, and quickly looked at the other two envelopes. One had the words “Publishing Contacts” written across it. The other held a check for $20,000.00 and made payable to him, with “Take the chance” written on the memo line. Austin could not stop shaking. How could this be possible? How could this be happening to him? Albert owed me nothing, he thought to himself. He once again looked over at his friend and fresh tears began to spill down his face.

After the initial shock began to wear off, Austin wiped his face, and glanced around the room. He quickly gathered up the paper work and shoved it back inside the envelope, along with the black notebook. He tucked it into the back of his pants before calling the police to report Albert’s death.

The autopsy results showed that Albert died of a heart attack in his sleep. Austin paid for the funeral, laid his friend to rest, and had a memorial service for him at the bar where everyone shared stories about Albert. The regulars chipped in to have Albert’s name engraved on a small gold plaque that was then placed on his favorite seat in the bar. It was the perfect way to remember his old chum Albert.

Austin read Albert’s notebook, used the $20,000.00 to finish his degree, and he continued working at Larry’s Lounge until he graduated. After school, Austin moved to the city to pursue his dreams of becoming a writer.

Whenever Austin is in town, he stops at the old dive-bar. It hadn’t changed a bit. The air smelled of nostalgia, forgotten stories, and old booze. Austin proudly sits in Albert’s seat, drinks their favorite whiskey, and tells stories about Albert to the new regulars. His stories will not remain untold. Austin would ensure that Albert’s legacy lives on.

Two strangers brought together by chance learned that through trust, friendship, respect, and a little black notebook, that dreams can come true.

Austin currently has two books on the best seller list, with a third on the way. Wanting to honor his friend and inspiration, he dedicated his first book, “The Lads of the Lounge,” to his friend and mentor Albert Thomas Whitefield.