Bartending, Redneck Style

First let me say, nobody calles me Marie around here except a few friends and family. They call me Toni, short for Antionette, as they've called me since I was a preteen. Now!!! I can't tell you the more colorful stories about my bartending days, because it would offend some folks, but I will tell you about a couple of chararters that I know.

I started bartending, or "barmaiding" as the local rednecks say, about 1984. (Around here, you're not a bartender unless you're a man. You're a barmaid.) The bar I worked in was called "Clydes", named after Clyde, my boss. Clyde is a local WW2 hero who faught close with Audie Murphy (a world famous actor and later country music composer)- so the story goes. This is Clyde. He's holding a sign that says, "Will Work for Sex". He's such a card. The tiny christmas tree with dollars to the right is where we would hang our tips during the holiday season- a gentle hint.

I've known Clyde since 1965, when I first moved here to Picayune MS. from New Orleans. When I arrived here I thought I was in an alien world. Where the hell am I? This town only had 2 red lights. OMG!!! Clyde had the only car garage that I knew of. I dated and went to prom with Clyde's son, Little John. (Yes 2 names. Everybody has two names here.) Anyway , I digress. Clyde's garage, in the years to come, became Clydes Bar- one of the most notorious bars in this part of MS. I wish I had a picture of the bar itself: It was a plain square, blue cinderblock building- except that on the front was a huge mural of Clyde's face morphed into a frothy beer mug, with the froth being the beard and mustache. It was sooo tacky, but a landmark nonetheless. I will add a picture of this when I find it, it's a must-see-to-appreciate thing.


He kept asking me to work for him, but I refused because I never in my life did anything like that. I could not even run a register! Well something tragic happened in my life: I lost my younger brother in Germany on that damn Autobahn. Enough of that part. When Clyde asked me to work one night again. I said no, but my husband said: why not, it may take your mind off your brother for awhile. Well that awhile became 18 years. I started working when I was about 33, working till I was about 51.
At that time, when our town was still tiny, I was different looking than most women around here, maybe somewhat exotic looking. I'm Spanish, French, & Scotch-Irish decent, of course some Native American thrown in. I Also dressed differently than the other barmaids. I would wear dresses instead of the ragged T-shirts and holey jeans. Of course I wore the raggedy stuff at home, but... I figured Men like a woman in a dress and thats who really does the tipping- men! I never cursed or smoked. In fact, I never smoked in my life. I learned most men don't like that either. Everyone came to see me, when word got out.

Would you believe I became a very good barmaid. Clyde's being the neighborhood bar and knowing most of the people cause I went to school or the local dance center as a teen, where I was a GoGo dancer, white boots and all. I made alot of tips- More than any of the other barmaids. My daughter Alexia use to stay up and wait for me so she could count them. She got a kick out of that and it funded our trips to the mall or water parks. I learned how to play pool pretty good, so I won a few tournaments, that was fun. I still could dance. I also became known for that. Not a hoochie mama dancer- I mean the same dancing I did when I was a teen gogo dancer. I had a blast. I loved going to work. Barmaids came and went, but I was a fixture, became known as the top barmaid around.

I learned right off to keep my mouth closed and not reveal certain things. I could write a book, on some of the things I saw and heard. I had dirt on local bigwigs who were supposed to be "pillars of the community" that would make a rockstar blush. Trust me, that dirt will go to my grave with me. That discretion got me respect and protection. The other thing that got me respect was the fact that everyone knew I didn't put up with shenanigans. If someone got too rowdy and bothered me or the other customers, or was doing something illegal, I'd give them one warning, and then I'd call the police. Period. This kept them in line. It also got me notoriety on the local police dept, and kept the police from hanging around outside as much as they did other bars- they knew i'd call them if anything was out of the way! And I think being on good terms with officers may have kept me from being pulled over a few times when I had a lead foot.

Below is a picture of Mr. Joe Dollar. He is no longer with us, May God bless his poor tormented soul. He is about 88 here in this picture. Living in a shack on a lake with no electricity, He never changed with the times as most people do. He tried to dicatate my life at work, when some man or someone he did not like became too familiar. First he started with little notes, or newpaper clippings, he'd say, "You should not talk to so and so, stay away from so and so" things like that. Then he started sending me little gifts, like bottle openers or Mardi Gras beads, just little things like that.

I knew things were getting out of hand, but I did not want to hurt the old man's feelings. My husband said I would have to put a stop to it. Finally I had to tell him he could not come in unless he stopped what he was doing. I hated that. He started out at first like a sweet old man. But he eventually showed that he was such a bigot and said the most hateful things about people. So enough was enough. To be a good female bartender, you have to put a certain distance between yourself and the customers, no matter how friendly.

Below is a picture of Mr. Paul. He is about 67 here. But let me tell you- If I was older and single. I would have snapped him up. He was the most fun to be around. He told me stories and jokes, making me laugh so hard, I really did wet my pants one time. I'm not kidding. He is from N.O. too. He told me things he did in the French Quarters, that would turn you purple. I wish I could tell you a couple of stories, but I can't remember them- only the WAY he told them. He would start every story with, "...This is a true story..." or sometimes he'd pause in the middle and say, "you know, this is a true story..." and then go on. The thing is some of the tales were unbeliveable, but you knew they were true somehow!!! I think I was a little in love with him. He's not doing so well right now. He should be in his late 70's. What a good looking man for his age. He is the one who cut out my plaques for me on some of the older dolls I made. But his hands started shaking too badly, so now I just cut them myself. Note the sign on the pole that says, "NO ONE ON THE BAR AT ANY TIME." Heehee!
Let me tell you about Alice. She was the barmaid who opened with Clydes. I've known Alice since I first moved to Picayune. She was one of the first girls I met there. She just died a couple of weeks ago. Alice was, well, Alice. She never changed except she did find the Lord in her last year. She had a very rough life. I can't find a picture of her- but when you picture a redneck barmaid, you see her. The song "White Rabbit"... by Jefferson Airplane, that was her... "Go ask Alice, when she's 10 ft tall..." She was into everything that was bad for her. As soon as she taught me the basics of bartending, she just didn't want to work anymore. Even the local police never stopped her when she was acting out.They didn't want to cope with her! I've always loved Alice and it brings tears to my eyes, when I know the kind of life she had. But for all of her roughness, Alice had a very deep soul. She was very kind hearted, would give you her last penny.
I could go on and on. There are so many who came into my life while working. Some are gems, some are the scum of the earth. I will tell you this: NEVER judge a book by its cover. Because some who came in looking like bums turned out to be the most decent hard working people, who today I call friends. And some of the best dressed and smooth of tongue were the lowest form of humanity I ever had the misfortune to meet.

Hail, Hail the Gang's all here.This is most of my diehard, never want to leave customers. All in all, a bunch of good people who just want to have a few drinks after work and a good time. The guy in the camo jacket is my husband of 37 years, Bill.

Eventually, Clyde least the bar out to a very young uppity girl, who thought she was going to change it all... make it more for "her crowd". She certainly did that! She got rid of me and some of the older paying customers, so that she could turn Clyde's into a yuppie bar- with the under 25 set who nursed their drinks all night, didn't tip, and were there to have a different kind of good time. The bar shut down in less than a year. Clyde never reopened due to his wife's illness. That was that. The End. There were alot of in betweens... But Isn't there always? Hugs, Marie Antionette

Note from Alexia (Genteel Poverty): I also tended bar for several years at an equally rough but not as notorious local bar. It used to irk me so bad, my customers would refer to me in third person as "Toni's daughter" and sometimes when addressing me directly, "Toni Junior". LOL! I never quite was able to garner the respect she got, but I know why. She enjoyed her job so much that she was just a natural at any situation that cropped up, playing things off lighthearted while getting things done right. One day I will tell you about the time when she broke a pool stick over a (very disrespectful) young man's head without getting a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her shirt. It's a local legend.


Other stories from Marie's Barmaid Memoirs

#2 BARMAID'S STORY  Click Here

#3 THE LEGEND OF THE POOL STICK INCIDENT  Click Here

#4 A FUNNY BAR STORY  Click Here