EDDIE

EDDIE

Tom's Bar on the west side of St. Cloud was destroyed in a gas line explosion last year. The owner has been having difficulty obtaining city permission to rebuild or relocate because it was a blue collar bar, the scene of nightly fights, and not well kept. Police calls were a regular nightly event. Police received more calls to Tom's Bar than any bar in town.

Our city council has to decide if Tom can move to the east side. It is a delicate issue because the east side neighborhood churches are against it while Tom is prepared to sue the city. I decided to go and speak my mind even though my neighborhood is not affected.

When I told Ted what I was going to do, he said, "I hope you have a good argument." I told him that I didn't have an argument; I had a story and a secret to tell. Here is what I said:

I don't have an argument. I have a story and a secret to tell. My father's name was Eddie. He had a learning disability. He worked hard in a defense plant and later in a mattress factory. After work each day he stopped at the Triangle Bar on East Hennipen to have a beer or three with the boys.

When he died we saw the word Karsokoff on his death certificate. That means deterioration of the brain due to alcohol. There were some other words but I don't remember what they were. Karsokoff stood out.

At his funeral, my uncle, a Pentecostal preacher, pointed to my father's casket and said, as he raised his other hand to the ceiling, "If Eddie could speak to you now he would say, "Lift your hand to the Lord." I looked at the casket and pictured Eddie rattling around in there. "No, I said to myself, if Eddie could speak to us now he would say, "Go down to the Triangle Bar and have a beer with the boys."

After the funeral I asked nine members of my family to go to the Triangle Bar and have a beer with the boys. We walked in and there were several men sitting at the bar. They looked at us with quizzical eyes as we sat down and ordered ten bottles of Grain Belt beer.

I asked a man if he knew Eddie Knutson and he brightened up and said, "Everyone knew Eddie." His voice paused and he said, "He died." "Yes," I replied, " I just came from the funeral. I am his daughter." The men sitting at the bar came and told stories about Eddie,

stories that I would not have heard anywhere else. I learned a lot about Eddie that day.

And the secret? On special occasions I play, with gusto, "In Heaven There Is No Beer" for Eddie on my accordion.