It was not much more than a shack by the side of a highway to the east of Cottonpaugh. Rusti would go by on her wheeled shoes on the other side of the road where there was the ruins of a paved walkway. For some time she saw the ‘help wanted’ sign on the side of the building. After one of her days in the corn sheds she crossed the highway and went in. There was no one inside except for an older man behind the bar. He told her he was too old to work every day and no one wanted to stop after a day’s work to buy a beer from an old man.

The man told her he hoped to hire a woman that would bring people back in. Rusti saw that there were ten seats at the bar and several tables across the room. There was a large dirt parking area. A porch outside a side door could hold several more small tables. Before he could tell her about the job she went behind the bar, took a towel off the top of a beer cooler, and started cleaning and organizing. She started asking questions. And she continued to ask questions as she went around the room reorganizing and opening some window covering to let in light.

Does he own the building? Does he own the parking area around the building? How far from the building does his land go? Does he still owe money on any of it? How much does beer cost? How much does he sell it for? Does he ever have any food here? Would he sell the business and all the property? How much does he want? Would he take some payment every month? The owner was both surprised and amused. He wondered where her accent was from. He was silent and listened at first, then answered that he owned all the property.

He wondered more. Did she always wear faded work pants and a green shirt. Clothes that looked like she found them in the charity box at that church down the road that has the snakes. Did she always go around wearing the boots with the wheels on the bottom. And the copper colored hair. He said he never saw that color on anyone else. She was fearless and seemed to know no strangers. He said his father back in RedDirt once told him that some people who have the most to fear from all others are the most fearless. Maybe he could get back home to RedDirt.

By the end of the next day they had come to an agreement. Rusti would take over the business and take on expenses. She would pay him a monthly price they both liked plus a small income to buy all of it. The payments would stay at the set amount no matter how well the business did. Rusti would keep all income above that. The agreement would allow her to own the business and property after five years. The owner agreed to this just to get someone else in behind the bar. He thought it would not last more than a few months.

Rusti began by using the little money she had of her own to buy paint to cover the outside of the building that faced the highway. She designed a bright cheerful sign Rusti’s Place. And she painted another that said OPEN. As she worked outside she smiled and waved at cars as they passed by. Soon a few workers would pull over into the dirt parking lot. After they bought beers some would help her paint and repair the old furniture. The few who thought they could take any advantage of her were soon pulled up short by the others.

(Did some of the later ‘regulars’ first come here? And help with the fix-up?)

After a few months Rusti’s Place was all repainted and repaired. She had a ‘free beer night’ to thank all who helped her. By then most of the seats were full nightly. Rusti was friendly to all and would call people by their names. The tables she added outside on the porch became popular. Some nights the parking lot would be full and within a year or so people would line up or wait in their cars for a place to sit.

Green shirt night.

The owner would come in every day as Rusti worked on the bar. She smiled at him but went about her work like he wasn’t there.

 The owner soon became proud of Rusti. He started shaving again every day. He started wearing clean shirts. He bought a new green shirt. He would come in from time to time to sit and talk wearing his new green shirt.

When she got close to the time that she would own the business she became legally old enough to go into beer bars.

After she owned the business she had offers to sell at a good price. A condition was that she could not start another been bar anywhere close by. So she moved over to Oilbaugh. She would have gone there anyway because of the availability of large buildings.

***

 ...and then moved into a long metal building that was once a stable where people could rent horses to ride around town. She put the bar in so that it ran the full length. She would go from one end to the other behind on wheels she had on the bottom of her boots. All the men liked her. The horse stalls across from the bar now all had large tables inside. These were for families often with their children and for young couples, and not so young couples.

On busy nights my old friend and famous Gamer Bro would help Rusti. He had a good and short career in Game, where he was able to make some good money and not get hurt. Now he is a coach for most sports at a local school and a settled family man married to one of the other teachers. Bro’s presence in Rusti’s makes sure there is always peace. At times he is helping behind the bar, other times stopping to talk with people seated in the booths along the wall. A gentle pat on the shoulder, a bright smile, and possibly a firm grip on the upper arm quickly calms the seldom outburst of anger.

There is a homemade wine locally called Valley Red. It comes in large clear bottles with a handle near the opening on top. It is not against the law to make Valley Red. It is against the law to sell Valley Red. Rusti would have bottles on top of the bar spaced every ten feet or so. There would be a stack of large glasses next to each bottle. The bottles would have a label For Tasting Only. Also near each bottle would be a bowl for donations to the Oilpaugh Animal Hospital. And there would be a notebook nearby so you could write your opinion of the wine for the next Ag Valley Fair.

Valley Red was especially popular with the card players who would come into Rusti’s earlier than they expected to from the Card House. Regulars who saw them come in would move to seats that did not block access to the bottles. Buck, who I told you about before, was the ‘Elder’ of this delegation. He would be leading the conversations of ‘what ifs’ and ‘I should haves’ and ‘If onlys.’ Most of the others in this group would change from night to night. But Buck? Buck was constant. When the conversation had deteriorated, and most others in the group had left, Buck would write comments on Valley Red in the notebook.

At time Sprit would come back to town from her home in Basin. Rusti had a small stage set up in a wider space between the horse stalls. There was not room for more than one musician and a small piano. Sprit would play several string instruments she brought. And sometimes the piano. She sang songs that everyone knew including some she wrote herself. Mostly she came to try new songs. Sprit did not say when she was coming because her fame would crowd Rusti’s place to overcrowding. But people would come by Rusti’s in the hope that it would be a night that she came to sing.

Rusti’s Place is not too far away from my shop in Oilpaugh. I went there for years to get away to read the newspaper or write down my thoughts. I sometimes took my nephew Willson along with me. And sometime we took Pal along with us. We would sit at one of the tables where the other families were across the saw dust floor from the bar.  I did not know Rusti at all during those years. Pal left earlier than Willson to go to University up north. Willson and I would still go in at times. The first time Rusti spoke with me she came over from the bar to ask why Pal didn’t come in with us anymore.

When Rusti first talked to me then I had the feeling that she was familiar. That I knew her from somewhere before.  After seeing her up close.