Oregon Tavern Age: Tiny’s Tavern and the Legend of Evelyn Part 2

The bartender narrated and I listened: Evelyn Bucher owned and operated Tiny’s Tavern from 1956 to 2010, when she passed away. Fifty-four years behind the bar in OTA country, doubtless a record. Beer and wine only then. Cigarettes and stogies. Fried chicken and sack lunches to go. She might have even served an underage Steve Prefontaine, the legendary wild man distance runner who grew up in the area and trained in the dunes! Years ago, she even put in a laundromat inside the joint! She served two generations of loggers and fishermen and back in the day it was probably like Sometimes a Great Notion every morning, noon and night, except for the fact that Evelyn didn’t allow cussing in the tavern and 86’d anyone who did.

I looked at Evelyn’s portrait again. They never have portraits like these in brew pubs and that’s pretty much the reason I stopped going to brew pubs. Who wants to talk about beer when you can talk about gizzards?

The bartender told me that Evelyn was beloved in the community, belonged to multiple service organizations, sponsored bowling, baseball, softball and pool teams, once donated 69 handmade quilts to veterans, and was a proud and active member of her church. When she died, practically all of North Bend turned out and they held a viewing of her in a mortuary, a celebration of her life in a church, and celebration of her other life in Tiny’s. Preacher drinks beer with logger. It don’t get no more OTA than that.

I asked about the carpet on the walls and why Evelyn hadn’t ripped it out once smoking was banned. The regulars wouldn’t hear of it, the bartender said, and besides, Evelyn’s husband or son owned a carpet cleaning business and they regularly came in and shampooed the walls. I asked and asked and the bartender kept riffing Evelyn stories.

The more the bartender shared about Evelyn, including showing me the commemorative bar stool with her name embroidered in the vinyl and the ladder she used to clean the top of the grill, the more I marveled. Can a woman like Evelyn with a name like Evelyn still exist on the Oregon Coast? I mean, was she the last Evelyn in reality and metaphor?

A half hour vanished. The bartender excused herself and headed toward the back. I got up to find the restroom and headed toward the back. A few seconds later, to my left, I noticed a rectangular enclosed space fronted by large windows. I went inside. It was the laundromat, a tiny laundromat, and I was utterly shocked because I thought it had closed down decades ago.

No one was inside the laundromat. I looked around: there were industrial washers and dryers and a half dozen old pool league trophies decorating the space, big trophies made of marble and metal that could kill a man in a bar fight. One trophy even had a mini pool table with real green felt! I desperately wanted one of these trophies for my home. I also wanted to do my laundry and drink beer inside Tiny’s laundromat and imagine what had gone on while the beer flowed and clothes were washed and dried.

A few minutes later I was back sitting at the bar, finishing the rest of my session. The bartender was programming the jukebox. The Ninja woman was winning and making Ninja-like noises and gestures. The gizzards were waiting for a gullet. I took a final look at Evelyn. Her glowing image was the combined OTA portrait of Mona Lisa, the Virgin Mary and the Hamm’s bear.

As I got up to leave, an OTA man and woman entered the tavern each carrying a hamper of dirty clothes. They were smiling.

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