READ MORE FROM OUR DIVE BARS FEATURE HERE.
I love bars.
I love settling onto the stool, hanging my jacket on the hook under the bar. The sound of pool balls dropping after the quarters go in. The shake of the day. The neon glow. Overhearing bad takes about the packers.
Seeing ice in a beer down the bar – not my thing, but you do you. Someone hitting a pull tab big enough to pocket the cash. Being the tiebreaker in strangers’ friendly argument.
Tell us who you’d pick to be a Betty this year!
It’s not really the bars’ space or decor or drinks that get me, though – it’s the people, and what they’re doing in there.
On a recent late Tuesday at Mamie’s on national avenue, two older maybe-couples next to my group at the bar were drinking beer and highballs and endearingly carrying on. A couple in their 20s – maybe a date? – were next down the line. A pair of older ladies greeted the quartet with warm hellos and pats on the back but posted up at their own table.
The crowd was diverse in every sense of the word. One of the older patrons – white guy – started chatting with a younger Latino man about how they both grew up nearby, decades apart. There are few places in Milwaukee that cut across the lines that so often divide us better than a great dive bar.
It’s because there’s a kinship of partaking in food or drink, shoulder to shoulder, but also of choice. On any given night or day, there are a great many bars to choose from, some better than others, but right now we all chose this one.
Our reasons may vary, but we chose to be here together. Camaraderie is easy to find here, and a pitcher or two of PBR helps, too.
Longtime Mamie’s proprietor Debbie Mickey chafes at the “dive bar” label, and she took a little convincing to be included in this story and on our cover.
It’s our view that today the term has mostly and rightly shed its negative connotations, and we take a flexible approach in part to avoid the exhausting semantics of it. A dive bar needn’t be lowbrow; it’s just a brow without judgment. A dive is natural, authentic, comfortable in its (usually wrinkled) skin.
And because people make a bar tick, not feeling judged is one of the things that really makes a great dive bar.
There was another guy I remember at Mamie’s that night: a harder-looking middle-aged fella at the front of the bar, alone with his 7 and 7. As we passed his stool, a surprise “see ya later” turned into a joke and a conversation that delayed our departure by about 10 minutes. It was like we were old friends. In a way, because we were there together, we were.
Signs you’re in a dive:
- someone lives upstairs.
- irony-free
- cash only (“there’s an atm over there.”)
- bartender somewhat confused/surprised by new people walking in
- quirky signs (“use doorknob please.” – stalley cats in west allis)
- unclear if it’s open, or how to get in
- lack of light in daytime (and you will be there during the daytime.)
- cd jukebox
- radio with commercials
- Metallica, Gn-f’n-R, Blue Öyster Cult
- wine is bad or nonexistent
- shots (bonus: mystery shot!)
- crock pots
- pickled eggs and other weird foods
- carpet (probably dirty)
- knotty pine paneling, formica
- toilet and urinal in a one-fixture size bathroom (“ope, someone’s in there.”)
- bathrooms you wouldn’t want your mom to use
- sink outside the bathroom
- bar dice
- that one guy is always, always, on the same stool
Signs you’re not in a dive:
- Edison bulbs (our only hard-and-fast rule)
- good drink selection
- wifi
- wall art is for sale
- staff uniform
- cocktail menu (except stella’s, probably)
- it calls itself a dive (except stella’s, probably)
