Melvin B's is a bar on Rush Street. It shares space with another bar, Cactus and the run down Cedar Hotel (now with color TV and A/C). I have a theory about the little dive bar that no one really seems to notice. I think it's magic. No I'm not kidding. When I mention it to people I can see the vague recollection of the name in their eyes, but they can't place the bar. Even when I tell them exactly where it is, they respond with a distant "Ooh." pretending to know, but not really. That, in my mind, just supports my theory.
Last year, my teacher Paul told us about his experience at Melvin B's. He was living on Elm Street in his divorcee apartment; his ex-Wife got the home they had lived in during the marriage. Paul was down on his luck, jobless and wifeless, he went out to the bar on a rainy day. He sat at the bar in Melvin B's and ordered himself a drink. There was another customer at the bar, also, alone. The other customer struck up a conversation with Paul, "Divorced, huh?"
Paul wondered how he had guessed.
"What do you do?" The man asked.
"Well, I'm an illustrator."
As it turns out, the man worked for Playboy, (remember this was back in the day when Playboy had an office in the Palmolive Building on Michigan and Walton) and so he said, "Come down to Playboy at 9am tomorrow, bring your portfolio and you'll have a job."
I'm not sure if the men had a more detailed conversation than this, but it's not really important.
Paul was a bit surprised, but as he walked home, he convinced himself that the man had just been some old drunk making up stories. So he went to sleep.
The next morning Paul woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. When he answered the voice on the line said, "Where are you? Get over here!" It was the man from Melvin B's. Paul rushed over to the Palmolive Building and that's how he began his career at Playboy. At least that's how he told it.
And that's how I told it to my mom as we sat in Barnes and Nobel (two doors down from Melvin B's) drinking three-dollar cups of coffee.
At this point, I thought it was just a cool story. Guy walks into a bar and gets a job at Playboy. It's like the set-up for a joke.
But my mom says, "You know that's really interesting."
And she has a story.
One of her friends has a daughter who is about thirty, now. When she was in her twenties, she lived in my neighborhood. She was also having a hard time finding a good job, and beginning her life. She struggled to pay the bills, so she got a second job waitressing at Melvin B's. It's not the greatest job in the world; it just helps take the edge off her financial troubles. One night a man and his friends walk into the bar, and she serves them like all the other customers. The details are sketchy, but she and the man are attracted to each other. They date and her life starts to turn around. The two get married and move to Paris. She gets a job in the fashion industry. The two become rich and have a family. They still live in Paris.
Coincidence? No, that's the magic.
So, why haven't I run over to Melvin B's in the hopes of changing my life? I think it only works when you're in the "pit of despair". I think that if I tried right now, it wouldn't work out for me. You have to try out life for yourself, you have to know what real hardship is before you can ask for help. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm getting close. I can still turn it around; I can make life happen for myself. But who knows, I may wander in there someday, and if something great happens, I'll let you know. But not yet.