Bars of the Western World: Ragain's, Berwyn

Bars of the Western World: Ragain's, Berwyn

“They have builded a heavy-shouldered laughter here who went to work too young.”
Nelson Algren, “Love is for Barflies”

The Wife was at a dinner last night and my daughters are now on diets that disallow edible food, so I was on my own. I decided to drive south on Ridgeland and stop by a Burrito King I had seen, thinking it might be a diamond in the rough. It turned out to be a lump of coal in the rough, so driving back, I stopped at a little bar called Ragain’s to wash off the taste of tasteless Milaneza.

I walked into Ragain’s and sat at the only available bar seat, next to a woman in her late sixties with plucked eyebrows and the tight facial skin I tend to associate with older British women and lifelong smokers. We smiled pleasantly at one another and she started talking. Turns out, this woman, Susy Ragain, has owned the bar for 20 years (anniversary celebration this Saturday – I may stop by). The place is unpretentious, meaning there are cardboard boxes on the counters and liquor signs on the walls dating back to the 80s and before. At dart boards, juke box and a few random tables, young people in their 20s flirt and fart around. Once, when Susy went into the back to get some fives, I looked around and could not find a single face in the place that was not smiling.

What was most cool was that as we sat there talking about how Susy has, over the years, handled youthful drunks and paid bribes to mayors and police, these young kids, mostly women, would walk up to Susy like she was their mom or something, hug her, and talk about their families and lives. Susy told me that some of these girls used to come in with their parents, and now they’re having kids, and she expects to serve them, too. No bouncer required here; Susy’s authority is unchallenged.

As the boys played darts, the girls smoked and preened, Led Zeppelin blared, and Susy beamed broadly, eyes wide and loving it, clapping her hands in time with John Bonham, greeting each new wave of young-uns that swept through the screen door, holding casual court, the Mother of Us All.

That night, there were no major revelations (though the insider perspective on Berwyn street graft and municipal extortion was fascinatingly unprintable). There was no food (I don’t count Slim Jim’s), but I was warmed by more than just the room-temperature Guinness: Ragain’s is the kind of place I used to think of as a bar when I was growing up on the Northwest Side, a neighborhood watering hole no bigger than a Barrington broom closet, serving people who, more likely than not, walked there on a summer night to see friends in an informal anyone’s welcome club-like atmosphere, quaffed a few frosty mugs, flung darts, goofed around, and then walked home, glowing from drink and fellowship, under indifferent stars.

Ragain’s
2832 Ridgeland Ave
Berwyn, IL 60402
708-749-1486

DH:

A fine post. Thank you.

A

You know, I was temped to stop in on Saturday, and I'm sure it would have been just fine, but I had this funny feeling that coming by once, by happenstance, was fine, but coming by twice in one week might almost seem like I was insinuating myself into regular-hood and, when you come right down to it, it's a neighborhood bar and it isn't my neighborhood. It's a funny feeling, but I'm feeling it.

Hammond