Dear GT40,

Here are a few last minute memories of the Jones:

In the summer of ‘83 the Jones was often quiet. The night of that year’s Baseball All-Star Game my friends Dan, Brad, Andy, and I decided to play bridge and watch the game from a table at the Jones. Phil was bartending, and he was slightly offended that we were going to tie up a table all night, but it was quiet and there was never a need for us to give up the table. That was the year Fred Lynn hit a grand slam off Atlee Hammaker. We were all AL fans, so we appreciated the AL beating up on Phil’s NL team.

On July 24 of ‘83 I was sitting at the bar watching the Yankees-Royals game. George Brett homered and Billy Martin came out to talk to the umps. Joe Bodelai was sitting next to me, and he explained the rule about how much pine tar was allowed on the bat. Joe predicted that the umps would have to call Brett out. A moment later Brett was called out and went ballistic in the famous “Pine Tar Incident”. Joe knew more about baseball than anyone I’ve ever met.

The next year I broke my ankle playing softball for the Jones team. Lewis Shaffer took me to Beth Israel, where I wound up staying for a week. The positive that came out of this was that whenever I hobbled into the Jones on my crutches, the bartenders always made someone give up a stool for me. One time I was on 14th trying to hail a cab to the Jones, and one of the twins (Tim or Tom, I forget) picked me up. He was done with his shift and heading home, but he recognized me and had to take me to the bar.

Later that summer a table of drunk NYU students was giving a waitress a hard time and saying they weren’t going to pay their bill, claiming they was something wrong with their food. Then they looked up and realized that about ten regulars were standing silently around their table, staring at them. They paid their check and left.

Summer of ‘85 I was working downtown when I got a call. A guy who I did business with was in town, and wanted to know if I wanted to get dinner with him. I picked him up at his hotel and took him to the Jones, which was jammed. We drank on the sidewalk waiting for a table, then ate. Lisa (now my wife) waited on (and flirted with) us. After dinner we went back outside, and played some whiffleball. It was Fleet Week, and we wound up pitching quarters with some British sailors. I stuck my drunk friend in a cab about 2 a.m. The next week he called me from Palo Alto and told me it was one of the most fun nights he’d ever had.

During the summer of 2013 Lisa and I were vacationing in the Adirondaks. One afternoon we went to a party at someone’s “camp” on Kiwassa Lake. The only way to get to the camp was by boat, so there were a lot of boats at the dock there. I forget why, but somebody commented on the size of my Red Sox cap. I admitted that I have a big head, but said the biggest head of anyone I ever met was a guy named Bobby Barry. When I said that, a guy standing nearby spun around a said, “Bobby Barry!” Bobby was a regular at the Jones, but also at the Ear Inn, where he captained their softball team. It turns out that this guy who had been standing near me, Jason Brill, had played on the Ear Inn team against us Jonesers, and had been in the Jones many times.

It’s actually pretty amazing how many people I run into who have fond memories of the Great Jones.

Al Vyssotsky