A Wake at Ned's

 

Ned the bartender asked for a moment of silence, or as Ned put it, On your feet, and shuddup! Now someone hit D12.

We’ll Meet Again was a familiar tune at Ned’s tavern, often played by the man they would honor tonight.

“And keep playing it till I say pull the plug on the damn thing.”

Clyde Fellows, the deceased, stirred in his pine box. Oh, he was most definitely dead, but every few minutes a mourner would rummage through his pockets in search of owed money.

“You fellas gotta stop that!” said Ned. “The poor guy died a pauper. His pockets are as empty as your heathen souls. Let the dead be.”

“What killed him?” said Bugsy.

“Heart attack,” said Ned, “Yesterday morning, after spending a night in the drunk tank, he came home to find his furniture out on the street. I’m told he dropped dead on the spot.”

“I’m guessing from embarrassment,” said Bugsy. “I’ve seen his furnishings, even the bedbugs took a pass.”

“That’ll be enough of that,” said Ned. “So when I heard that he kicked it, I went into my little safe box to fetch his will.”

“You had his will?” someone yelled.

“Yeah,” said Ned. “A lot of the older fellas that come in here hand over their wills—and two bits a month from their pension money—for safe keeping. Them that ain’t got family figure I’ll give ‘em a good send off; it eases their mind. And here you are, having a free beer night on old Clyde’s pension dough—all thirty bucks of it.”

“Ah, geez, and us going through his pockets and all,” said one of the old-timers.

“I want you all to hang your heads in shame,” said Ned, “and swear to your dead mothers that it won’t happen again.”

After much murmuring, the patrons formed a circle around Clyde’s pine box and began to sing along with Vera Lynn—beer soaked emotions causing many tears to fall.

“Now for the short and sweet reading of the will,” said Ned. “I, Clyde Fellows, declare this to be my last will and testament. I ain’t a lettered man, nor am I a man of means, but what I say, I mean. First, I want to thank dear Ned for his putting up with my occasionally being short the two bits monthly send-off fee. But in all fairness I did spend it at the tavern. That’s gotta put points on my scoreboard for sure. Ned is aces in my book. Secondly, thanks to all you fellas that saw fit to show up on account of me being in the box and not just for the free beer—though I know it’s an incentive I couldn’t have resisted, either. Thirdly, I promise to have your back when you go stumbling out of Ned’s tonight. This, or any other night. What else can I say, but that I do hope we meet again some sunny day. So good night, and God bless you all--even me.

“Now drink up,” said Ned. “And someone please pull the plug on that damn song!”

 

Picture courtesy of Wiki Commons:

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:McSorley%27s_Bar_1912_John_Sloan...