Erv Senior

So, some of you may not know that the Erv, who was the name on the door and the face on the sign, was actually an Erv Junior. Erv Senior, my grandfather, might not have his face on the sign, but it was his co-signature on a loan that allowed my mom and dad to purchase the dump, known as the Dispatch House, in 1979. My Grandparents regularly supported the business by coming for lunch and dinner, and offering quiet encouragement throughout those early days around 1980 when the struggles to stay open were real.

Then, out of the blue, my grandmother, who was 65 at the time, passed away unexpectedly. This left a huge hole in my grandfather's life, and he filled it by learning how to make stained glass lamps, which were once all around the original bar at the restaurant. He even completed two extensive replicas of Tiffany lamps that were in my parents' home and are now in mine. However, the stained glass alone wasn't enough to keep him busy; he missed his fish fries. So he made an agreement with my Mom and Dad that he would be our barback on Friday nights and work from 4:30 to 8:00 every Friday night. He would wash glasses behind the bar, and in turn, he would be paid by a fish fry dinner. He came to know many of the customers and enjoyed the social aspect of the restaurant life. Customers would try to order a drink from him, but he'd laugh and say, “Nope, I'm just a dishwasher.”

Erv Sr. would sit down at the end of the bar, at the end of his shift, and enjoy his fish fry and Early Times & water as payment for hard work.  He’d reminisce about how he used to make a nickel an hour when he last worked in a restaurant at the age of 17, so his dinner and drink seemed like a great deal to him.  Somewhere along the line, he met up with a woman he had known from long ago. She and her husband had owned a bar & restaurant. She was active in the Concordia Church group and often needed a ride, so she would ask my grandfather to be her chauffeur. They hit it off, and at the age of 75, they were married, spending the next 24 years enjoying each other's company until she passed away at 99. My grandpa went on to live to 105, still sharp as a tack, living independently until he was 102 and craving those fish fries on Friday nights, though we never did get our dishwasher back.

He outlived one granddaughter, most of his brothers and sisters, two wives, and his son. Near the end, he would sometimes tell me he thought God had forgotten about him. But I always believed that God saved the best for last.