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John Ostrander:
The Bucket was, indeed, the center of the Universe when it was there. I'm a comic book writer and I included the Bucket in two pages of a
comic that I wrote. Joe was delighted. I later was able to get the original art for those two pages and gave them to Joe and he proudly had them up on the wall behind the bar.
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I was able to secure a bottle of Waterfill and Frazier from Joe an d still have about a third of the bottle left. It comes out for rare occasions, and always with a memory of the Bucket. When my oldest sister's kids
got old enough themselves, I introduced them to the Bucket and they loved it. The oldest, Fred, told me that he once brought some friends with him from college and I thought that was terrific. Just as a person
should do. "But" he added firmly, "they are not invited back because they didn't appreciate it enough." I was so proud!
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I was brought to the Bucket by my late wife, Kim Yale, and she told me a story about being there with her first husband. The Bucket was crowded that night and Joe had gone into the back to get something.
The door opens and all of a sudden these biker types with their biker chicks walk in and stand around, glaring. Every male’s spine in the place
stiffened and Kim said she was trying to figure out what to use as a club when Joe can back from where he ahd gone and saw the motorcycle
types. '"Eyyyy, buddy, how ya doin'?!" he crows. Sets the group down at the table and they're soon talking about motorcycles and what was best in between rounds of drinks.
Yeah, the cyclists were old patrons, too.
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>After my wife died, and the Bucket had closed, on a trip back to Chicago I went by
where it was. I don't know why. I just had to. Place was stripped down; nothing but a husk of a building. Nothing to indicate where the best bar in the world stood. Nothing but memories.
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>Thanks for bringing it back one more time.
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