Jasper Williams III

We had just moved into town, and we were driving around one night, looking at the sights, seeing if we might find a place to get some food or a drink, in no specific order of priority; if something jumped out, we’d stop and give it a chance.

And then we saw the sign; “Arendall Room.” Something about the sign and what I saw in my peripheral vision made me do a u-turn at the next intersection. We parked on the street out front.

We walked into the place, and it was as if we had been transported back to 1962. It was a long, plain room with the front door on the short side. No frills. A bar. Hard wood floors. Exposed brick all around. The bar sat along the left side with stools set hard against it. The right side of the room was just a long brick wall one could walk down to the back, where the restrooms and a back exit awaited.

It was early. The bartender plus us made three. We grabbed two seats and looked over the menu. Traditional cocktails: Old Fashioned, Manhattan, Mint Julep, Martini, Gimlet, Negroni, and so on.

Any minute it seemed the Rat Pack would roll out of some hidden door in the back to entertain us.

And then, almost on cue, someone did.

In through the door strode a tall, modestly-built man of about 30 or so. He wore a dark, nice-fitting suit, out of place on a late summer Saturday night on the Crystal Coast. He was dressed like he’d just come from a wedding. Or a church service perhaps. But what threw the initial impression off was the big wine glass he was carrying in his right hand. Not a glass of wine mind you; a clean, huge, empty wine glass. He carried it as if it were a baton, or small umbrella, sort of twirling the stem in a way that made me think he was going to drop and shatter it any second.

Without a hint or trace of irony, put on, or fake facade, he walked right up to where we sat, pulled out the bar stool next to me, sat down, set his wine glass on the bar, caught the bartender’s eye and pointed to the glass, looked over, smiled a huge smile, stuck out his right hand, and said, “Jasper Williams the Third. And you are?”

“Glen Hines,” I said, not sure what to make of the situation.

Things would only get more interesting from there.