The Dive Bar Chronicles #4: Bernie’s – Homer, Mich.

I can’t think of a better time to aimlessly stumble upon a small town other than during that town’s big summer festival. Whether it’s in honor of major local crop, founding ethnicity or favorite holiday, it’s always a hoot and holler that brings out every reveler from age 8 to 80. Everybody and their cousin shows up. It’s like a giant family reunion.

Shan and I set course for another dive on the map, when the backroads of South Central Michigan took us through the quaint little town of Homer, population 1,640. A half hour from the nearest town of 10,000. We found ourselves smack dab in the middle of Homer Fest.

I’d never heard of Homer before. All Shan knew about it is the hometown of Josh Collmenter, a Major League pitcher with a 38-35 career record over 7 MLB seasons. What we did know, from our brief research on the car ride there was there was a cool-looking dive called Bernie’s right along main street.

To get there we had to park on a side street 2 blocks away. Homer Fest was in full bloom, and they had all the main roads blocked. We had to walk by a petting zoo dodging horse doo, arts and crafts dodging essential oils, and the firehouse dodging firehoses at full stream wielded by 6 year-olds just to get there, but we made it.

Bernie’s was PACKED. We got luck and found a few seats at the bar. We ordered a few Summer Shandy’s to start the morning off right, and noticed something odd about the pour. The bartender served us in mason jar’s, while nearly everyone else was being served in 20-oz Styrofoam cups. We knew they couldn’t be for walking around the street fair with a beer since there was a “No cups on the street” sign on the front door. Odd, but I wasn’t too worried about it.

The overheard chatter at the bar on this day was second to none. A man buying a beer asked one of the bartender’s, “Hey, is your mom here?” then launched into a full “How’s your mom n’ them…” conversation. It was like a big reunion inside the bar. Hugs flying between friends old and new. Family’s happily enjoying their meals at the tables while every now and then someone would stop by and say hi. A congregation of sleeveless, camo-hat wearing men at the end of the bar gripping lite beers and ripping on the bartenders, who gave it right back.

As I looked around, I noticed the beautiful l brick interior inside the place, and an old-timey photo to the right of the bar. I would later ask the bartender about the photo, and he told me the bar in that photo was the very same one I was sitting at today, 130 years after the saloon first opened. You can tell it’s from the 1890’s because: 1. The brass spittoons at the foot of the bar. 2. The hairstyle and dress of the bartenders 3. Because the bartender says it was that old. Never-mind the overhead lights that suggest the photo is from the early 1900’s, in the world of dive bars, the bartender’s word is gospel.

Realizing Summer Shandy’s were $4 a pop, and PBR’s were $2, we switched to the Blue Ribbon beer. As I walked back to the bathroom, I was marveled by a display that speaks volumes about Homer, and America as a whole, in so many ways. Every Homer High School football team from the 1960’s onward had their team photo up on the wall. Faces, hairstyles, poses, coaches, and the size of the team changed, but the name on the front of the jersey, the pride those boys had in their hometown, and the bond they’d share for life never changed. The team means so much to the town, and it’s storied century-old drinking establishment, that every photo, and every player in those photos, will always have a place at Bernie’s Main St. Tavern.

On my walk back from the bathroom, and after admiring the cooler-stickers behind the bar, I finally asked the bartender what’s up with the Styrofoam cups?

“They’re for the horseshoes tournament out back. Yeah, they’re OK with them back there but make sure you don’t go on Main Street with ‘em. The cops will be waitin’ for ya!” he said.

Now that he mentioned it, I did see so many people come through the front, grab a styro-beer from the bar, and slip out the back so nonchalantly. I haven’t played horseshoe’s since they had a yard out back of Pap’s Tap for ‘shoes, which is about 8 years ago. But I wanted in. Shan and I got some PBR’s to go and slipped out the back door.

Anybody who’s tried to sneak a beer in a foam coffee cup knows how tough the pour is. The beer reacts to the Styrofoam and the head grows on your beer for about five minutes after you’re done pouring. You take a sip, but it keeps coming, and coming. It’s like a washing machine where someone put wayyy too much soap in!  You’re good on refills because your cup’s already been seasoned, but that first pour can be a real doozy!

We walked down the alley 30 yards and there were 3 horseshoe pits with ringers flying every second. A table underneath a tent had a tournament bracket, and a big crowd (for a small town) was already spectating and watching from the backs of pickup truck beds. I quickly realized this was a legit tourney, and I’d probably be better off spectating. It was a show! These guys were good. It’s a game that seems to have gone out of style, unless you live in Homer, Michigan.

Shan and I watched one more game, ditched our cups, and headed out to Main St. The roasted sweet corn we snacked on was delicious, and I wound up buying her a 2-foot tall wooden lighthouse with the Tigers’ Olde English “D” painted on it. $25 bucks, and the kind old fella threw the light for the top of the lighthouse in for free!

And right as we’re about to leave we hear a voice call out, “Shannon???” Turns out it was Shan’s uncle Eric who she hadn’t seen in years. The reunion magic bit us, and we’d never even been to a Homer High football game. What a day. Cheers to you, Homer!