ROSIE O'GRADY's

There are certain bars that exist for getting drunk. I found that out at an early age (I was born during that magical time when you could drink legal at 18). There was a joint in Dearborn called the Gem Bar (great name) and you could not go into that place without exiting drunk.

Stopping in after work for a quick beer-drunk. Hashing over the softball loss-drunk. Greasy bar burger before the Tiger game-drunk.

Rosie O’Grady’s in Ferndale is just such a place. Located in the midst of a zillion bars on W. Troy Street, just south of Nine Mile and west of Woodward, this is a place absolutely devoid of pretension.

Parking is free and easy in public lots surrounding the bar. I just wish that the men of nearby Soho Bar would quit undressing me on my way in, though I am happy to find my niche, no matter who the crowd.

There is, of course, no cover or dress code. To get to the booze, carefully walk by the constantly used pool tables at the front of the room. The only bar dominates the right hand side of the room. There is a rail in front of the bar for those who like to take their drink standing up, a variety of tables in front of the rail, and a small dance floor in front of the tables. They could put a salad bar on the dance floor for all the use it gets.

The crowd is impossible to peg. It is black and white, young and old, toothful and toothless... Nobody gives a shit what you wear, why you are there or if you have any game. People are watching the many televisions, though sometimes it seems as if the staff don’t give a shit what is on (I once saw Roadhouse on every TV with the sound down, a mortal sin considering the spiffy dialogue).

I am sure that romance, long and short term, have been spawned at Rosie’s, but there is not a lot of open hooking up going on. More often than not, big groups settle in and have fun within their space, with local sports being the main reason for any mingling.

So what do people actually do at this place? As old fashioned as this may seem, they talk. To each other. They don’t text, they rarely use cell phones and nobody gets hassled. In this utopian setting, everyone is welcome, and nobody gets fucked with.

Tony and I have been there so many Fridays that Miller Lite and Labatts are opened when we are spotted ($6.50 for the pair). I have, however, seen some pissed patrons grumbling over difficulty getting served, this in spite of the hard working staff in front of and behind the bar.

Laura and Mike usually work the bar where Tony and I drink, and I prefer that Mike pull my beer. Laura is very cute, the natural beauty of her face surpassed only by the natural size of her breasts. Of course, tips being important, these assets are always prominently displayed. I am so conscious of not looking at them, that I focus unnaturally on her face, my eyes never moving one speck. Then I start thinking, I’m staring at her nose. I end up flustered, not knowing what the fuck to do. Smooth! Fuck it, bring me my beer, Mike.

I have seen food ordered. I saw one young lady pick up a fried chicken leg, put the whole thing in her mouth, twirl it around two times and pull it out clean. If only I wasn’t married... I think I also saw a fried salad go by, but I am not sure.

Anyway, on Friday night, food is not the reason for Rosie’s. Like the Gem Bar before it, Rosie’s is a classic dive bar that exists for real people and real drinking. I have never seen a Martini glass, heard an angry word or smelled young adult pretension in this delightfully dark haven (heaven?).

Long live Rosie O’Grady’s!
-Jim


Rosie O'Grady's:  175 W. Troy St. Ferndale, MI 48220