How I got to Sandpoint is a completely different story. And that is something that always brings a query to my thoughts when I see someone someplace that I can’t quite figure them in. What brought them there? On how I got to Sandpoint, that’s a story for another day. On the bar stories at the Edgewater:
I met and married a young man, Gary South, shortly after landing in Sandpoint. I had a son, Dan, from a previous marriage. Dan was about three years old when I married Gary. One of the main reasons I married Gary was because he was so thrilled with the idea that I had a son – and he couldn’t wait to meet him – and that sort of melted my heart. Gary worked for the railroad and was out of town for most of each week and returned home on Saturday and left late Sunday by train. Gary taught me to shoot pool. I’d never even picked up a stick before I waltzed into a bar with him one night and he announced, “Me and my sweet baby can beat anyone in the house!”
Of course he was playing for money. Kee-rist! I was mortified. Embarrassed would fit right in there too, especially when I took my first shot. Ugh! Learn to make a bridge! I did. But it took some time and practice. As Gary worked during the week, I played pool now and then with some of his friends and occasionally met one of the women for a drink.
The winter of ’68 was brutal for Sandpoint. The snow started coming down, the wind picked up, and the snow forgot to stop. For almost 10 days, nothing moved through that town except trains with snow plows on the front of them…and they ran 10-12 hours late. The snow was drifted clear up over the stop lights in town and emergencies were handled with snowmobiles. There was no place left to put snow, even if the snow plows could get out to move some of it off the streets. It was a strange time. People that were staying at the Edgewater, were definitely staying at the Edgewater, they couldn’t leave.
I stayed home, with my young son, and watched the snow pile up to the roof of the little house we lived in. The snow in the yard was up to my armpits. Shortly after the snow stopped and began to abate a bit, somewhere along about the third month of our marriage, I took a job tending bar during the afternoon at the Edgewater Lodge. I knew a woman that knew someone that would get me in…even if I had no experieince, and I didn’t. The manager of the resort was a guy named Hugh. Hughthought l was going to sleep with him (he probably thought all the women in the world were going to sleep with him). I knew I wasn’t. I was married, he was married with kids, and I had absolutely no chemistry with him – which even if I did, I don’t monkey into triangles. So his bedding me was NEVER going to happen. But I should give him an A for effort. I only worked about five hours a day, two to three days a week, and the bar was lakeside, a beautiful view in a resort town.
One night I met my girlfriend for a drink at another local bar. I had on an extremely short dress (the mini’s were in during that time period) and I always showed off my lean, long legs, normally wearing heels to accentuate them. And in those days, my normal dress was a dress or skirt and blouse. We were seated at a table, the bar was fairly quiet, we knew the bartender because he was on during most of our pool playing ventures, and I finally decided I needed a trip to the bathroom. The only way to the bathroom was between the pool tables and the bar.
A guy sitting at the bar, stared me down from the time I stood up. I knew how to give the insolent ‘eat shit, pig’ look right back at him – and believe me, 99% of the time, it turns them on rather than sending them away. He watched me walk towards him, intent on my legs and short dress. I never slowed down. As I got closer, he leaned over, trying to peer under mydress as I walked past him. WTF? He fell right off his stool, onto the floor, on his head. *laughing my ass off*
When I came out of the bathroom, he was back on his stool and watched me again, but managed to ride that bucking bar stool and stay on it. He sent drinks over for my friend and I, via the bartender. We toasted him, drank the drinks, and hit the road.
The following day, as I was tending bar at the Edgewater, a couple came in and sat down. They were the only people in the bar and we struck up a conversation. I was still chuckling over the guy falling on his head and told them the story. They both exclaimed, “Oh…we know him! He told us about it!”
OMG! I would never tell people if I was such a dimwitz that I fell off my barstool trying to panty peep someone walking by. But we laughed all over again, about the whole thing.
One Friday afternoon, about 5 p.m., I’d been serving drinks to four gents that were in from out of town. I didn’t care for them or their attitude from the time I served the first round. One of them thought he wasRomeo and I was a poor, lust, starved damsel just waiting for him to burst into my life and wake up all those passions that none of the locals could bring out in me. *Puke* I hate these weak chinned, over weight failures with egos bigger than God. He probably jacked off in front of the mirror each night just to watch himself and make sure he did it with perfection. In those days movie cameras would have been out of ordinary so I’m sure it was a mirror. He was definitely trying to show his running mates that he would have his way with me. They called me back for way too many drinks in too short of time period, and he always tried to push me with conversation about later that night and leered at me continuously.
I will confessto not being able to handle things then as well as I do now. I really didn’t want to go back to their table with another round and was looking for a hole to crawl into, at least looking for my replacement for the night so I could get the hell out of there. No such luck!
I got the signal to bring another round, loaded up the drinks and walked over, only to have Romeo grab my wrist and demand to know what time I got off and if we were going out. I told him “NO” that I was married, and tried to pull my arm from his grasp. He held on tighter, “Oh yeah? Where’s your husband!”
As if the gods had sent him, Gary stepped through the door at that very instant. He was over six foot and a very healthy boy. I nodded at Gary, “Right there!”
Romeo dropped my arm like a hot rock, and went immediately to his drink. Yippee! I was off soon after that.
The Edgewater Lodge is still there but the bar and restaurant is now called The Beach House Bar and Grill. This is what the bar/lounge looks like now, and in reality, I don’t think there have been many changes in this part of it other than a few cosmetic issues:
I can’t leave the story hanging with the issue of Hugh, manager, super stud, a lawsuit waiting to happen in today’s sexual harrassment world. He pursued me relentlessly. He took his lunch in the bar when I was working, often bringing in business associates for lunch and meetings. Always watching me, always tossing in comments that held dual meanings, and one day I dumped his coffee cup in his lap – it was full. I was mortified. No problem from his side as he took several cloth napkins and wiped his slacks with them. Ouch!
Then one day he told me he’d sent his wife back to her mothers for two weeks. He’d be alone at his house. He gave me a handful of cash and asked me to pick up steaks, salad, and all the fixin’s for dinner on my way in to work the following day. I did. I picked up the most horrible looking steak I could imagine – and all the fixin’s. When I left the bar that afternoon, I left the steaks, fixin’s, change, and receipt in the shopping bag from the store, in the cooler behind the bar. And left him a note that it was there.
It never even slowed him down. On my next shift, he told me that he’d meant for me to share the steak with him. No Chit? I managed to avoid confrontation with him. A few months later, a bunch of us went out for drinks. We were in his car, he was buying everything for everyone, and he spilled his drink on my white dress. Muy apologizing. No problemo, Dude, it’ll wash. He kept trying to give me a $50 bill to buy myself a new dress with. Hey…$50 was a lot of money in those days. I refused to take it. He stuck it up over the visor in the car, telling me whenever I changed my mind I could have it.
Somewhere during the following month, I knew I was pregnant, Gary and I were going to have a baby. I went to Hugh and asked for a day off on the following week because I had a Dr’s appointment. Hugh wasn’t happy with me. I hadn’t ‘put out’. He started off chiding me, that I wasn’t going to the Dr. The duel between us became a little harsher and I told him I was going to the Dr., that I already had an appointment. Hugh informed me that if I went to the Dr., I could consider myself fired.
Well…ok.
I replied, “Consider me fired then.” I grabbed my bag and waltzed out the door. As I strolled by his car, I opened the door, pulled down the visor and watched the $50 bill float down onto the seat. Guess what? I changed my mind. The $50 left with me. So ended my adventures at the Edgewater Lounge. Wow! Thirty-six years is such a long time, but yet a heart beat in the span of one’s memories.