December 6, 2002

Phil Luciano
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Walking into Old Joe's Tavern is like stumbling across a nest of dodo birds.

I'm not referring Old Joe's customers, who seem to be an intelligent lot. At least, it's not like they drool excessively in public or otherwise act overly uncivil. They do fervently follow the Chicago Bears, but that malady has not yet been classified as a psychosis by the American Psychiatric Association.

Rather, this is what I'm getting at: The dodo bird became extinct in the 17th century. Anthropologists blame overhunting, but I think the species did itself in, out of shame brought on by the stupid name.

Regardless, just like the dodo vanished, pubs like Old Joe's fell out of fashion long ago. But it is a fighter. It is a survivor.

It is a stand-up bar.

Used to be, that's the only kind of saloon around, anywhere. Gents would go in, order a mug, lean on the bar and quaff away. Simple set up, simple pleasure.

Eventually, the concept got ruined by those notorious breed of party-poopers - women - who meddle with everything good and true. They whined long enough until they were allowed into saloons, but weren't content to stop there. Oh no. The dainty creatures couldn't be expected to stand. Pretty soon, taverns started sporting bar stools, bathroom soap and all sorts of sissy stuff.

So, the stand-up bar pretty well went the way of the dodo. In West Peoria, Mike's Tavern, the last local stag bar, is something of a stand-up bar. However, it does offer several stools and (just to be quirky) a few school desks.

But Old Joe's refuses to compromise.

In Lincoln, 30 miles south of Peoria, the 200 block of South Sangamon features a row of old-time brick storefronts: shops downstairs, apartments upstairs. The building at 209 S. Sangamon has stood there since 1924, hosting various proprietorships, including a chicken hatchery.

In 1969, two fellows turned what had last been a grocery store into a tavern. Being old-timers, they didn't bother with stools. Women could come in, though female patronage cramped the style of regulars. The bartender would ring a buzzer to alert the faithfuls to stop cussing and grousing because a lady had entered the bar.

The pub changed hands twice more, and in 1985 fell into the hands of Joe Papesch, who had just retired from the Lincoln Fire Department after 32 years. He's changed almost nothing.

The place is like a EEE shoebox, long but extra wide. The white-tiled ceiling stretches 20 feet above the gray-flecked tiled square. Along one side stretches a 50-foot bar, which is actually five Formica-topped coolers jammed together. Pale-yellow walls sport the typical bar-room decor - beer posters, NASCAR memorabilia - plus a massive Dick Butkus poster and a faded bumper sticker touting "Bradley Braves Football." A shaker of salt rests atop the bar, reminiscent of the days when kegs often went flat and drinkers salted their brew to make it foam.

Regulars come in for the atmosphere - not for the wall-hangings, not for the lack of stools, but for the gabby, snappy give-and-take. Regulars routinely razz each other, while newcomers can expect a touch of whimsy.

Example: I order a Stag. The barkeep asks if I want a glass. No thanks, I say.

"Good," he says, grinning. "Because I don't have any clean ones."

Turns out the bartender is Old Joe's son, Jeff Papesch, 38, who's run the place since he turned 21. He can't think of another stand-up bar anywhere.

"I've been to the Berghoff in Chicago," he says, mentioning the legendary beer hall. "But you can sit in their dining room."

He's right. And he's not splitting hairs. He's a purist.

"I have three mailmen; they walk 10 hours a day, then come in (old Joe's) and stand up for three more hours drinking beer," he says proudly, then pauses. "Then again, people will walk in, peek around and say, 'Uh-uh.' They walk out, because they want to sit."

There is one way to cop a squat at Old Joe's: You can take boxes of empty returnable beer bottles and stack them into furniture. I've seen this done before. If you think you know furnishings, you ain't seen nothing until you witness an Old Joe's customer lounging in an ersatz Lay-Z-Boy formed with Old Milwaukee cartons.

But that happens rarely, usually with white-haired patrons. Generally, if you're too old to lean on the bar, you're too old for Old Joe's.

"There are some old guys who can't come in anymore because they can't stand up," Jeff Papesch says.

Sounds like a business opportunity. Maybe his dad could create a retirement home, with beds crafted completely out of beer cartons, called "Really Old Joe's."

As for local women, a few in Lincoln still think of the inn as a stag joint. "I still run into women who say, " 'I can't go in there,'" Papesch says.

However, women do drop by, especially on Friday nights.

"They come in looking for potential husbands," says Papesch, married himself. "Guys who come in here are workers. They're not deadbeats."

How sweet. At Old Joe's, not only is the stand-up bar still alive, but so is romance.

Gents, buy her a Stag, and blow her a kiss. At least, that's what a stand-up guy would do.