Illinois Atty. Gen. Neil Hartigan met Butch McGuire in 1964, when Hartigan was state liquor commissioner and McGuire, who by then was running the busiest bar in town, had been called in to answer a complaint about his saloon.
”I`d never met Butch before,” Hartigan said, ”and I was expecting him to come on like a big shot. Quite the opposite. He showed up for the hearing with his mother–she was the president of the corporation–and he was polite and quiet. In those days we got about five saloon complaints a day, and the hearings were designed to let the tavern owner tell his version of events so that, hopefully, we could settle things quickly. I asked, `How do you operate?` I was astounded. He had a manual that laid out his entire operation –how to check IDs, how to pour drinks, how to treat the customers. It was a course in saloonkeeping–and no one else had ever done it before. At that time, there were 10,000 liquor licenses in Chicago, and Butch McGuire`s was the single most impressive operation that I have ever encountered.
”Over the years, of course, he became a legend in the saloon business. Butch always did it better than anyone else, and today his `alumni` run successful saloons all over the country. But Butch`s was the model. For Butch and Mary Jo, it`s a family, it`s a family business, and they`ve always run it with the personal touch. That`s probably why the place has never been franchised. Butch is the place!
”We later became close friends. In my business–politics–you learn to distinguish very quickly between acquaintances and friends. Butch has never had amnesia about his friends, and that`s why he has so many. He created a new type of `extended family.` He also gives the best parties I`ve ever seen. When I won the lieutenant governorship in 1972 (running with Dan Walker for governor), Butch ran my parties in Springfield, and most people said that they felt like they were attending a Presidential inauguration. In 1967 he put on the greatest political rally I`ve ever seen–a fashion show for Mayor (Richard J.) Daley right here on Division Street in the middle of winter!
”To me, Butch McGuire is what Chicago is all about. The State of Illinois is running a series of tourism ads on TV, including one called
`Chicago keeps calling me home!` featuring Dick Butkus and Mike Ditka. Butkus rolls up to McGuire`s in a taxi, walks into the saloon and sees Ditka leaning against a table. They hug each other and only two words are spoken:
`Ditka!` `Butkus!` If you look closely, you can see Butch in the background, behind the bar. To me, that`s Chicago: Butkus, Ditka, Butch McGuire.”
Subject: ”Beverages–ordering procedures”
DON`T STAND AROUND!!! In order to give proper and efficient service to our customers, you must constantly be on the move in your area. It is a good policy to try to remember what each person has ordered previously. If you can see that he is just about finished, and motions that he is ready, if you can say, ”Another Cutty and Water, Sir?” he will not only be impressed, but 99 percent of the time, he will order another.
Subject: ”Beverages–beer-pouring operations”
Management prefers that about one-half inch of head be visible when the beer is served. Please observe this regulation.
Subject: ”Beverages–bartender`s test”
Do you put fruit in a ”Skip and Go Naked?”
At Butch McGuire`s, details count. Yes, there is fruit in a ”Skip and Go Naked”–a cherry to go with the beer, gin and ”Mr. and Mrs. T Sweet `n`
Sour.” It is one of several drinks made famous by Butch, including the
”Harvey Wallbanger”–Galliano, vodka and orange juice. He explains, ”We were playing volleyball in Southern California, and this guy, Harvey, dreamed it up. He had six and he really was bouncing off the wall.”
Butch also takes credit for adding celery salt and a celery stalk to the Bloody Mary. ”I grew up on the South Side,” he says, ”and they used to have the best hot dogs in the world on the South Side. The secret ingredient was the celery salt, and I thought that celery salt rubbed on the rim of the glass would add a bite to the Bloody Mary. Adding the celery stalk as a stir was a logical extension. The celery people should be grateful. Today bars order celery by the boxcar.”
McGuire, the first saloonkeeper to use floormen to serve drinks, also taught his staff not only how to mix drinks but also how to pour beer correctly, down to the angle at which the glass should be held.
Other innovations he claims include bar-height tables (”so people can stand and look each other in the eye; also, people who are standing tend to drink more”); the first seating at a ”window bar”; the first saloon to serve Guinness and Harp beer on tap; the first saloon to serve breakfast and brunch (now a Sunday institution, especially with the Bears` revival); the first bar to have a ”matchmaking festival,” loosely patterned on those in Ireland; the first to have extensive holiday decorations (It takes 10 men 10 days to put up McGuire`s Christmas decorations in the early-morning hours, when the paying customers are long gone; the highlight is a Lionel train running over the center of the long bar, but the $200,000 collection, acquired from department store closeout sales, includes acres of garlands and lots of Italian lights and motorized mobiles–children whirling around a tree, skaters, Muppets, Raggedy Ann and Andy, even Santa Claus in an outhouse); the first to have a ”turnabout,” in which employees and customers switch jobs for a day; and, of course, the first to adopt a charity.
(Santa Claus Anonymous really was anonymous, but since Butch was publicly honored last spring for his efforts, he now feels comfortable talking about it. He persuaded his teacher customers to give him the names–and the sizes
–of their poor schoolchildren so that the children could have Christmas clothes that fit. ”Each child,” he says, ”receives shoes, slacks and sweater, an outer coat and galoshes, plus a personal gift and a family gift.”)
Butch not only helps host the spring and December parties that help fund Santa Claus Anonymous, he also plays Santa Claus at a Christmas party for his customers` children. It`s all part of his philosophy that a neighborhood saloon should be a focal point of community life.
His most impressive first, however, is that Butch McGuire`s is the only saloon on Division Street to remain under continuous ownership in one family for 25 years.
And in those 25 years, Butch McGuire, an ex-boxer, has yet to see one fight get out of hand. After all, the saloon is his living room. Of course, his manual covers ”disturbances in the Establishment.” Butch notes:
”There`s always a tip-off–a loud vocal exchange–swearing and threats. At this point, we try to get every male employee in the saloon to the scene of the argument. If the barman says, `Call the police station,` the doorman dials a phony number, and that usually stops things; if the barman says, `Call the Chicago Avenue police department,` well, that`s the real thing and we don`t monkey around–we throw the troublemakers in jail. It`s never a problem to stop an argument between strangers. They`re looking for an excuse to save face. What is tough is an argument between friends. If friends want to fight, it`s hard to stop them. Oh, I`ve caught a punch or two, little things like that, but we`ve always been able to get people out the door. Now, `D.K.
(general manager David Kramer) has caught a lot more punches than he deserves.”
Kramer, 38, who 17 years ago gave up a shot at dental school to become Butch`s alter ego (some regulars even call the stocky Kramer, ”Little Butch”), says, ”Butch is a very demanding boss, and he insists upon very high standards, but his employees respect him, and they learn a lot about the saloon business. Butch wrote that manager`s manual, and every employee has to memorize it–and follow it. Nothing makes him as mad at me or an employee as when someone forgets to follow the rules McGuire`s has come to be known for. The other day he blew up at a young woman who forgot to say goodbye to a customer. The whole place was shaking. But he got over it very quickly, and then he patiently explained to her his philosophy and why he thinks it makes for good business.
”McGuire alumni tend to be very critical when they visit saloon operations elsewhere in Chicago and around the country. I like to play a lot of golf and I take my vacations in Florida and other warm-weather places and I can tell that in those parts of the world there are no saloons that begin to measure up to our standards. One night during the Christmas season Butch noticed that two or three lights among the hundreds were burned out. He told me, `David, when you walk into a room, always check the lights to make sure every single one is working.` Well, it`s stayed with me. When I showed up at the Gold Coast Room of the Drake for the 25th-anniversary party, the first thing I did was check the lights in the room!”
Zachary More is a McGuire pal who once helped the saloonkeeper open an antique store in what is now Butch`s ”Waterford Room” (adjoining the main bar and named for its collection of fine Irish crystal–”I knew no one would copy that,” Butch says; it originally was used as a campaign headquarters for the re-election of Mayor Daley). More says, ”I live in Santa Monica now and I enjoy it, but in Southern California things are very trendy and often not very genuine. What I miss most about Chicago is what I enjoy most about Butch–he`s a very genuine and a very loyal friend.”
It is a Friday morning in September, 1986, and Butch is holding forth over hot tea and cold cereal, some of the trappings of his new life since the 1981 heart attacks that almost killed him–and reminiscing about the thousands of nights he has spent on the Street of Dreams, both as saloonkeeper and as the saloons` best customer. Hard drinking and high living had ballooned McGuire to well over 300 pounds, and today, at 240, it seems that he has lost half of himself. But the greater half–his heart–is still in fine shape. Gone, though, are the telephone pole-sized Honduran cigars he used to favor
(”one of those was like smoking 30 cigarettes”). He says he feels much better and still loves the saloon life, but he admits that just as he personally is leaner, so are the economics of his saloon.
”Oh, we do much more dollar volume in the 1980s,” he says, ”but there`s virtually no bottom line. We have to work much harder now to squeeze out maybe a 5-percent profit. During the 1960s, we owned the street–there were only two other competitors, Catfish Row and the Lodge–and during the 1970s, everybody found it easy to make money. We were posting profits of 10 percent, maybe more. But those days are gone.” He opens the front door and explains why:
”Just in this one block, there are at least 14 liquor licenses. Now, the old China Doll over there (at the southeast corner of Division and Dearborn)
is being converted into a clothing store, The Gap, and I think that`s wonderful. But walking east on the south side of Division, you have Cafe La Scala, the Lodge, the Snuggery, Cafe Le Petit, the Gingerman, the BBC and P.O.E.T.S.; on the north side, working from east to west, you have the Rookery, the Hotsie-Totsie, P.S. Chicago, a pizza stand that serves liquor, SHE-Nannigan`s (named, Butch says, ”because in the early 1970s the owners thought they would play a shenanigan on McGuire`s, play to our strength and pick up our overflow”), Butch McGuire`s, Mother`s and Houlihan`s. Right around the corner, north on State Street, are the Zebra Lounge, P.J. Clarke`s, Yvette and Turbot. Down the alley are O`Leary`s, the Hangge-Uppe, Z`s and Panzerotti`s. That`s too damn many. Overall, there`s probably more drinks sold on the strip today than before, but for any one saloon there are less. And if it weren`t so hard to find good managers in this business, we`d probably have 30 liquor licenses within 100 yards.”
He adds: ”And the Yuppie market is one of the biggest myths of all time. The Yuppies don`t have any spendable income–for having a good time, that is. By the time they pay their $1,000 a month for rent–they usually can`t afford to buy–and $750 for the BMW or Saab, and another $400 for the $5,000 annual vacation–which they usually have to charge–and $200 for the stereo system, they`re broke. Worse, they`re in hock to the charge cards. When they entertain, it`s not with chili or spaghetti and cheap wine, it`s gourmet food and fine wine. They may be great for the big-ticket, high-status market, but they don`t have any disposable income and they`re certainly not your typical big drinkers. Many are into running or racquetball or Perrier and are looking for hors d`oeuvres.
”For the first time ever, we may have to impose a cover charge at the door to make up for the Yuppies who come in and ask for water. And you know they`ve got money, right? because if you`re not drinking, you`re saving money. Plus, our cocktail-hour business is down. The older crowd still comes in right after work, but the kids eat at home, saving $10 or so, change clothes and come out around 9 p.m.
”Now, in this business, the new bar on the block is always the hot bar. Whenever a new bar opens, it hurts us but usually only for a few months. To really hurt our business, the new place has to keep our customers away for more than six months, and that seldom happens. Nobody gets hurt on a Friday night because there are enough customers to go around, but if we lose customers on a slow night like Monday or Tuesday, it hurts. Right now, P.J. Clarke`s is the hot bar, but it`s only been around a few months. P.J.`s is a franchise operation out of New York, and it`s managed in Chicago by Rich Melman of the Lettuce Entertain You group, whom I admire. But we`ll have to wait and see how long it lasts. During the 1970s, when SHE-Nannigan`s and Harry`s Cafe and Sweetwater and GuadalaHARRY`s opened, they all cut into our business for a while.
”But do you know which competitor has hurt our business the longest and the most? It`s the East Bank Club. The Yuppies go there after work for a workout and meet each other over carrot juice or maybe water.
”It`s a far cry from the early 1960s. We drank whiskey, vodka and beer. If we had a charge card, it was Sears. In those days $200 a week was good money, rent was only $60 a month and people shared apartments; food was maybe $10 a week, there were no designer clothes and nobody had a car. We had money in our pockets and we spent it. Every night there was a house party somewhere in the neighborhood with cheap food and wine. Now you never hear of a house party. The old rental apartments are all condos. If the owners are wealthy, they`re usually out of town six months a year; if they`re not wealthy, they have to stay in because they don`t have any money.”
He smiles. ”Now, don`t get me wrong. We do have a lot of good Yuppie customers and we`re glad to have them, but they`re not your real heavy whiskey-drinking folk like in the old days. And this new tax law is going to hurt, too. If people on an expense account have to start paying 20 cents out of every dollar out of their own pockets, they`re going to start thinking twice about going out. And it seems that no one drinks at lunch anymore. We`re on the low end of the price scale for business entertainment in this neighborhood, and it will hurt us; it may kill places on the high end.”
Butch says, ”For any 12-month period, we`re still the No. 1 saloon in terms of popularity and customers coming through the door.” Quickly, he ticks off his economics:
”We probably do three-quarters of our business on the weekend. Friday night and Sunday brunch, especially with the Bears, are our busiest times, followed by Saturday. Wednesday and Thursday are moderately busy, and Monday and Tuesday are slower. The holiday season, starting around Thanksgiving, is by far our biggest time of the year. The main bar is usually full, and there`s a private party in the antique room almost every day. Averaged over the year, we gross about $25,000 a week, for an annual gross of maybe $1.2 million. The magic dollar figure for us today is $2.5 million. If we could double our volume to $2.5 million, our bottom line would shoot up very quickly because we could handle the extra business with existing facilities and staff. The only additional cost would be for food and liquor, and the extra volume would help us meet today`s higher costs for insurance, taxes and supplies. We work every angle–catering, private parties, box lunches, our gourmet `Irish Whiskey Loaf,` breakfast and lunch during the week, brunch on the weekend.
”We make our money on the draft beer, always have. The food is simply here for the convenience of our customers, and there`s very little money to be made on wine because the public perceives it as a cheap product and won`t pay the markup. Today in our saloon people drink beer and wine, a little vodka and nothing else. In the 1960s the big drink was draft beer; in the 1970s Scotch and vodka. We try to keep our prices realistic–$1.75-$2.50 for draft beer, $2 for house wines, $2.75-$8 for brand champagnes and wines, $2.50 for cocktails. We have 14 different draft beers–six domestic and eight imported–four keg wines and 15 brand champagnes and wines. I used to try to limit the draft beers, but my pal Harry Caray (the Cubs` broadcaster) kept talking me into selling whatever brand he was pushing. Our No. 1 seller is Old Style, followed by Miller Lite. Our white wines outsell the reds by 5 to 1 easily–hell, we don`t sell hardly any reds–and the most popular white is probably Pouilly Fuisse at $6 a glass. That`s because it`s the one white wine most people have heard about. Most of our wine sales come from the keg–chablis, chardonnay, rhine, and rose, but you never know. We still move five bottles of Dom Perignon champagne on a good night at $89 a bottle, and recently we added a Chateau Margaux red at $85 a bottle, $18 a glass, and damned if some people aren`t buying the Margaux at $18 a pop.
”We employ about 40 people during the summer, 55 during the holidays, and they break down about 50-50 men and women and 50-50 full-time and part-time. We still need the men to attract the women, but we need women for productivity. I`ve found that today`s woman is usually willing to work harder than the man.
”It`s a tougher business today, and there are too many players in the same game, but I`m making a living. Our wooden floors have been completely replaced five times, and we`re about to do it again. This place has become somewhat of an experimental lab for the flooring people; they can test which materials stand up best to heavy foot traffic.”
Subject: ”The outside doorman”
The outside man can never relax, for it is his judgment that maintains the fine reputation of our Establishment.”
The early days were the headiest for McGuire`s. On a good night at the bar you couldn`t move; on a bad night you couldn`t move.
”In the 1960s,” Butch says, ”the J. Walter Thompson (advertising)
people used to come here all the time to entertain their clients. The camaraderie was so intense that they were having three- and four-hour lunches with many, many martinis. The company put out a memo saying that they would no longer accept expense-account lunches from Butch McGuire`s and the Wrigley Building bar! We were making money so fast that often we didn`t worry about depositing it. We stashed it in the refrigerator, in holes in the walls, behind paintings. About 10 years ago, we knocked down a bathroom wall and found about $1,700 in cash and checks–the gross receipts from a weekday night in the `60s. I put the checks through, and all but one or two cleared. One check for $100 was from Susie Woodside, who used to live at the Three Arts Club. She wanted the cash to buy a bird cage, and I said, `Sure, I`ll cash your check.` About 10 years later, she wrote me a letter and asked, `What happened?` ”
Butch can still remember the saloon`s first marriage. ”We used to have a piano at the front of the bar and we would have nightly sing-alongs. This fellow named Webb Caster, who worked for Honeywell, was playing `My Kind of Town (Chicago Is),` when Donna Schwartz walked in and began to dance on top of the piano. Well, Webb figured that anyone brave enough to dance on his piano was brave enough to go out with him, and today they`re living with their children in Southern California. Webb is a CEO with Xerox.
”Our regular piano player was Peter Carter, an executive with the Hines Lumber Co., who played in exchange for all the draft beer he could drink. In those days nobody got paid. The bartenders and floormen worked mostly for tips, but we had to pay the doormen a little more. The jukebox people loaned us the machines and got their money back in quarters. We decided against having a dance floor because of Rule No. 1–`Dancers don`t drink.` But one customer, Bob McGee, began the craze of dancing on the bar. We used to allow this until Bobby fell one night and broke his arm. No more dancing on the bar. Recently I was thinking about installing a DJ and dance floor, but we shop our competition every week, and I think that we have an advantage. This is one of the few bars where people can come and actually talk. You walk into some of these places with loud music and 18 video screens going, and you`ll see a guy and a girl sit next to each other for hours and not say a word. I guess they feel they`re getting some kind of stimulation, and the next day at work if someone asks them, `What`d you do last night?` they can always say, `Oh, I was over at the Hangge-Uppe checking out the action.` Sometimes the guy is afraid to talk to a girl because he doesn`t want to find out that she has a better job than he does.”
By 1965 McGuire`s was a cover story in The Tribune magazine, entitled
”Bonanza in the Barroom.” One of the men pictured at the bar was a casualty. Butch recalls, ”It seems as though this man was married, and there he was in plain view of millions of readers, laying a line on a woman who was not his wife. Unfortunately, his mother-in-law noticed . . . .”
The lines flew hot and heavy in those days. A sample (as compiled by The Tribune`s Clifford Terry): ”Uh, what`d you say, sweetie? Oh, yeah, that guy in the blue sweater is Butch McGuire, a very good friend of mine. He owns this place. . . Now, as I was saying, just as we were getting near the top of Everest, some of the guys wanted to turn back. But I said . . . . ”
ver the years the lines haven`t changed much. One recent favorite: ”Well, I`m a Scorpio, but if I don`t score tonight, I go back to being a Gemini. . . . ” Today, Butch says, ”It`s the women with the lines–and they`re all business.” Perhaps, though, this is a welcome change from the narcissistic
`70s, when people were ”snowed” as they sought out ”prizes,” when people ”hit on each other” in hopes of ”getting lucky” or (more aggressively) ”scoring.” The ”GUs” (geographically undesirables) were scorned: A nearby address was essential if a ”relationship” (a month or so) were to develop. Other bygone buzzwords include ”I`m into (art, running, disco . . .); ”I need more space”; even, you ”look like someone I can relate to . . . . ”
Among the many McGuire alumni are Chicago brothers and saloonkeepers Bill and Jon Nordhem, who used to be involved with such successful Chicago saloons as Brian Boru, the River Shannon, Harry`s Cafe and the Rookery and who now own the Four Farthings (in Lincoln Park) and Gleeson`s (in the Loop). Bill says,
”You know, Butch McGuire, like Arnie Palmer in golf, can probably claim credit for $1 of every $3 earned by a Chicago singles bar.” He adds, ”We`re not about to give that dollar to him.”
