Sandwiched between an alley and a liquor store, Rossi’s, with its green awning and steel door cluttered with union election stickers, looks like a shady hole in the wall on State Street in River North.
But appearances don’t stop patrons from trickling into the dimly lit bar, perhaps lured by the neon Old Style and Pabst Blue Ribbon signs in the windows, or the promise of cheap drinks.
Its scuffed, uneven linoleum floor is missing a slice of tile, exposing concrete. A bartender greets the thirsty as they slide into the broken-in leather stools that line the nicked bar, where drinkers rest their arms and, sometimes, their foreheads.
Behind the cash-only bar decorated with Christmas lights a sign reads, “Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder.”
At Rossi’s and elsewhere, “dive” isn’t a four-letter word, so to speak. Some bar owners and bartenders in Chicago embrace the dive bar title. Matchbox in West Town was honored last month in Playboy, which named it one of 10 “Great American Dive Bars.”
So what makes a bar a true dive? Bar-goers point to decor, service and patrons. No cover. No lines. No doorman. No credit cards. No bottle service. No BS. It’s what draws drinkers to dive bars. That, and inexpensive drinks. With the economy tanking, more drinkers may be looking for a cheaper way to get tanked.
So dive bars could get a little more crowded, which would be out of character.
“It’s a neighborhood hangout. It’s very tiny and approachable,” said Jackie Gevercer of the Matchbox (she’s married to the owner). While Matchbox is known for its margaritas and ginger gimlets, the signs of a dive bar are there: small, old, dark, eclectic, packaged beer for sale.
Other signs: No computerized registers, no flat-screen TVs, no Trixies, no Chads, no hipsters, nobody trying to dangle money from behind a row of people at the bar waiting to be served.
“[Dive bars] just seem more comfortable,” said Jonathan Stockton, author of “Chicago’s Best Dive Bars.” “You don’t feel like you need to dress up. You don’t need to bring much money.
“Once you find one you like, you feel welcome.”
A good way to tell if a bar’s a dive: check the name, said Stockton, who listed nearly 100 dives in his book. “If it seems to be named after somebody, if there’s an Old Style sign, that’s a good way to tell,” he said.
The bar’s probably at least 30 years old, he said, maybe a little run-down and has a somewhat nostalgic feel, showcasing photos or newspaper clippings about Chicago’s history.
And dive bars are places where patrons won’t hassle each other.
“You’re not dealing with attitude. You’re just dealing with your friends you’re going out to have fun with,” said Rob Lekan, 30, who lives in North Center and chooses dives over clubs.
Another thing that differentiates dive bars is the person serving patrons. “Usually the owner is there or working behind the bar, or some family member is,” Lekan, a personal trainer, said.
The people seated at the bar can be a good indicator too.
“If you go to a real dive bar, you will have people from all walks of life. You do have some young people in their 20s and 30s, but a good dive bar will have some old locals [who have been] drinking at that bar for 20 years,” said Ted Koerth, 31, a lawyer who lives in Lakeview. “You’ve got working class, blue-collar type of jobs, and they’re there in part because you can get a $2 can of Busch Light and the price is right.”
A dive bar is not a meat market place to be seen, he said. Koerth alerted bar crawlers attending his third Dive Bar Tour last month to leave their designer jeans and little black dresses at home.
The bar’s decor, he said, is just as important in cementing its dive bar status.
Most have one-stall bathrooms, random knickknacks behind the bar or serve chips as a snack (because they don’t have kitchens to serve food). Some open as early as 7 a.m. or 8 a.m. like Rossi’s and Richard’s, and almost all dives have wood paneling, making the bar look like it hasn’t been updated in decades.
“It’s like your grandma’s basement,” Koerth said.
A true dive bar’s jukebox shouldn’t have any techno, and probably no hip-hop, he said. And it doesn’t have to only be a bar.
“One thing very divey is a ‘slashy,’ ” Koerth said. That’s when the bar is a bar-slash-liquor store, a place to drink and/or buy a six-pack to take home.
That’s what you’ll find in Richard’s, which has two entrances on Milwaukee and Grand Avenues, next door to Emmit’s in River West.
With an exterior painted like an Italian flag — green, white and red — the inside serves as an old-school history lesson, with posters of the Rat Pack and Al Capone, and Frank Sinatra on the jukebox.
“Some people like it because it’s old and they like the atmosphere of an old bar,” said bartender Leslie “Lee” Martin, 96, who’s been serving drinks there for more than 40 years.
And there’s no offense taken when it’s called a dive bar.
“As far as I know, no one objects to it,” Martin said. “I don’t care what they call it, just come in and have a drink.”
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An ‘F’ for ‘friendly’
From bartenders to drinking buddies, everyone typically is friendly at a dive bar, said Anthony Diefenbach, 28, a restaurant manager who lives in Chinatown.
“How often do you go to a bar and never talk to the person sitting next to you?” he said. That won’t happen at a dive bar. “It’s very unpretentious. What it is is a place for people to unwind without thinking they’re going to be taken advantage of.”
Charles Olbera, 28, an iron worker who lives in Archer Heights, keeps coming back to dive bars like Rossi’s downtown: “I come here and I can be myself. I don’t have to dress a certain way, impress anyone.”
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Dive-rific!
RedEye checked out a few dive bars under the guise of research and discovered some quirks that only bolster their status as true dives.
Rossi’s
River North
The bar has a side door that goes out to the alley and a door in the basement that supposedly leads to the State Street “L” tracks. Legend has it customers would escape through those doors when the police raided the joint during the Prohibition era in the early 1930s. And there are rumors about nine rooms above the bar that once operated as a brothel.
Richard’s
River West
There are no taps for beer behind the bar, but there are bags of Jay’s potato chips, a sign advertising hard-boiled eggs for 75 cents and stacks of packs of cigarettes. An out-of-order pay phone can be found by the women’s bathroom, which has a door that looks like it has bullet holes in it.
Stella’s
Ukrainian Village
A $5 bill pays for 18 songs on the digital jukebox, and the selection includes some Polish tunes.
Bernice’s Tavern
Bridgeport
The only way to enter is to be buzzed in, and a mini traffic light sits on the bar. Green indicates the bar is open, yellow is last call and red means the bar’s closed.
Bob Inn
Logan Square
While sipping a $3 vodka tonic or $2, 12-ounce Hamm’s beer, play the Golden Tee arcade game for free.
Rose’s
Lakeview
Look for the two octagonal windows lit by neon signs. Pepper, a well-behaved dog owned by a regular, might greet you at the door.
Paulie’s Place
Pilsen
There’s no name on the bar’s exterior. Inside, the name is etched on a mirror at the bar, not far from the pool table and duct-taped jukebox.
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lvivanco@tribune.com
