Brothers in Arms

It’s Christmas Eve 2019, and my parents and I are sitting alongside our friend and colleague, John Cable, in the densely-packed dining room of Manuel’s Tavern.  Every year, as a show of appreciation to the community, the bar generously invites its patrons to a free lunch buffet, complete with an open bar, so we feel lucky to have a table at such an understandably popular event! Spirits are high (and flowing) as one would expect during this time of year, but there is a more profound feeling of exuberance and joy swirling in the room that is difficult to pinpoint.  Suddenly the din of chatter and laughter is interrupted by the bombastic entrance of The Seed & Feed Marching Abominable, Atlanta’s own highly-diverse, volunteer marching band.  As this rag tag group of elven tuba players and trumpeting reindeer processes throughout the bar, spreading Christmas cheer and tinnitus, the real explanation for the joyous mood comes into focus—everyone sitting in this place considers it home, a part of their being, and a source of pride and belonging.  

It may seem like a joke when I say it (as I frequently do), but I’ve been going to Manuel’s since I was embryonic.  I fondly recall being five or six years old and looking forward to Sundays, when my family would make our weekly pilgrimage across Ponce de Leon Ave to “Manny’s.”  In particular, I looked forward to mounting the dingy wooden stairs to the clubhouse-like crow’s nest at the far end of the dining room to play pinball with my father.  In the years before a change machine took up residence, I was undoubtedly just one of a number of recurrent pint-sized nuisances that would march up to the bar throughout a given night to impatiently demand change a dollar or so at a time.  Years later, in my early 20s, the “602” house draft was a staple for me and my cash-strapped buddies, as we joined the ranks of the regulars.  And, by the time I reached my late 30s I was on a first name basis with most of the staff and other regulars, many of whom shared my interest in music and the guitar.  For instance, Bobby Agee, the most senior member of the bar staff, is always quick to greet me with a handshake (or a hug) and a fresh Tropicalia before we descend into discussions about Gibson guitars, or accounts of great concerts attended (Bobby is a big fan of Lyle Lovett and Tom Waits).  Thus, my connection to Manuel’s is a powerful one—I don’t regard it as a bar as much as my bar, the only place where I truly feel comfortable just hanging out. 

Of course, there are many other accounts just as significant as my own! my sense of Manuel’s more than just a familiar watering hole, it is an Atlanta icon. It is a place where the history of our community, our city, and our nation is chaotically chronicled in photos and memorabilia that literally plaster every wall and even the ceiling.  It is a place where conversation takes precedence over television (unless there is an election or major sporting event going on).  There is no piped-in music, but an impromptu live performance might occur—I once had the privilege of hearing a Paganini caprice randomly erupt from a booth where a touring virtuoso and her party happened to be seated; and, with much less virtuosic flare, I have occasionally picked a tune on my guitar for the other straggling music enthusiasts at last call.  Most importantly, like the bar Cheers from the TV show, Manuel’s is a place of friendly faces, where everybody knows your name—and that, my friends, is truly rare!  

Now, as we approach Christmas Eve 2020, the world is still reeling from the COVID pandemic and Manuel’s is on the ropes, facing a very real threat of permanent closure by the end of the year.  It seems impossible that an institution with such history and such a powerfully positive presence in the community could be in such peril.  To make matters worse, my abundance of caution with regard to COVID protocols has made it impossible for me to support my favorite drinking institution for the better part of a year—under present circumstances, the guilt, sadness, and impotence I feel is roughly tantamount to being unable to visit a relative on the verge of a lonely death in the ICU.

Yet, as the heir apparent to a family business that has been 40 years in the making, I can attest to the fact that the stability of any independent business is frighteningly tenuous.  No matter how successful a business might be, it only takes a bad month or two before things can start to look very grim indeed! In this regard, I feel profound empathy for my friends at Manuel’s, as I am all too familiar with the personal sacrifice and hard work required to build a well-respected (dare I say cherished) establishment.  And, though we don’t serve alcohol or sandwiches at Maple Street Guitars, we are actually in the same line of work, that being the business of making friends and forging long-term relationships.  It is this approach and this degree of emotional investment that differentiates any great independent business from some mundane corporate enterprise, where the bottom line takes precedence over all else.  The unique culture of any well-honed independent business creates an incomparable experience for their patrons, that elusive sense of belonging or abstract ownership.  It means something to me that I frequent Manuel’s, just as it means something to our customers that they shop or take lessons here—in some way the experience shapes our identity and defines our sense of community.  

Over the years, I’ve come to recognize that there is a synchronicity within the community of small businesses on a local scale and beyond, as evidenced in some small way by the fact that plenty of Manuel’s Tavern patrons are also customers at Maple Street Guitars.  So many lives are connected by and dependent upon such seemingly unrelated commerce!  And, whether or not we fully acknowledge it, local businesses are the wellspring of our communal pride and identity (which is why it is so important to shop local, y’all!). With this in mind, I consider the folks at Manuel’s to be our brothers in arms, as we collectively strive to make the world a better place one beer, one onion ring, one burger, or one guitar at a time.  Accordingly, now that my friends are in their hour of need, I am impelled to do what I can to spread the word about the campaign to save the bar (particularly as I suspect that they will probably need more than the humble amount that they were seeking to make it through the spring!).  Hopefully, the community will come together to pull off a Christmas miracle by preserving a historic part of Atlanta’s cultural landscape, as well as securing the livelihoods of all of those who are part of this great institution.  And, with any luck, we will once again find ourselves in Manuel’s dining room this time next year, being merrily subjected to the holiday repertoire of the Seed and Feed Marching Abominable in a more normal, COVID-free world.   Lindsay Petsch 12/20