Chico's

Everybody knows about Chico’s.  But few know the story of how it got started.  Because of the very nature of Chico’s it’s tough to get a straight answer from anybody.

Chico or “Little Guy” was born to a poor family in southeast Omaha.  Chico’s father worked long hard hours as a CEO for the largest company in town.  At least that’s what he told Chico.  Actually, he was a cat burglar.  He chose his profession in hopes of conquering his fear of heights, but it didn’t work.  Chico’s mother, the iron-jawed Penelope Featherwafer, was left with the difficult task of providing for the whole family.  While old man Featherwafer was out, dressed all in black, quietly leaning against ground floor walls, trying to muster the courage to climb to a first story window ledge, Penny was putting in extra shifts at the laundry washing place.  And you know what?  It didn’t pay too well either.  So what I’m saying is they were poor.  I have a reason for saying this.  So pay attention. 

Chico came from poverty.  It’s not like ‘Chico’s’ just fell into his lap is what I’m saying.  This is a story of how a guy in this country can go from rags to, well, Chico still dresses in dirty old t-shirts and torn up jeans, but he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.  I mean, his mother works in a laundromat for God’s sake.  Though they rarely had enough food on the table, there was always an extra helping of love at the Featherwafer house.  Sniff. 

As soon as Chico was old enough to work, he got a job at his uncle’s neighborhood bar, cleaning up.  “I remember when Uncle Don first showed me how to use the sar-dust to clean up the barf,” Chico recalled on Letterman that time he was on just after Charles Grodin. 

“Sar-dust?” Letterman asked, making a goofy look and sticking his tongue out sideways, then letting out a high pitched “Wee-heee,” Causing Paul Shafer, Charles Grodin, the studio audience and most of the people waiting for Craig Ferguson, to laugh at dumb old Chico.  Well Chico was no dummy.  He sensed he was being made sport of, stood up and began reciting his motto to the audience.  As if in a trance, the audience joined in chanting the motto in the creepiest monotone you’ve ever heard.  David Letterman, obviously uncomfortable with the sudden turn, took an index finger to his collar and gave a tug in hopes of loosening the solid grip his tie seemed to have on his neck.  Grodin also looked concerned, but he was just “acting”.

As Chico left the studio, about half of the audience went with him where they found the nearest Chico’s and enjoyed a quiet sulking drink.

So Chico helped the family make ends meet by working at “Donny’s Spirits and Grill” all through high school.  Don would let the boy do his schoolwork at the bar when there was no “Sar-dusting” to do.  Even so, the boy usually had to work until 2 or 3 AM, so he dropped out of school on his 16^th Birthday.

One late night, walking alone to his house, he thought he heard a noise as he passed an alleyway.  More curious than scared, he started to walk into the alley to investigate.  “Hello,” Chico offered warily into the darkness, “Is there somebody there?”

Just then, he felt his insides drop to his feet as something swiftly and tightly gripped his wrist, but still he saw nothing.  Thrashing, unable to free himself, he slumped down, beaten and confused.  Still not knowing who or what held him.

“I hear you quit school today,” came the familiar voice of his father.

“Dad?”, asked Chico, incredibly relieved, but more confused, “What are you doing?”

“I’m not really a CEO, son.  In fact I’m not much of anything.”  Chico’s father confessed.

“Wha wha, I don’t” stammered Chico.

“Just listen, son and I’ll tell you about the cat burglar who was afraid of heights.”

As Chico’s father began to tell of his failed life as a father and husband, Chico and his father seemed to get farther away.   Chico’s father’s voice fading out and then coming back as the story finished,  “And now you know the whole story of how I am not a very good cat burglar, son.”

“Well dad, you stole my heart in the middle of the night,” Chico said.

“You keep saying shit like ‘at, you might need to run back to Donny’s and get that Sar-dust,”

And they both laughed and laughed.  But really.  Chico had found new respect for his dad after learning of his lifelong struggle and eventual complete failure in everything.

“I guess what I’m saying son, is never give up on your dream and you can be like me.”

“You mean, quit dreaming and finish school?”  Chico asked.

“Same difference, little guy.”

Two hours later, as Chico came down for breakfast to make good on his promise to his dad, he found a quiet table.  Nobody eating.  Nobody talking.  Everyone looking down. 

“What’s going …,” Chico began

“Shhh …” mother warned.  Chico had no idea what to make of this.  Tears streamed from his silent mother’s eyes.  Nobody was talking.  The house was silent.  Then Chico’s father slid the morning edition across the table toward where Chico was standing.  Looking down, Chico was surprised to see the smiling face of his uncle Don.  Reading the headline, Chico collapsed to the nearest empty chair with the realization that he was now unemployed.

“When uncle Don left me that bar, I was stunned.  We all walked around in a daze for a week,”  Chico told Oprah Winfrey as she was searching for her earrings in the soiled sheets of the cheap hotel they had rented for the hour. 

In the years he’d worked at Don’s, Chico had basically learned the whole business.  In fact he was left to open the place up on the very day Don died.  All the regulars came in, but the night was anything but regular.  No one said a word.  Everybody just looked down at their drink and silently honored Don in their own way. It was like the foreshadowing scene from breakfast earlier that day.

At about 8:30, a couple of drunk college kids came in making all kinds of noise and disrupting the reverent tone of the place.  Chico asked if they could take it down a notch and they began to get surly.  That’s when all eyes turned to the strangers.  Old Marvin Tastyblanket stood up to address the young men.  He was about 65 years old, and obviously nervous.  His hat dampened from the sweat of his hands clenched tightly around the brim.  “Please sirs, we don’t want any trouble in here.  We’ve just lost a good friend and all we ask is that you find a seat, get a drink, and shut the fuck up.”

“What’s that old timer,” College boy with the more yellow sweater asked.

“My friend here was suggesting that you two stop talking,” said Old Crusty McNeill, standing to Marvin’s side as others began to take a stand, rising against the noisy educated duo.  When there were enough old guys to overwhelm the youngsters, they had a change of heart and not only did as Marv suggested, but College boy with not quite as yellow sweater made a nice plaque for the bar with Marv’s words on it.  It became the motto of Chico’s.  “Find a seat, get a drink, and shut the fuck up.” 

Nobody could have possibly guessed what had been started. A few days after the “College boy” incident.  Chico’s started getting a little busy.  Although you’d never know it just walking by.  Walk into the place and it’s packed.  Packed and silent.  Everyone pouting into their drinks.  Chico throwing on a sad face while he licked his thumb to rifle through the wad of cash he counted. 

After a couple of weeks, there was a very sad, quiet line to get into Chico’s.  Then a few months later, Chico’s West.  Then just this morning, the first of surely many Chico’s Japan opened to dragging feet and a soul crushing depression that can be found at any one of over 340 Chico’s, now worldwide.

That’s basically the story of how world famous Chico’s, the bar for people drowning in self-pity got started.  The night clubs, sports bars and neighborhood bars are fine if you want some company or are in need of a good cheering up.  But if you want to be left alone to wallow in your pathetic miserable little troubles, Chico’s is the place for you!