Friday night fights gathered all of Bigfork at the bar
Preface: This is from my childhood memoir that spans the period from 1950 to 1964 when my parents, Bill and Anne Haug, owned a bar on Bigfork’s Electric Avenue.
Our bar was one of the first places in town to have a TV.
It was a small greenish gray box with a nearly round screen, made by Philco. But it wasn’t very interesting to watch for more than five minutes because all you could ever see was the black and white test pattern. Then one morning when we turned it on, there was a very snowy picture of a huge sow. The “Farm news” program lasted 30 minutes, and then it was back to test pattern. But soon the Farm News had a loyal Bigfork following.
A few years later, Dad bought a TV antenna to pick up channel 4 from Spokane. After school on Friday afternoon, I unfolded all the folding chairs in the back room and positioned them like theatre seats around the TV that was set up high on a pile of beer cases.
The crowd started arriving at 6:30 — singles, couples and even some families with children. By 7 p.m., everyone was impatiently sipping on a Great Falls (or Hires root beer). Then the familiar Gillette jingle signaled the show was about to begin, and people headed for the seats in the back room. When the announcer said, “In this corner…...” there was rapt attention. The Friday Night Fights. We watched men get punched, bruised and bloodied, and knocked out. We cheered or booed as the occasion demanded, and a lot of beer was tapped. Everyone had a favorite fighter, and many cartwheels and greenbacks changed hands.
“I’m putting my money on the big Swede,” Dad declared, meaning Ingemar Johansson. And the night in ‘59 when he knocked out the reigning world heavyweight champion Floyd Patterson, Dad bought everyone a celebration drink. But a year later he was all gruff and growl because Floyd won back his championship.
“What’s the matter, Bill?” the customers chided. “That Swede ain’t so big now, is he?”
Dad just said, “Hmpf!” After a few weeks of this abuse, Dad started a new tune, “I got my eye on Sonny Liston. He’s got what it takes, and Floyd won’t even know what hit him.” Dad was right because Sonny defeated Floyd a few years later.
Friday night was a big night for the bar, drawing people from all around the area, especially when a young man who called himself Cassius Clay appeared on the scene. He was so fascinating to watch, so light and crafty on his feet, dancing all around to tire his opponent. But after he won a fight, he incensed everyone with his big talk “I’m the greatest!”
No one liked him, yet everyone came to see him fight. Some nights the bar was so full, you couldn’t squeeze in a spider. People near the TV screen would shout out the action to those far in the back, so they could keep up.
When the program was over, people re-sorted themselves into booths, or in standing groups around the room or at the bar. I folded up the chairs and put them away in the store room. The pool and billiard tables were pushed back into their places in the back room. Jens resumed his spot behind the bar, while Mom and Dad mingled with the crowd, and took orders from the tables. Someone started up the juke box. Hank, one of the Johnson twins, asked Sylvia to dance. She was a glamorous young woman, with her stylishly long blond hair, shapely legs in high heels, and fashionably dressed figure. She really liked to dance to Freddy Cannon, and weakened many a man at the knees when she did a shoulder shimmy. Everyone wondered who would finally win her heart.
Soon someone selected a schottische, and everyone was on the dance floor, with Mom and Dad leading the dancers around the room. Dad was a wonderful dancer, and Mom a perfect partner for his moves. “I never could figure how a stern Norwegian Lutheran like Bill, ever learned to dance like Fred Astaire,” declared Mom, “But I’ll be his Ginger Rogers any day.”
I usually sat in one of the booths, watching all the action. Or, if there were other children around, they joined me in the booth to play rummy or old maid. Sometimes someone would pick a song I really liked, and then I stood up in the booth and sang along, pocketing the coins tossed in front of me.
To be continued.