Oasis

God bless townie bars.

Now, for those of you who don't know (which is... all of you), I grew up in a small town in Missouri. Everything closed at 9 p.m.--Except for you, Wal-Mart--and entertainment was slim for those of us who were old enough to drink, but young enough to manage multiple days of hangovers in a row. All we had were old fashioned townie bars and dives that dotted the spurs and side streets of our back-country roads.

This bar is like a transplant of one of those nostalgia-triggering watering holes of my youth.

I found this bar on accident late one Sunday night when I was out with me chums shredding some sweet riffs at a karaoke bar. Their night ended early (11:30, what??) and we scoured the internet looking for another place that did karaoke on a Sunday night. Oasis was the only one in RP that pulled a karaoke all-nighter, so off we went. Ladies and Gents, this place is divey as hell. Old school wrap-around bar setup, separate pool/dart area, classic arcade games, juke box, sports blaring from reitna-searing flatscreens above the bar, and absolutely zero pretension.

My friends were put off by how townie and, yes, slightly grungy this place was, but my darling readers: THAT'S THE CHARM. This place is just a blue-collar-working-stiff-Norm-and-Jack-shootin-­the-shit kind of bar. Not every place can--or should--be a Luxbar or a Sidetracks or any number of the other Gold Coast or Boystown shiny toy bars.

The bartenders are attentive and kind, the drinks are affordable, even the karaoke isn't as invasive and watch-me-and-shut-up as most other places are. I applaud this joint. Is it slightly creepy? Sure. Has there most likely been a stabbing here at some point? Why not. Is there a really good chance that someone has shot up in the bathroom? Absolutely. But it's Rogers Park. The same can be said of the grocery store or a church.

Oasis is as close to the very best of old-school Chicago neighborhood dives as you'll find anymore. Please, let me tell you a story.

My housemate and I had just moved into town turn of the millennium, and we were still partying something awful. We had a directory of places to hit between the Gold Coast and Rogers Park even before getting here, and we'd have probably missed this place, only a few blocks away from home, were it not for the neon beer signs in the window and the line to the carry-out booth at the front of the bar.

In contrast to the fancy bars and clubs we'd been hitting up, this place was a dive, and a lively one. Sports played on the small screen TVs over the rectangle bar island in the middle of a smoky room, with three or four hardcore bartenders, in particular Gigi, who could project her voice across the noisiest crowd. If you acted like a halfway decent human being, she'd treat you with class; if you were a jerk, she let you know. Even crowded, if you sat at the bar and your glass or bottle was almost empty, one of the tenders, especially Gigi, checked if you were ready for another one.

Drunks pelted darts at the boards, pinball machines pinged in the corner, the pool table held its own court, and after dark the place was standing-room stumbling until 4AM (5AM on Saturdays). Though clearly Bears and Cubs biased, this was a hockey bar in the Bill Wirtz era; there were as many Red Wings fans here as Blackhawks fans, and a Wings game could be caught consistently. They sold cheap beer buckets, inexpensive highballs and shots, basic smokes and fancy flavored tins of Camels; some of the regulars created clouds with cigars.

That first night, my buddy and I had been at it the whole evening and were louder and wobblier than we probably should have been; before the evening was up, we found a large bouncer with thick glasses and a goatee standing behind us, and he let us know it was time for us to go. "What?" I slurred back. "You guys have had enough," he said, non-judgementally but with finality. "You're welcome back tomorrow night, but you gotta go tonight." His cool delivery inspired us to cooperate without hard feelings, and we did go back. Many times, for many years. I took friends, co-workers up to this place. It lived up to its late-night dive legend and everyone loved it as much as I did.

Flash forward, right past 9/11, right past a recession, and the Illinois smoking ban.

My housemate and myself pretty much got it all out of our system. We almost never go to bars anymore; no time, no inclination. On the rare occasion when we had the next day off and felt like getting out for the house, the last watering hole standing in our book was Oasis. Our most recent visit, the pool table was unmanned, one of the well-worn dartboards was subject to some aiming under the influence, and only about eight seats at the bar were populated. The smoky haze is gone, giving the place a cleaner feel, enhanced by replacement of the old TV tubes with brightly colored flat screens, still playing ESPN. Gigi's still there, manning the bar solo that night; she greeted us as we pushed through the swing doors and had our chilled glasses and tall boys on the bar before we settled into our stools (drinks are still cheap here; the tall cans are a deal).

Joint thinly crowded, the jukebox, replaced by a digital player, still pumped out the same analog electric classic rock (which, by now, are probably golden oldies). We were still welcome to puff on our e-cigarettes (vapor, no smoke) while enjoying cold suds. Gigi held court, holding conversation from the center of the bar, and before long everyone sitting there were all talking across the place about everything from the Mayors Daley (Jr. and Sr.) to development around the Loyola campus (she literally introduced everyone at the bar to each other by name). I think she caught me eyeing the cylinder of pretzels by the register; before I even said anything, she scooped up a handful of sticks and served them in a cup between our glasses (alas, the bar pizzas are no more, but the pretzels are free).

Then around two o'clock, things picked up with the younger crowd filing in, looking to continue their buzzes from the closing bars about the neighborhood (particularly Hamilton's down the street). Somehow, though the Loyola University kids have the normal personality disorders to get out of their youthful systems, they're not as obnoxious as your typical college crowd. I enjoyed watching the activity build, the dartboards feeling some love, the pool table finally being played, but finally it was time to go.

"Good night, gentlemen," Gigi's voice projected over the noisy rejuvenation of the bar. "Don't wait so long before coming back!"

I would rate a good dive bar a three, with a smile. Oasis is special enough to rate four stars, just by virtue of the longevity of its unique personality. That fifth star is for Gigi. Some Chicago traditions die hard; thank God she lives on.

I love them.  I love them, and I hate you.