“Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman”: Adventures of a Curious Character

As I was going to give my first lecture I asked Marcuso, “Where’s an interesting bar where lots of things are going on?” I thought that things went on in bars.

“The Alibi Room,” he said. “It’s a lively place where you can meet lots of people. I’ll take you there after your lecture.”

After the lecture Marcuso picked me up and drove me to the Alibi Room. On the way, I say, “Listen, I’m gonna have to ask for some kind of drink. What’s the name of a good whiskey?”

“Ask for Black and White, water on the side,” he counseled.

The Alibi Room was an elegant place with lots of people and lots of activity. The women were dressed in furs, everybody was friendly, and the phones were ringing all the time.

I walked up to the bar and ordered my Black and White, water on the side. The bartender was very friendly quickly found a beautiful woman to sit next to me, and introduced her. I bought her drinks. I liked the place and decided to come back the following week.

Every Thursday night I’d come to Buffalo and be driven in car number 169 to my lecture and then to the Alibi Room. I’d walk into the bar and order my Black and White, water on the side. After a few weeks of this it got to the point where as soon as I would come in, before I reached the bar, there would be a Black and White, water on the side, waiting for me. “Your regular, sir;’ was the bartender’s greeting.

I’d take the whole shot glass down at once, to show I was a tough guy, like I had seen in the movies, and then I’d sit around for about twenty seconds before I drank the water. After a while I didn’t even need the water.

The bartender always saw to it that the empty chair next to mine was quickly filled by a beautiful woman, and everything would start off all right, but just before the bar closed, they all had to go off somewhere. I thought it was possibly because I was getting pretty drunk by that time.

One time, as the Alibi Room was closing, the girl I was buying drinks for that night suggested we go to another place where she knew a lot of people. It was on the second floor of some other building which gave no hint that there was a bar upstairs. All the bars in Buffalo had to close at two o’clock, and all the people in the bars would get sucked into this big hall on the second floor, and keep right on going—illegally, of course.

I tried to figure out a way that I could stay in bars and watch what was going on without getting drunk. One night I noticed a guy who had been there a lot go up to the bar and order a glass of milk. Everybody knew what his problem was: he had an ulcer, the poor fella. That gave me an idea.

The next time I come into the Alibi Room the bartender says, “The usual, sir?”

“No. Coke. Just plain Coke,” I say, with a disappointed look on my face.

The other guys gather around and sympathize: “Yeah, I was on the wagon three weeks ago,” one says. “It’s really tough, Dick, it’s really tough,” says another.

They all honored me. I was “on the wagon” now, and had the guts to enter that bar, with all its “temptations,” and just order Coke—because, of course, I had to see my friends. And I maintained that for a month! I was a real tough bastard.

One time I was in the men’s room of the bar and there was a guy at the urinal. He was kind of drunk, and said to me in a mean-sounding voice, “I don’t like your face. I think I’ll push it in.”

I was scared green. I replied in an equally mean voice, “Get out of my way, or I’ll pee right through ya!”

He said something else, and I figured it was getting pretty close to a fight now. I had never been in a fight. I didn’t know what to do, exactly, and I was afraid of getting hurt. I did think of one thing: I moved away from the wall, because I figured if I got hit, I’d get hit from the back, too.

Then I felt a sort of funny crunching in my eye—it didn’t hurt much—and the next thing I know, I’m slamming the son of a gun right back, automatically. It was remarkable for me to discover that I didn’t have to think; the “machinery” knew what to do.

“OK. That’s one for one,” I said. “Ya wanna keep on goin’?”

The other guy backed off and left. We would have killed each other if the other guy was as dumb as I was.

I went to wash up, my hands are shaking, blood is leaking out of my gums—I’ve got a weak place in my gums—and my eye hurt. After I calmed down I went back into the bar and swaggered up to the bartender: “Black and White, water on the side,” I said. I figured it would calm my nerves.

I didn’t realize it, but the guy I socked in the men’s room was over in another part of the bar, talking with three other guys. Soon these three guys—big, tough guys—came over to where I was sitting and leaned over me. They looked down threateningly, and said, “What’s the idea of pickin’ a fight with our friend?”

Well I’m so dumb I don’t realize I’m being intimidated; all I know is right and wrong. I simply whip around and snap at them, “Why don’t ya find out who started what first, before ya start makin’ trouble?”