“Happiness is the only good. The time to be happy is now. The place to be happy is here. The way to be happy is to make others so.” — Robert Green Ingersoll

Today is the 90^th birthday of the Cottage Bar. I’m old, but not that old. My familiarity with the fine establishment only goes back to the late ’60s. I have good feelings about the place. It’s been 49 years that I’ve patronized The Cottage. Let me share a few memories.

As students living in Grand Rapids, and working with typical budgetary constraints, we would, for a special treat, go to The Cottage for the excellent, filling and inexpensive meatloaf dinner. On those occasions we ate salad – sometimes the only salad that might come our way for a while. The beer could be had by the pitcher, and at a good price, too, if the choice of brands was made wisely. Mary Ellen and I have been married 46 years, if we make it to the end of this month (and I’m guessing we will). We came here together during our college days, before our marriage.

The Vietnam war raged during those years. The draft was in play for young men, and the complexities of the system and the deferments were rife with inconsistencies and abuses. Selective Service instituted a new way of addressing the conscription of young men. This was an effort to create a method that was more even handed. Student deferments were eliminated.

It was announed on Dec. 1, 1969, a lottery was to be conducted, with 366 days drawn at random, and assigned a number. The likelihood of being drafted was greater the lower the number, and lesser the higher the number. The draft would be televised.

Many friends and I watched the draft lottery at the Cottage Bar, perhaps a couple dozen. There was one TV, mounted high on a wall. There were quite a few us gathered around at tables. We ate, we sat around drinking beer from pitchers, and we watched each number as it was drawn.

There were almost as many women Grand Valley students in our group as men. These young women had boyfriends, and brothers, and cousins and friends. Outcomes were of great importance, and not just to the young men.

The tension was palpable. A low number meant a strong possibility of losing a student deferment.  A guy could be a college kid one moment, and then find himself slogging through the jungle with an M-16, knowing there was an enemy that intended him harm.

A date of birth (day/month, within a range of years) drawing an early number was often met with cursing, perhaps crying, perhaps both. As the evening progressed, there came a point when the numbers got progressively higher. No one knew what range of numbers were bad news, or borderline, or relatively safe. It was obvious that a very low number suggested a strong possibility of being drafted. Those with very high numbers felt reassured.

The progress of the war, of course, would alter the personnel needs of the military services in terms of troop needs. Notably, only the Army, and very occasionally, the Marine Corps, drafted. This is not to suggest that the Navy or Air Force was without hazard, but it was primarily the Army that needed a boost in filling slots for troops.

I was born April 10. That date came up as number 330. Such a number would have been applauded by many in attendance that night. It had no meaning for me, however. I’d already served a hitch in the Marine Corps, and been honorably discharged. I was now attending Grand Valley on the GI Bill. It seemed odd to me that I had such a lucky number, while others were devastated by their numbers. I think it is safe to say that those with student deferments wanted to keep them. Joining the military service, wearing the uniform, serving the country, was always an option. Conscription took the choice away. And it was conscription during time of war.

Mary Ellen and I married in 1971, and five years later our son, Brian, came to be. A few years later, when he got to be school age, he and I would go together to the downtown YMCA across from the Grand Rapids Public Library. The building has condo-ized now, but then it was a classic old Y. On Saturdays Brian and I would go. We’d swim, run on the elevated, banked track, and maybe swat a few racquetballs. I don’t think Mary Ellen minded too much at all to be left in a quiet house for a few hours; it never seemed to bother her to have respite from chasing around a very active little boy.

After Brian and I finished at the Y, we would walk over to The Cottage. This happened often enough that George, the Saturday bartender, would greet us with, “Hello, fellas, will you have the usual?” We’d say hi, and answer affirmatively, sit at a table. George would bring over a 7-Up and a draft beer, and soon an order of French fries to share. We’d drink our beverages, eat fries, and yak about what we’d done and seen at the Y.

I recall having a conversation about a fellow that reminded us of Scanarelli, a devious and untrustworthy character in Punch & Judy type puppet shows. Scanarelli bore watching, and that guy, I thought, did too. Sometimes we’d see other fathers and sons at the Y. That could result in some 2-on-2 basketball or doubles racquetball. Throwing Nerf footballs to someone coming off the diving board never seemed to get old. We would get tired, but a good tired, and hungry and thirsty as well. After showering and changing into street clothes, we’d walk over to The Cottage.

The Cottage Bar well deserves its reputation as a warm and welcoming place. The staff is great, Dan, the owner/host, is attentive to his customers, and the décor provides a comfortable ambiance. We like the sister establishment, One Trick Pony, also, and having enjoyed many musical performances there. The Cottage has withstood the test of time very nicely. Here’s hoping for 90 more years of success. I’ll drink to that.

The Cottage Bar is at 18 LaGrave SE in Grand Rapids, just off the corner of east Fulton. It has been voted as the best burger bar in Grand Rapids, it hosts an annual Chili Cook-off, and has a lot more than burgers on the menu.