Watch your Head at The Lake

Shortly after The Lounge article went live I got an email from Ben Stocker AKA “Piglet,” who was featured in the story. It read: “Give me a call for great dives.” The first thing I thought was hell I’m not trying to be the local Guy Fieri. I am, after all, seriously lacking in frosted tips, bad tattoos, and sports cars.  But I had a hunch Ben would take me in the right direction and I kind of like how my stories just go where the wind takes them.

He told me about a place called Baker’s Lakeside Pub near Eastgate.  Said he goes there a few times a week. So I decided to take a break from some wedding pictures I was editing and meet Ben up there with the hope of encountering a few new faces and characters.  Let’s just say Ben’s plan did not let me down.

History

Baker’s is an old log cabin that sits on Old 74 behind the Eastgate Mall area on the northern tip of Glen Ridge Lake. Originally, the cabin served as a small bait house for the lake. Back then, a restaurant called The Copper Stallion stood next door. That was where everyone went to eat and congregate. But in the 1955, a fire destroyed The Copper Stallion. All that remains of the restaurant today are its three stone chimneys that survived the fire.

Eventually the bait house would be converted into a pub. A few names, a few owners, a few additions, and a few decades later it would be called Baker’s Lakeside Pub. But actually, the regulars refer to Baker’s as simply The Lake.

Mike Baker is the owner, but the first Baker to own it was his father, Pete. Six years ago, Pete sold the pub to his son. Baker’s Lakeside Pub (or The Lake) is not be confused with another one of Mike’s bars, Baker’s Pub in Amelia.  They call that one The Puddle.

When I arrived the first thing I noticed was how small the front door is. If I had to guess, anyone over six feet has to duck to get in. But it made sense for what served as a bait house in the 1950s. I had to appreciate the integrity of maintaining its dimensional history as I genuflected down through the threshold to get inside.

Hanging out with Ben

The first person I see is good ol’ Ben sitting at the bar right by the front door.  “Hey there he is!” Ben said to me with his red and squinty trademarked smile. His high ball glowed in front of him.

“This is my favorite barmaid,” Ben said.  He pointed to the young lady behind the bar getting a customer’s drink. “Bonnie, this is Brian, the guy who put me in that story.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said as I shook hands with Bonnie.

“You really nailed down Ben in that article,” she said laughing. She looked at Ben, “He’s got you pegged.”

Bonnie has worked at The Lake for twelve and a half years, giving her more experience than the current ownership. She started at The Lake after picking up a shift for her sister-in-law who worked there before her.  Over time, Bonnie picked up more and more shifts, eventually positioning herself as a leader for the entire establishment.

I’m told Bonnie is quite the outdoorswoman who loves to hunt and fish.  The camouflage top barely draped by her curly hair was a subtle hint. She told me about the deer and other wildlife she admires outside near the lake.

Bonnie was warm and enthusiastically greeted every customer that walked in by name.

“Hey Walt!”

“How’s it going Sherman?”

Men shuffled in and found a seat further down the bar.  If they were six feet or more they bowed as they entered and then bowed again under what appeared to be an old wagon wheel that hung from the already low ceiling right in the front of the bar.

This repeated reverence had the patrons resembling monks in a temple preparing for worship. As they took their seats, some were probably giving thanks – others perhaps asking for forgiveness.

There was a group of people seated at a table crying and consoling each other.  I was told a popular local musician died unexpectedly. His friends and family chose The Lake as the place to gather and mourn his loss.

Operation

Bonnie has everything I presume it takes to tend a bar like a pro.  She is pretty, attentive, and friendly, with a maternal nature about her as she interacts with the patrons.  Though based on the age dynamics of the bar during my time there, Bonnie probably comes across as the daughter many never had, rather than the mother.

Blues music played as I met Traci, the co-owner and wife to Michael.  Though she was once a beauty queen crowned Miss Teen Ohio, Traci was surprisingly camera shy.  “I don’t do pictures anymore,” Traci said.

I don’t know why.  I could still see the pageantry in her classic American blonde looks, but I respected her privacy.

Ben tried to convince her otherwise though. “Come on Traci, just lie down here on the bar.” Ben mimicked a boudoir pose and got a laugh from everyone nearby.  “Okay, maybe that one would be for me,” Ben added and erupted into a magenta cackle.

“You’ve got a really cool place here,” I said.  “I love the people here.”

“We’re like a big family,” Traci said.  “A big fucked up family.” Traci said it with the kind of reverence and honesty that proves her point.  No family is perfect after all.

The Lake

“Show him the lake,” Ben said to Bonnie.

Bonnie escorted me through the back door. “Watch your head,” said Traci as I made my way under the wagon wheel.

Once I got outside I understood why they call Baker’s The Lake.  A deck just about puts you over the Glen Ridge Lake itself. Even with it being a cloudy day in January, the view was wonderful.  I can only imagine what it must be like in the summer.

Bonnie pointed out the various places to view the wildlife she loved. “Over there, when the water is low, you can watch the turtles sun bathe,” she said.

While we were outside she brought my attention to the old Copper Stallion chimneys that were still standing. The ivy climbed up from the ground attempting to finish off what the fire started long ago, but the ancient stone still stands in defiance.

Shortly after I came back inside, I met Traci’s husband and co-owner Mike Baker. Mike is energetic and friendly. He told me about how his father passed the pub down to him. Less camera shy than his wife, Mike let me grab a picture of him.

“Of all the bars I go to,” Ben said, “Mike buys more rounds of beers for his customers than anybody else.”

The Mayor

My attention was diverted to a man who walked in they call the Mayor.

“That’s Roy,” someone told me. “His 89th birthday is coming up.”

Ben told me he’s known Roy since he used to patronize Ben’s parent’s bar, The Lakeview, on 125 back in the 80’s. I’m told Roy is known for his jokes and funny stories.

Roy told me he has been coming to The Lake for close to 60 years.  Originally from Tennessee, Roy retired after working at the GM plant in Norwood for 35 years.

“What’s the secret to longevity I asked him?”

“Stay active,” Roy replied softly.

Rumor has it that The Lake can get pretty interesting at night. I would guess being open for 21 hours everyday could have something to do with that. The Lake’s operating hours are 5:30am to 2:30am everyday, 365 days per year.

I’m told the crowd present at the time of my visit will pretty much clear out by dark.  After dark is for the night crowd.

“Do you work any night shifts?” I asked Bonnie.

“Hell no,” she replied.

Big Dave

“That’s a rare sight,” Ben said to me.  He pointed down the bar to a guy they call “Big Dave.” “You don’t ever see him without a hat or a rag on his head,” Ben added.

Big Dave just got done with a friendly pushing match with a guy who tried to pass by him.  The much smaller guy lowered his shoulder into Big Dave, but Dave stood as still as those old chimneys outside.

Ben yells out to Big Dave while pointing at me. “This guy wants to know why you’re naked.”

“What’s that?” replied Big Dave.

“He wants to know why you’re not wearing a hat.”

I interjected quickly.  “I didn’t ask that,” I said. Ben starts laughing again.

“Maybe I’m just tired after wearing a construction hat all day,” said Big Dave as he walked toward me.

Big Dave certainly lives up to his nickname. After I reiterated that it wasn’t me who inquired about his nudity, we had a friendly conversation.  He talked about his career in roofing and construction.

“When your whole family comes from a line of roofing and labor, guess what the fuck you’re going to end up doing?

“Do you come here at night?” I asked Big Dave

“Hell no, I’m too old for that shit.”

Heading Out

I have to admit I’m pretty curious about what happens at The Lake later in the night. Although I’m going to put the bar stories on hiatus for a while and  shift my focus back on individuals, perhaps there is a Beechmont Stories (After Dark) segment that could take place at The Lake sometime in the future.

Wrapping things up I said my goodbyes and gave my thanks to those who talked to me. I thanked Bonnie and Mike for the two Yuenglings they gave me on the house. Ben reminded me to call him anytime for some more tips.

I saw four missed calls on my phone from my wife. Shit. I bowed my head two more times before leaving the pub. Once under the wagon wheel giving thanks for the temple on The Lake and then again as I passed through the tiny front door, that time asking for forgiveness.

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For another good dive story, check out The Lounge: Where the Back Door is the Front Door, right here.