"Face on the Bar Room Floor"

For those who are not familiar with this poem, I will post it below, but first let me tell you a story about it. In my youth, we had friends who lived on the edge of town next to the railroad tracks.   Railroad hobo's  stopped off at our friends house quite often. “Ruby” always gave them food. They also had an old shack out beyond the garage that many of them would spend the night in before going on….. They had a favorite one who visited quite often. We were visiting there one evening and suddenly there was a knock on the front door. It was him. Banjo opened the door and called him by name and ask if there was something he needed. The old bum was staggering drunk, and his reply was “yes” I have a story to tell.

At that moment he stumbled into the living room, planted himself right in the middle, and proceeded to recite a very long poem, word for word from memory in a fashion that would make any orator jealous. Not only did he recite the words clearly, he used facial expressions, hand motions, and movements in his body while acting out the scene with the skill and grace of a shakespearian actor.   I set there as a little kid, simply amazed and very impressed. I don’t think I took a breath after the first four lines. When he finished, he ask if they had anything to eat. They fixed him a plate, and Banjo said it was time to go to bed and showed him out the door…… I never forgot that night, and think of the old hobo often.

Years later we traveled to Central City Colorado where the actual face is painted on the bar room floor, located in the historic Teller House hotel. I bought a copy of the original framed poem. That particular evening many years before then, spent with an old drunk was my first introduction to poetry and possibly why I love it so much today. I know there was so much more to the man who brought me to it. I wish I knew the rest of his story…..


The "Face on the Bar Room Floor"

Twas a balmy summer evening,
And a goodly crowd was there,
That well night filled Joes' barroom
At the corner of the square,
As songs and witty stories,
Came through the open door,
A vagabond crept slowly in
And posed upon the floor.


“Where did it come from?” someone said,
“The wind has blown it in.”
“What does it want?” another cried,
“Some whiskey, rum or gin?”
Here Toby, sic’ em,
If your stomach is equal to the work,
I wouldn't touch him with a fork,
He's filthy as a Turk.


This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace.
In face, he smiled as though he thought,
He had struck the proper place.
Come boys, I know there’s kindly hearts,
Among so good a crowd,
To be in such good company,
Would make a deacon proud.


Give me a drink, that’s what I want,
I'm out of funds you know, when I had cash to treat the gang,
This lad was never slow.
What? You laugh as though you think, This pocket never held a sou,
I once was fixed as well, my boys,
As any of you.
There thanks, that’s braced me nicely.
God Bless you one and all. Next time I pass this good saloon,
I'll make another call.

Give you a song? No, I can't do that,
My singing days are past.
My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out,
And my lungs are going fast.

Aye, give me another whiskey and I'll tell you what to do
I'll tell you a funny story and in fact I’ll promise two.
That I was ever a decent man,
Not one of you would think,
But I was, some four or five years back.

Say, give me another drink.
Fill'er up, Joe, I want to put some life,
Into this old frame.

Such little drinks, to a bum like me
are miserably tame,
Five fingers, that's the scene, and corking and whiskey too,
Well, here's luck boys, and landlord,
My best respects to you.

You’ve treated me pretty kindly,
And I'd like to tell you how,
I came to be this dirty sap, you see before you now.
As I told you once I was a man,
With muscle, frame and health,
But nor a blunder, ought have made considerable wealth.

I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks or wood,
But an artist, and for my age I was rated pretty good,
I worked hard at my canvas, and bidding fair to rise,
And gradually I saw, the star of fame before my eyes.
I made a picture, perhaps you’ve seen,
It’s called the “Chase of Fame.”
It brought me fifteen hundred pounds,
And added to my name.

It was then I met a woman, now come the funny part;
With eyes that petrified my brain, and sank into my heart
Why don't you laugh its funny, that the vagabond you see,
could ever have a woman and expect her love for me.

But it was so, and for a month or two, hr smiles were freely given,
And when her loving lips touched mine, I thought I was in heaven.

Boys did you ever see a girl, for whom your soul you'd give,
With a form like Venus De Milo, too beautiful to live,
With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor,
And a wealth of chestnut hair?
If so, it was she, for boys there never was, another half so fair.


I was working on a portrait,
One afternoon in May,
Of a fair haired boy, a friend of mine,
Who lived across the way,
My Madeline admired him,
And much to my surprise,
She said she'd like to know the lad,
Who had such dreamy eyes.
She didn't take long to find him,
Before the month had flown,
My friend had stolen my darling,
And I was left alone.


And ere a year of misery had passed above my head.
That jewel I treasured so, had tarnished and was dead.
That's why I took to drink boys, Why I never see you smile,
I thought you'd be amused boys, and laughing all the while.

Why, what’s the matter friend? There's a tear-drop in your eye,
Come, laugh like me. It’s only babes and women that should cry.

Say boys, if you give me just another whiskey and I'll be glad,
I'll draw right here the picture, of the face that drove me mad.
Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score;
You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor.
Another drink and with check in hand, the vagabond began,
To sketch a face that well might buy the soul of any man.
Then, as he placed another lock upon that shapely head,
With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture -- dead!
Written by Hugh Antoine D’Arcy in 1887