There are thousands of bars across the country like The Canteen in Wellington, perhaps hundreds in Ohio, and there are even a couple others like it in Wellington. But in Oberlin, there are zero.
The Canteen has pool tables, dart-boards and neon beer signs. There are posters of women in tight t-shirts knotted above their navels holding pitchers of beer. “Running Against the Wind” was playing on the jukebox when I got there.
As the new guy, I took a seat at the far end of the bar. When I told the bartender Jeanette that I was writing an article, she looked me in the face and said, “Make sure it’s good.” Then she led me to meet some of the regulars. This is when I fell in with some very good company.

I met Joe and Joyce, and then some others who didn’t give names. These are folks who have been doing their boozing at The Canteen for decades. Joe had a pile of ones on the table, and every time he ordered another beer, Jeanette would take two.
It was hard to keep a conversation going at the bar, so I hollered a question like, “How long has The Canteen been here?” And people would call out over the music: “Since 4:30…I know that.” “Since Santa Claus was a little kid.” “Since Prohibition.” This would then degenerate into shout-outs about The Canteen, or random observations: “Don’t go to a bar where your girlfriend works.” “Joyce smells good.”
“ I’m going to kill that Joe Miller.” I ended up just talking with everybody.
The house specialty is the Killer Lemonade, priced at a dollar. It is a cocktail of cranberry juice, Amaretto and Southern Comfort. This is the good thing about places like The Canteen: I needed only ask about the Killer Lemonade before Jeanette was pushing one in my direction.
The Killer Lemonade started a little medicinal, but was cold and not overly sweet. The SoCo gave it some spice. Still, the drink was a little to the left of lemonade. I couldn’t really gauge how popular the Killer Lemonade was with the regulars, but I could see it making sense by the end of a long night.

Meanwhile, Jeanette was a dynamo, and well tailored for The Canteen. She had an efficient industry with her work and with the customers. She could field a “Where’s the goddamn beer?” while emptying ashtrays and giving change. Everyone at the bar was making small talk with her, and she was rolling with it. Jeanette was also interested in the notes I was jotting down. Before I left, she reviewed them and crossed out where I had written that she had worked there “too long” and then she wrote in six months.
The outing did sort of compromise my journalistic integrity, and I loved it. One of the biggies in the journalist’s code of ethics is to turn down all gifts from a person you are reporting on. Well people were trying to buy me drinks like I had just become a father and it made me feel really well accepted there, like they were all glad that I came. It is at this point that I will finally make my allusion to the “Cheers” theme.
I don’t know how many of you will be making the eight-mile trip to The Canteen, but you are more than welcome, I checked that. There are no barroom brawls on record since The Canteen made a switchover from its biker bar status of a few years ago. One woman said, “Everybody’s welcome if they behave.” Another guy pointed out that there is even a small stage for college students who want to dance topless. And perhaps sensing something that had gone unsaid, one guy said to me as I was leaving, “Let them know we’re not just a bunch of rednecks.”
To get to The Canteen, take Route 58 South to Wellington, then right on Herrick Road. Try and get a seat near Joe.