Another event comes to mind that involves Harry Shively. Harry lived to be ninety years old and during his later years, the most of his waking hours were spent in a combination beer tavern and greasy spoon, (The Unique), on Main Street. I don’t think that Harry drank a whole lot of beer, but the intellectual level of many of the regular patrons provided a fertile seed bed for some of his tall tales and wild theories, as well as a free beer, now and then.

I have heard Harry say, many times, that the Unique made the best damned bean soup in town. Come to think of it, Harry was the only one that I remember having said that, and I don’t think that there was any other place, in town, that specialized in beer and bean soup. In any event, Harry grew so fond of that soup that it, and a glass of beer became his lunch, six days a week, 52 weeks a year.

One day Harry had just sat down at one of the tables near a front window, to eat his lunch when a fire broke out, in the kitchen area. The fire department came and one of the first things on their order of business, in such cases, was to get all of the people out of the building. When the firemen got to Harry, he was not finished with his beer and beans so he would not vacate, as instructed. After a reasonable amount of persuasion with no results, a couple of the firemen picked up his chair, with Harry in it, and sat him out on the sidewalk.

All during this maneuver, Harry retained possession of the beer and beans. He, subsequently, finished his lunch, sitting in his chair, on the sidewalk of the Main Street in Three Rivers. He later said that he knew that the fire didn’t amount to a damn, so he could see no reason to get so excited.