Take A Dive: A neon beacon summons

Follow it all the way to Torchy’s, but remember to play by the rules

You can spot it from a block away: the old Braum’s building wrapped in neon signage, a lone glowing beacon of hot pink planted in the parking lot of a drab Sand Springs shopping center dressed in varying shades of gray, a stone’s throw from Highway 412. 

The first thing you notice when approaching the front entrance of Torchy’s is a circular, red-and-white sign that reads “Torchy’s Club Rules.” The rules are split into two columns ­— the “Yes’s” and the “No’s.”

Yes, Unwind. Yes, Relax. Yes, Enjoy Yourself. Most importantly, Yes, Spend Money (“Because my grand babies Porsche payment is due,” a parenthetical aside offers). 

The “No’s” are surprisingly gritty for a neighborhood bar in the suburbs: No drugs. No gang colors. No bad manners (“Must Smell Good,” another parenthetical clarifies). “We Will Call the Police. Thanks, Torchy.”

Duly warned, I press my face into my shirt and hope nicotine-tinted Speed Stick falls under the “smells good” category. I’d rather they not call the police. 

It’s 11 p.m. on a Sunday night and the roads are still covered in snow and ice from the previous week’s winter storm. The place is nearly empty. When we enter, a handful of patrons who braved the inclement weather turn in unison to face us. At most bars, Sunday night is a night for regulars, and it’s immediately apparent that Torchy’s is no different. Though they’re scattered across the bar, it’s clear these folks all know each other in that way barflies do — outside they may be strangers to each other, but inside, the warmth and solidarity of alcohol makes them family. 

The room is spacious, more so than its exterior would suggest. Several pool tables and a shuffleboard occupy the well-lit main area, along with scattered tables and chairs. A flat-screen above the bar broadcasts a rerun of the earlier Dolphins/Steelers matchup (34-28, Dolphins). Christmas lights and glowing knick-knacks emblazoned with beer and liquor logos festoon the walls and hang from the ceiling. A TouchTunes internet jukebox shaped like a giant iPod occasionally blasts a country song between stretches of silence.

Our bartender, a laidback fellow in his late 20s, wears a Red Sox jersey and Titleist baseball cap and speaks with a friendly, unassuming Okie drawl. He welcomes us but recoils when my friend orders a PBR and a shot of Jameson.

“This is a Bud bar,” he exclaims. “I just have the basics.” Though PBR is absent, the whiskey is not a problem. We both order the same — Budweiser and Jameson ($12.50 for two shots and two beers). He quickly calls us out as interlopers. “What brings y’all down here? Never seen ya ‘round before.” And over several rounds he engages us while the curious drinkers eavesdrop.

He tells us he’s originally from Paris, Texas, a small town just south of the Oklahoma border.

“Torchy’s reminds me of a bar I would go to in Paris. I love it. But this place used to be a mess,” he volunteers. He tells us it was known as a “fighting bar,” rife with violence and drugs (“One of the bartenders used to shoot up in the bathroom”). Then, Torchy, who’s owned some version of the bar for decades, remodeled the place, made some staffing changes, started advertising and placed the list of rules at the entrance. Now, it’s a comfortable home for blue-collar workers and area residents looking to decompress and find respite from the day’s grind. Poker games are occasionally held in a front corner of the room.

“Most of the guys that come in here now are in their 50s, been drinkin’ since they were 12.” As he says this, a young, tired-looking couple approaches the bar. “Two rattlesnakes and a pitcher,” the kid mumbles. With that, our bartender disappears to make the syrupy-sweet whiskey shot. 

The jukebox kicks on and a gloriously weird country/hip hop mash-up fills the room. As we finish our drinks and prepare to leave, the bartender waves and gives us a friendly smile.

“Come back and see me,” he says. And he means it.

Take a Dive is a running column in which Joshua Kline explores the fringes of drinking culture in Tulsa County by visiting the dives, holes, beer bars and neighborhood pubs that keep Green Country drunk and happy.