This week's "Horseplay and Heroes" column is going to be the written version of taking the scenic route to tell the story. It will take longer, but you're going to read some things not typically viewed in a normal interstate concrete newspaper story. Looking at the map, the journey from butt darts to President John F. Kennedy to the best nine calorie-saving secret ever will take us down some winding roads. It's time to fill the tank with callous and soul. Personal Jesus-type soul. Life on the road can be tough, but that's why radios were invented.

The first time I went into a bar, sans parents, was in Destin, Fla., in 1991. The place was called "Night Town." There were neon lights everywhere. People looked like zombies dancing in cages. The female bartenders' hair had matching electric teases, like their hands gripped a malfunctioning blender wire sending shockwaves through their follicles. The male bartenders wore tank tops. Girls may have noticed their steroid-fed muscles. I saw the skin-rage of acne on their back. Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" was playing with an electronic head-pounding thump. The bass was vibrating the walls. The lyrics were undetectable, with the exception of one line, and even that sounded like donkey bray as the dancing zombies yelled in unison "reach out, touch me." I felt like Pinocchio on Pleasure Island. The only difference between Destin's Night Town and Disney's disturbing Pleasure Island were Z cavaricci pants replacing donkey tails. There were mirrors everywhere and hundreds of eyes fixated on themselves. The place was bursting at the seams but empty, without soul, at the same time. The employee turnover rate was higher than they were with white powder on their noses from their last bathroom break. 

The irony of Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" song is the lyric is actually "reach out, have faith." I never knew that until I heard Johnny Cash sing his cover version of it last week. I was sitting in Johnnies Bar in River Falls talking with Patti Lindquist about her job when I heard it. Lindquist was tending bar at Johnnies, something she's done full-time for over 38 years. If you reach out and go to Johnnies, have faith Patti Lindquist will be there from 9 to 5 now four days a week. She switched to days after a hip replacement five years ago. 

"I know I started in February of 1987 because my younger sister graduated that year and the Twins won the World Series," said Patti.

"Patti loves watching and talking sports," said former Johnnies 26-year co-worker, Anne Zezza. "She's an incredible listener and she has a beautiful soul. She literally would do anything for anybody."

The song "Personal Jesus" is about how any person we meet can help answer our prayers, "Someone to hear your prayers, someone who cares, your own personal Jesus," sings the song.

Anne Zezza would still be working at Johnnies with Patti, but her husband, Jamie, was diagnosed with ALS a couple years ago. The Zezzas sold the family pool business and Anne is taking care of Jamie.

"Patti was the first one at my house with Jamie," said Anne. "She always calls and checks in on me. I just frickin' love her. She always keeps the conversation spicy."

"Feeling unknown and you're all alone, flesh and bone." Personal Jesus.

"I always joke that I'm dead inside," said Patti, "because I hardly ever cry. I don't know if that's good or bad?"

"Patti can talk to anybody and she likes to push your buttons," said Anne. "The reason she can get away with saying stuff to cranky customers that other people can't is because she loves you. She's just jabbin'. For her, a jab is fun and out of love and people know that."

If there is one story that encapsulates Patti Lindquist at Johnnies it was from about 15 years ago, according to legend.

"So, these five guys are having their beers and I know all of them," said Patti. "They appear to all be drinking Miller 64’s (64 calorie beer)."

One of the guys says, "Patti, we'll have another round."

"So, I bring them five more 64's," said Patti. "And my friend's brother says, 'Link, I'm drinking a Bud 55 (55 calorie beer)."

"I told him, 'Whatever, Jay,’" replied Patti rolling her eyes.

Patti then moved on to other customers and returns to her five health-conscience stallions and their Miller 64's.

"Jay is still pouting and I say, 'Are you serious, Jay?' So, I grabbed his beer and took a drink of it and gave it back and said, 'there, now it's a 55. Are you OK now?"

Johnnies' owner Dave Dintemann snickered like Muttley the Dog from the Hanna-Barbera "Wacky Races" cartoon when he heard Patti's productive way of shaving nine calories off a beer for a customer. 

"Oh, I've heard that one plenty of times," said Dintemann. "Before I started working here in 1997, I was afraid of her, but Patti is the one that got me the job at Johnnies when Tim (Linehan) owned it. She puts on a tough persona, but she's a total softy. Once you're in, you're in. Getting in is the key."

"You're not going to believe this," Patti said quietly, "but I grew up painfully shy."

The decades of bartending forged an emotional armor for her. It also gave her the mental callous to shed bad days and cranky customers like a cocoon for almost 40 years. 

"It's so cliche, but it really is the people," said Patti. "You deal with people you don't like and learn to forget why you don't like them and you get excited and happy when you see the good ones come in."

Focus on the good. Patti's glass is half full.

"Things on your chest. You need to confess. I will deliver. You know I'm a forgiver. Reach out, touch faith." Personal Jesus.

The annual River Falls pub crawl has come and gone this month. Johnnies Bar has been closed on that particular night since 2018.

"There was a hole in my wall," said Dintemann. "The urinal was broken and so was a toilet. I told my wife we're never going to be open this night again. Let’s have a fun employee night instead of a bad one."

Dintemann was true to his word. On "Pub Crawl Night," Johnnies has their employee appreciation Christmas party in April. They've done trivia, scavenger hunts, and games.

"Patti excels at butt darts," said Anne. "She is the queen of butt darts."

"She went up and made it on her first try both times we've had that game," said Dintemann of the Wisconsin-wedged stack of quarters drop while walking over a cup on the ground.

Speaking of Wisconsin, Patti Lindquist is born and bred River Falls. Her older brother died when he was 14 years old. Patti has a picture of her brother framed in her house of when her brother was 4 years old and standing by the hood of a car when John F. Kennedy was campaigning for president in River Falls in March 1960.

"I'm told the picture was in Life Magazine," said Patti. "That picture is the only thing I'd grab if the house was burning. It's my favorite thing ever."

Father Jerry Harris, former priest at St. Bridget Church, was having his retirement party at Johnnies Bar a few years ago. Patti threw on a T-shirt ready to go to work, forgetting her priest would be in her presence that day.

"I had on a 'Not Today, Satan," T-shirt," said Patti. "I walked into the church on Ash Wednesday and lightning didn't strike me, so I guess I'm OK."

"Reach out, touch faith." Personal Jesus.

Every October for the past 20 years, Patti organizes a par 3 golf tournament at Clifton Highlands to raise money and bring in bags of food to the River Falls Food Pantry. The tournament doesn't have a name, they draw random winners with random partners.

"It's just random fun. That's my way and that's how I do it," said Patti.

A random person in this random town can be a random personal Jesus.

Reach out. Touch Faith.