Jim “God” Anderson walked into his bar like a fairytale creature emerging from the pages of its own book. “Way to be” are the first words to come out of his goateed lips as he sauntered up to the bar top to check the mail.

Above his head, hundreds of pictures in dusty plastic frames hang on the walls. Jim with Jackie Chan. Jim in the military. Jim with scantily clad masses of women. Jim with Sugar Ray Leonard. Jim with Arnold Schwarzenegger.

But mostly Jim with scantily clad women.

Under this shrine to his own infamy, Anderson flicked through envelopes, blue shorts hiked high above his knees. A massive gold ring shaped like a startlingly detailed phallus glistened every time he raised a hand to cover a raspy cough. Around his neck rested a gaudy pendant shaped in his likeness, evidence of a considerable ego and self-proclaimed God-complex.

Anderson is the founder of the Meet Rack, a quintessential dive bar located at the edge of downtown Tucson, flanked by ancient motels and refurbished neon signs that recall a distant past of Cadillac convertibles and smoky jazz lounges. A conversation with Anderson, like a drive down this street, is enough to take anyone back to a different era.

“You know, it’s like people say ‘what did you do in 2005?’ I say I got no idea. ‘What did you do in 2009?’ I got no idea. ‘What did you do in 1976?’”

Anderson answered: “What day?”

But he wasn’t so much the “unapologetic, megalomaniac, grammar-Nazi,” as fondly described by his bartender Jeff Farrell. Nor was he entirely the wild, dirty old man bashed and revered by patrons and the local media.

Instead, Anderson revealed himself to be an unorthodox Renaissance man, well traveled, well educated through experience and as adept at the bar business as he is at lewdness. He is a man who still hangs on to the wildness and simplicity of a different time. And, perhaps most important, he is a man who loves people, a trait that inspired many of his youthful misadventures, and endures as an unspoken philosophy of his establishment.

Growing up God

In ninth grade, at a pool hall in Rochester, N.Y., Anderson began his journey to debauched fame. A former straight-A student, he began his partying days as a teen, a stark contrast to an artistic mother, four shining siblings and a well-respected father who enjoyed a fair amount of success through community involvement.

At 16, Anderson was given a credit card by his father for use at the local country club. Showing his promise as a future businessman, Anderson used the card to fix and fuel his friends’ vehicles and pocket the money they gave him in return. He eventually accrued a $4,500 bill on his father’s account, an amount that could buy two Corvettes back in the 1950s, Anderson said.

After his mother paid the bill to avoid seeing her son killed by an enraged father, Anderson escaped to the military, and was sent to Germany as a member of the military police.

“Whenever they tell you something, always say “Yes,” but never do it,” he said, recalling the best advice he gleaned from his time abroad. He followed this advice himself throughout his time in Europe, and was subsequently court-martialed three times for irritating and insulting his superiors. “They liked me as a person,” Anderson said. “They just didn’t like me as a soldier.”

Despite his indiscretions, it was this charm and way with people that would serve him well for the rest of his life and grant him success in the hospitality industry.

By 28, Anderson had started his life’s work in the bar business, eventually running two bars in upstate New York. “I took to bartending like a duck to water,” Anderson said of his first time behind the counter.

And after selling the bars, Anderson moved down to Tucson at the urging of his brother, and opened up the bar Someplace Else in 1976on Mable and Sixth streets.

The Congregation

Anderson’s arrival in Tucson marked the start of an extensive networking career that would make him a local celebrity.

After his third unsuccessful attempt in the 1980s at running for mayor against the sheriff, Anderson was slapped with 60 violations by his opponent, who wanted to permanently put Anderson’s campaign days to an end. As a result, his bar was shut down, and he was run out of Tucson. During his exile, he ran bars in Vermont, Florida, Las Vegas and Mexico.

When he returned to the desert in the 90s, the Meet Rack was born. “Here’s what I cater to—“21-to-26-year-old girls and everybody that loves them,” Anderson said of his clientele. “Period. In that order.” And as evidenced by the thousands of pictures covering every inch of wall, he has cornered his market.

And should curious guests need a good shock on a Saturday night, all they need to do is ask for a bar tour and Anderson will happily oblige. Along the way, Anderson’s audience will be treated to a host of stories and memorabilia.

There’s the Alcoholics Anonymous plaque, where former members can trade their sobriety coins for discounts on drinks. A few steps further, a pair of mechanical breasts “sing and dance” at a push of a button. The menu sitting on the bar top is full of mixed drinks named after various body parts (and functions). And near the entrance, Anderson will unlock the “Duty Hut,” a dark room filled with devices that would make Jerry Springer blush.

But thanks to the cult he has created for himself through his uncouth novelties and celebrity networking, Anderson has also fostered a home for a growing group of regulars. A home in which he has become the peculiar patriarch.

Long-time bartender and patron Farrell is still occasionally mystified by Anderson’s following. “I think it’s just so interesting like how he’ll sit over there in the corner, and friends will just come like from the years back…and he’ll talk to them like he holds court.”

According to other members of the fold, the relationship is much closer to kin than court. “We’re family,” said Lorriana O’Hanlon, a frequent fixture at the Meet Rack, just as her mother was before her. “We’re all dirt bags,” O’Hanlon said, “but we come here to congregate and most of the time have each other’s backs.”

As for Anderson, this human connection is the most important part of the Meet Rack experience. As much as he prides his infamous persona and vulgar reputation, the genuine love of his bar and the perceptions of the people who congregate there are what really make him tick.

“You either have what you want in this world or all the reasons why you don’t have it.” Anderson said. “Happiness is wanting what you have.” And what he has is plenty of company, one beer on tap and a lifetime of party stories memorialized by snapshots and a group of faithful followers who love them.