tucson

Debauchery Loves Company: A Different Look at the Man Called “God”

/ jenny.h

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.

From Truck to Table: A Look at Tucson Food Truck Culture

/ jenny.h

It’s a lively Saturday night out in Tucson. Cocktail glasses have been emptied, pints spilled, laughs exchanged—and you didn’t even call anyone you shouldn’t have. By all accounts, this evening has been nothing short of ideal.

And then, without warning, the unmistakable twinge sets in your gut. The tug of an empty stomach. You consider turning toward the street, raising an arm and hailing a cab home to peruse the fridge.

Then it hits you. The wafting scent of grilling onions. The juicy goodness of sizzling beef. The winding line of your nocturnal comrades taking an intermission from their revelry for some wholesome food truck fare.

The food truck, with its appealing mix of convenience and novelty, is a popular trend among Tucson foodies. Trucks can be found at all times of the day, and the virtually limitless choices range from adventurous crepes to wood-fired pizza to Asian-Mexican fusion. An increasing number of trucks are collaborating with standing establishments, especially breweries with no kitchens of their own. This shared business venture means more options for local food lovers and more opportunity for restaurateurs to share their fare.

Flavors on Wheels

The Indian food truck Twisted Tandoor glows in vibrant yellow glory. Owner Mukhi Singh extends a heaping plate of chicken tikka masala, nestled atop a steaming mound of yellow rice.

“This is how I grew up eating,” said the ever-smiling Singh. “These are the flavors that me and my wife chase in our head, and we want to share these with you.”

Sharing these tastes with the community is definitely a process. Some days are fabulous, he said, but others are not.

Ultimately, the constant flow of new people and energy keeps his motivation strong. “Everyday we meet a ton of awesome people,” Singh said. For him, this is the greatest reward.

The opportunity to reach out to a wide audience also inspires Travis Miller, who connects with his customers through his truck Serial Grillers, which he started with his brother.

Miller, a graduate from the Eller College of Management at the University of Arizona, first had the idea to bring quality cheesesteaks to Tucson back in 2011. After being denied several loans, he sold mortgages in Scottsdale for a year to raise funds. He also purchased a trailer in Texas and worked 18-to-20 hour days to get the truck started. “Crazy what you’ll do for your dreams,” said Miller, who now owns a brick-and-mortar restaurant on Speedway in addition to his truck, which he parks at 22nd Street and Pantano Road every weekday.

For Miller, being his own boss is his reward. “Work isn’t work,” he said.

Trucks and Tastings

With your creamy chicken masala in hand, you search for a place to eat, and notice that Tap and Bottle has its massive steel-and-colored-glass doors open to the street. Inside, everyone is digging into a plate of Twisted Tandoor fare, too. Some are drinking dark beer, while others sip on a new Merlot that just arrived from Sonoma. All the diners enjoy combinations of their choice, thanks to the delicious trend of collaboration between bars and food trucks across Tucson.

Located in Gallery Row in downtown Tucson, Tap and Bottle is owned by Rebecca Safford and her husband, who rotate the beer and wine selection of T&B every week. The Saffords were inspired by their travels to vineyards and breweries around the United States and wanted to bring the experiences of tastings to Tucson.

“It took us a long time to get open,” said Safford, explaining that the concept had been in the works for up to a year before their doors finally opened. In addition to the lengthy liquor license approval, the Saffords deliberated whether to serve food. When it became clear that even small plates would require an elaborate kitchen system, they started considering other possibilities.

Instead of opening a kitchen, the Saffords developed relationships with food trucks. “It seemed to be just a perfect relationship cause we want to focus on beer and wine, and they want to focus on the food,” Safford said.

This emphasis on beer and wine without the kitchen distractions is also embraced by Robert Stout, tap room manager at Dragoon Brewery in Tucson. Stout, who books the food truck lineup for Dragoon, said scheduling and accommodating for food trucks is crucial, especially at a place that wants to concentrate solely on providing quality beer rather than lackluster food. “If you’re gonna do a kitchen you’re gonna do it right,” Stout said. “You need to absolutely have your heart and soul into it.”

And sitting in Tap and Bottle, enjoying hot food, good wine and pleasant company, customers benefit from this partnership of food truck and tap room. Patrons will follow their favorite mobile kitchens all over Tucson, which exposes them to new places and to each other. Businesses flourish and people connect.

“It’s just that much better when they’re like ‘Man, that food truck is awesome,’” said Stout, sipping on the latest brew from Tap and Bottle. “You know, sitting there with a nice plate of food and they got a beer and they just got a big smile on their face.”