FORT MITCHELL
-- Remember Desert Storm, that quickie TV war that almost made George Bush look tough? Dan Riedmatter does. He was there, refueling Air Force planes in midair.
Now he is night manager at Coyotes, the cavernous country-western bar next to the Drawbridge Estate. When I ask about the unusual weekend ritual at Coyotes, Mr. Riedmatter smiles.
He looks like a large Boy Scout.
"It may sound stupid," he says, "but it's so right."
At 10 p.m. every Friday and Saturday, the regulars brace themselves, bartenders stop pouring, bouncers stop checking IDs and men remove their cowboy hats.
"Let's take a moment to honor this great country we live in," the deejay says.
Then a huge American flag unfurls from the ceiling. The national anthem plays over the sound system. Somebody fires what sounds like a cannon, and fireworks burst from the balcony.
Goodness. Whatever happened to the national penchant for cynicism followed by amnesia? We say "whatever" a lot. This means nothing much deserves our passion -- certainly not the American flag.
And yet . . .
When Bob Wanninger of Cincinnati visits Coyotes on weekends, he actually opens his mouth and sings the anthem.
Has to. If he doesn't, he'll cry. This happens whenever he hears "The Star-Spangled Banner," "God Bless America" or the fight song for his alma mater.
"I don't know -- things like that get to me," says Mr. Wanninger. "It's the spirit of the occasion."
"It's loud," says Caroline Siefferman of Cincinnati, who is among Mr. Wanninger's group of friends.
"It kind of sets you in the mood," says John James of Lawrenceberg, Ind.
It also sets Coyotes apart as something of a different world. Don't get me wrong: The people here are as sophisticated as any. At the bar the other night, I eavesdropped on a cowboy drawing diagrams on a cocktail napkin; turns out he was explaining the stock market to a friend.
At another table, I spotted a man in a black shirt and jeans. Each time he took a sip of his beer, his rhinestone-studded belt shimmered.
Or at least this is what I first thought.
Upon further investigation, I learned the drink wasn't beer but soda -- Ed Amrein of Loveland never drinks alcohol when he's dancing. And those weren't rhinestones on his belt, either. It had been custom-made in California with Australian crystal from the Swarovski company. Cowboys are simultaneously more than what they seem and exactly as simple as they look.
They can set aside cynicism for a moment and face the flag. They can dance in a line with grandmas, grandpas and young, single women, without making any of them uneasy.
There is something down-to-earth and wholesome about the scene. At 10 p.m. on weekends and on concert nights, the regulars know what's coming. When a man lacks the etiquette to remove his hat, others glare at him until he gets a clue.
Ladies are exempt from the hat rule.
"That's the real world, you know," says Gene Keller, a tall Army veteran from Hamilton. "You can only ask so much of women."
Let's give him that one, ladies.
He was laughing when he said it -- and he's a cowboy who salutes the flag.
Karen Samples is The Enquirer's Kentucky columnist. Her column appears on Sundays and Thursdays in The Kentucky Enquirer. She can be reached at 578-5584 or email
her at ksamples@enquirer.com
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