Harry Rittenberry became our Oak Cliff neighbor in Dallas, Texas a a time when my wife and I bought the craftsman style house next to his and began our renovation project. Harry loved the construction, I think, because he loved the idea of renewal, and perhaps, after years of ill health, wished it for himself. He visited on several occasions to tell us stories about our house and his experiences in it and in the neighborhood while he was growing up. He told us who had built our retaining wall in the front, who had extended the back of the house to add another room, who had installed the asbestos siding and who had removed it. Many homes in the Winnetka Heights section of "The Cliff" have such a history, and Harry probably could have told you about many of them.Harry was an Oak Cliff native in his early sixties who died in August from congestive heart failure, a condition from which he had suffered for several years. A big, gregarious man who loved preparing good food for family and friends, Harry had parlayed his talents into a Dallas food service business that he and his wife Betty, an elementary school teacher here in Oak Cliff, ran for several years before his ill health forced him into early retirement. It was around then that he returned to his boyhood, bungalow home in Oak Cliff, taking over "Mama’s" house on Rosemont Avenue between Jefferson and Twelfth.
He knew everyone who had occupied our house from his early childhood on and kept his memories of them as well as those of all the neighbors. He could and would willingly tell us what the "kids" were like and what they were doing now and what their children and grandchildren were doing now. After 50 plus years, they still called, they still visited, they still attended his annual post New Year’s party, usually the week after everyone else’s celebration. A childhood friend remained a friend throughout Harry’s too-brief lifetime.
Fortunately, we made Harry’s party invitation list, so we got to hear from some of the friends about summer nights on the porches before air conditioning. We heard about dances, the construction of new schools and the school games. We heard about what Jefferson Street was like "back in the day". Yes, one of his pals shared a memory of Lee Harvey Oswald’s capture just down the street at the Texas Theater.
At his memorial service, we encountered some of Harry’s friends whom we had previously met. My wife and I remarked how all of a kind they seemed to be, and how like Harry they seemed: positive, gregarious, even jocular. We heard a few tales of Harry as a boy, typical stories of boys in a tightly knit community, bound to stay connected in some way to the neighborhood.
What is it about this area? What is the hold this place has on those who grow up here and those who choose to reside here? Why had Harry chosen to remain so connected to it?
It could not have been soccer league success, or the construction of McMansions and new tract houses. Part of it must be, according to Harry, the character of Oak Cliff: the topography, the spots that endured such as The Ice House, Bishop Arts, and the historical homes, which are on tour twice a year. And then there is the drive among newcomers and old-timers for renewal through renovation and preservation, all of which Harry loved. He embodied the character of Oak Cliff and savored the things that have made it unique throughout his life.
I remember how pleased he was at the neighborhood progressive New Year’s party last year at which he was welcomed by neighbors he had not met before, the last party he was able to attend. He was received warmly by everyone and felt connected with the next generation in the Cliff. "Nice people." Harry told me later, "Reminds me . . ."
Harry would have basked in the warmth and laughter at his memorial service and he would have been touched by the standing room-only turnout. The food was good, the crowd was friendly; it was so Oak Cliff, so Harry. What a charming tribute to him. And yet, I felt the need for some additional send-off, something specific and in character between the two of us, one a relative newcomer to the neighborhood, one who had experienced a lifetime here. So, finding out from Betty that Harry would have found a stiff shot of bourbon fitting for a toast, I resolved to buy one for my friend and say, "For auld lang syne." at an Oak Cliff spot that he would have loved for its warmth, décor, sounds, and people: The Cosmo Rouge.
It’s Bishop Arts’ Algonquin Club of sorts without the intellectual pretension. The incredible bar has an opaque, red multi-colored counter through which lights shine and reflect off the glasses and where alternating shades of soft light reflect off the wall behind the bar. The music is more than wallpaper background, but not intrusive. It’s where wait staff have years of experience in Dallas’s finest establishments. It’s where owner Stephen Stroud provides on-site leadership, personally involving himself in the social experience of his guests.
One night last spring, our neighborhood group, the newer generation of Oak Cliff friends and neighbors, picked the Cosmo Rouge for our destination as part of our monthly rotating happy hour. It would have been a great night for Harry, the hors d’oeuveres were great (and complimentary) and the drinks generous, but he was too sick to attend, and I didn’t think to raise a glass to him then. So, now it had to be bourbon (not my normal nutritional beverage). It had to be Cosmo Rouge.
The bartender responded with just the right understanding when I volunteered the rationale for the two separate glasses for my two shots of bourbon straight up. "Lost a friend recently." I said. "He never had a chance to visit here, and I know he would have loved it."
"Certainly, Sir," he knowingly said. "Here’s to your friend." Just what you would want from a bartender in a clean, well-lighted place.