John Vrbetic: Tavern owner 'always had a smile'

'One-of-a-kind man' was part bartender, part janitor, part stock boy, part talk show host

Having a cold one at Johnnie's Tavern in Lake View was a process.

First you had to find the place -- a brick bunkerlike building marked by a faded Hamm's beer sign on Lincoln in the shadow of the Paulina Brown Line stop.

Then you had to knock on the door and hope the old guy in the blue cardigan behind the bar -- iconic neighborhood tavern owner John Vrbetic -- would buzz you in.

For 41 years, Mr. Vrbetic -- who everybody called Johnnie -- ran the joint by himself -- part bartender, part stock boy, part janitor and part talk show host.

"I loved seeing Johnnie at his bar," regular Johanna Anonevo said. "He always had a smile on his face and got to know his patrons."

In September, Mr. Vrbetic suffered a fall and broke his neck at the tavern. After about a month in the hospital, he died Oct. 23. He was 87.

Mr. Vrbetic was born in Croatia and moved to Chicago. He opened his tavern in 1968. The bar didn't have a sign out front, so over the years people called the place many names -- Johnnie's Lounge or the Hamm's bar or that place on Lincoln without a sign.

Over the years, Lake View evolved from working class to fancy pants, but Ol' Johnnie's bar didn't change much. In fact, the tavern was an unofficial Chicago dive bar museum. The neon beer signs on the wall were from the first liquor distributors to visit the place. The old juke box -- last updated when Milli Vanilli and New Kids on the Block were popular -- was like a strange musical time machine.

Decades of obscure liquor bottles filled the shelves behind the bar, which was lined with black leatherette stools and topped with an ashtray and book of matches every 12 inches, exactly. And tucked away in a dark corner of the bar was a stack of old Hustler magazines, one Johnnie's patron wrote in an online tavern review.

Mr. Vrbetic was a throwback barkeep people came to see.

"It saddens me to think that I'll never hear him greet me with 'Hey, Stefani!' as I bellied up to his bar," tavern regular and unofficial doorman Steve Maks said. "He was a one-of-a-kind man and there will never be anyone like him again."

Mr. Vrbetic was the longtime companion of Tanya Kratzer's grandmother, the late Julia Benson, who died in 1999. They never married and lived separately, but Mr. Vrbetic often referred to Ms. Benson as his wife.

"My grandmother wanted to live separately, so they did. But they stayed over on weekends. She cooked and cleaned for him. They went to Croatian barbecues on the South Side. We spent all our holidays together. They took care of each other," Kratzer said. "He was like my uncle and grandfather all rolled into one."

In its early days, the tavern was a popular spot for working guys. Live bands played, and every New Year's Eve, Benson would cook up a free meal for regulars.

"Back in the day, that bar was so pristine," Kratzer said. "Every Wednesday after school and every Saturday we cleaned the bar with him. He gave us unlimited dimes to play the juke box and unlimited access to Shirley Temples. Uncle John had a routine for taking care of the bar, and he did the same thing every day . . . If he didn't have the bar, I don't think he would have lived as long."

For 20 years, the tavern had an open door policy. But that changed in 1988 when two guys robbed the tavern and beat Mr. Vrbetic bloody with a baseball bat.

"He was a tough guy from Croatia. He wouldn't get in the ambulance," Kratzer said. "He was 67 years old then, and what they did was shameful. That's why he started buzzing people in."

But folks who got Mr. Vrbetic's permission to enter often became his friends. And they were treated -- sometimes over and over again -- to tales of his barroom adventures, surviving World War II in Croatia and traveling the world.

"I would spend hours there talking to him about his adventures and travels many years ago in Europe, and his experiences owning a bar in Chicago. Stories about the war. It would fascinate me, and oftentimes I'd be there until close," said tavern regular Adam Knapp, who Mr. Vrbetic nicknamed "Adamovski." "Those were great times. Johnny was a great man who's life impressed me beyond measure. His bar was among my favorites in Chicago."

If a drinker hesitated ordering a shot, Mr. Vrbetic poured them his favorite liquor, Slivovitz -- a plum brandy.

"It was rough, but it gets the job done," regular Jason Mathews said. "He told me when he moved here he didn't have an appetite, so he would take a shot of Slivovitz in the morning and it would make him hungry."

Mr. Vrbetic, who spoke at least five languages, refused to retire when age slowed him and developers offered big bucks to buy his property.

"He's from the old country. There was no retirement. You worked hard and you played hard," Kratzer said. "When people asked him why he wouldn't sell, Uncle John would say, 'This is what I do.' And he loved it. He loved it."