Home

There was a reason Matt Vincent and I referred to Maloney’s Bar as “home,” and it wasn’t just because we both love the Merle Haggard song “Swinging Doors.”

It also wasn’t because we were there often enough that we actually receive mail at the bar.

We started to go to Maloney’s because we worked together at the newspaper until after midnight. Some of our favorite playgrounds, like the Vu Villa, Scoop and Club 13, would close early some nights.

Not Maloney’s. That bar owned and operated by Geno Riordan and Pat Maloney stays open until the State of Montana says it must close, at 2 a.m. It was even open on Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve and Christmas sometimes.

The regulars at Maloney’s became like family to us.

We knew when we walked past the lit-up shamrock embedded in the sidewalk and through the door that there was a 90 percent chance we would see Lugene Dunmire, John Weitzel, Tom Malloy and Mike Roche.

If we were lucky, we might see people like Thom Southwick, Jimmy Johnson and Doug Gronvold. If someone said his name three times, Jerry Maynard would inevitably walk through the door.

Sunday nights meant we would be greeted by Dick Pickett behind the bar. Every other Saturday night was “Wally Night” with Wally Richardson slinging drinks and telling us to turn our lights on when we walked out the door at closing time.

During the weeknights, Maloney’s always had a Marine behind the bar. That would be Charlie Nutter, who still serves the coldest beer in the universe at the bar at 112 N. Main St., and John Cox.

Nutter and Coxie, as we affectionately called him, switched off every other week, rotating from dayshift to night shift. Coxie, who passed away last week at the age of 84, would also work Saturday night the week he had the late shift.

Maloney’s always had the best juke box in the world. When picking music after throwing in a buck, I always made sure to play “Sultans of Swing” by Dire Straits for Dick. I would play “Cherry Bomb” by John Mellencamp for Coxie, who loved that song that celebrated youth, friendship and those carefree moments before we grew up.

That juke box was the best around even during the scandalous few days when Rochey boycotted the bar because Geno accidentally removed a John Hiatt CD.

Geno pleaded ignorance, saying he did not know who Hiatt was, even though he had a bit of a cult following in that establishment. Rochey was the leader of that cult, which also swore its allegiance to Todd Snyder.

Maloney’s is where I realized that a bar could be so much more than just a place where drunks hang out. During my drinking days, Maloney’s was a community of good-hearted people who looked out for each other. It was more like Cheers than Cheers.

And Coxie was Sam Malone. He was the constant voice of reason and the superglue that held it all together. He was the reason it was home.

Coxie, a 1959 Butte High graduate who worked as a police officer in Southern California after his four years in the Marines, was a well-built man with a haircut his drill sergeant would approve of.

His hair was white and short. He was once called “Mr. Fuzzy Head” by a bachelorette party ringleader as she tried to get his attention on a busy night.  He was fearless, and he did not tolerate riff raff or disrespect.

When Coxie was behind the bar, he was in charge. If you got out of line, you were gone. But he made it a place where nobody would want to get out of line. You never had to worry about fights or being pestered by an undesirable with Coxie behind the bar.

You also never had to worry about taking yourself too seriously. Coxie would always be there to call Bravo Sierra on you.

As much as I loved walking into a crowded bar at Maloney’s, my favorite nights were when the place was empty and Coxie was tending.

Those were the nights when we would have those deep conversations. We talked about politics. We talked about the news. We talked about women. We talked about life.

I was around 25 when I first met Coxie. I was young and impressionable, and Coxie was so much more than a bar tender. He was a friend.

He was also a bit like a professor. He got me into reading the work of Noam Chomsky.

What percentage of bartenders out there do you suppose ever read Chomsky? What percentage of Butte guys ever read Chomsky?

I had to read each paragraph a couple of times to comprehend it, but I finished the book Coxie told me to read, like he was assigning a book report. Then we talked about it for days.

Coxie was like a cool uncle and a therapist, and my sessions started when I got off work at 12:30 a.m. For the next hour and a half, I knew I would get straight talk with a twist of philosophy and common sense from the guy on the good side of the bar.

He counseled me through new loves and breakups, helping me put both into the proper perspective. He gave me work advice when I asked for it, and he would let me know when I was full of crap.

When I told him that my first child was going to be a girl, Coxie informed me that I was one lucky son of a gun.

“There is nothing like a little girl,” he said, knowing firsthand what he was talking about.

Then, Coxie told me he better not see me in Maloney’s as much after that little girl is born. He said I need to go build a nest for my young family.

Like always, Coxie was right.

Coxie moved back to Butte from San Diego in the mid 1980s. He bought and ran the Club 13. Then he tended bar at several establishments before finally settling in at Maloney’s.

He greeted costumers at that great bar for more than 30 years before finally retiring in his mid 70s in 2016 or 2017.

In October of 2007, I gave up drinking for good. I had to focus on that family, so I did not get to Maloney’s very often over Coxie’s last decade on shift.

It was too dangerous, I figured, to hang out in a bar after I promised my daughter that I would stay sober forever.

I invited Coxie to appear on an episode of my podcast three years ago, and that was the only time I talked to him over the last 10 or 12 years.

That was the one downside to giving up the booze. I had to step away from my friends at Maloney’s. It was a tradeoff I had to make — and one I would make again. But I miss seeing some of those friends as often as I did.

I miss Coxie, who will forever be remembered as one of the most important people in my life. I will miss him for the rest of my life.

A friend told me about Coxie’s death the other night, and my mind has been on Maloney’s ever since. While I am sure it is still the best bar on the planet, it is now only a part of my past.

It was an important part. It helped shape me into the person I am today. It was a place where I could always feel comfortable to be myself. It was a place where I knew I would always find a friendly face.

Even though I have not hung out at Maloney’s in years, Coxie made sure that place will always be home.

— Bill Foley, who really did receive some mail at Maloney’s Bar, can be reached at foles74@gmail.com. Follow him at twitter.com/Foles74 or Bluesky at @foles74.bsky.social. Listen to him on the ButteCast on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or wherever you find your favorite podcasts.