In Memory of Barroom Bob Putnam

A Short Story About Bob's Spoken Word Additions to KDHX, Plus Links to Other Writings and Tributes.

A quick preface: this afternoon (Sunday, September 29, 2024) folks are gathering at the Schlafly Tap Room in downtown St. Louis, joining up to celebrate the life of the multi-faceted Bob Putnam. His longtime partner-in-all-things, Sherri Lucas, asked if I would offer some words at the event; as I’m unable to attend in person, I provided the anecdote below, which is being delivered at the event by Max Beach (who I very much appreciate for helping organize the speakers/readings at today’s event). Thank you Sherri and Max for the honor.

Following my thoughts are links to some current and archival materials relating to Bob and his projects. If you have any to add to the list, please contact me (thomascrone314@gmail) or simply tag a link into the comments.

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Like a few of you, I was lucky enough to meet Bob Putnam when he curated the stacks of his 20th Century Books & Ephemera in the Delmar Loop. It was a meeting that’d eventually lead to my knowing Sherri Lucas, too, as the pair were regularly showing up on my newly-functional Bohemian Radar, which picked up on them as the coolest couple at the lunch buffet at Mangia Italiano. As publishers of the zine 15 Minutes. And as hosts of the free-wheeling open mic nights that’d find a sympathetic venue at the Wabash Triangle, the Venice Cafe and, finally, at the Way Out Club. 

Like many more of you, I deepened my appreciation of Bob’n’Sherri when they settled into their very own cultural homebase inside of the old Thurmer’s bar on Cherokee and Compton. No doubt, great stories will be told today about the magic that took place inside that club, or at the one that followed, the Way Out Club’s second, bigger, longer-lasting iteration on Jefferson at Gravois. 

My thoughts shared about Bob today (read by a longtime friend and kind proxy) is a bit of a sidebar, though. In the language of my new(ish) home of New Orleans, a lagniappe. 

Bob Putnam was affiliated with KDHX Radio (in better days) serving (in many roles): from board member to pledge pitching ace to the voice of Barroom Bob. His commentaries under that name started on a show called The Wire, later renamed Topic A. It was hosted by Amanda Doyle and myself. We began as an hour-long talk show, took a hiatus and returned to a show with half the time. Two-minutes of our assigned 30 were given over to Bob’s takes on the day’s news or events, though his bit could be about any notion that struck him that week. Be it something large (like an election) or smaller, more personal (say, the illness of a friend). Often, the DAT tape of his pre-recording was there when we arrived, tucked into our little, wooden mailbox at the Magnolia studios. There were also weeks when the muse visited Bob late, which saw him entering the studio with just a few minutes to spare until airtime.

I’d come to host a music show on Friday afternoons later, Silver Tray, importing the Barroom Bob segment and allowing him to discuss his choice of issues during the show’s last few minutes. Even a decade-and-change back, KDHX had transitioned a bit from its zaniest, earliest days and, after a time, Bob’s weekly commentaries came under a bit of internal debate. They were too hot, it was suggested, too salty. Structurally, I was told, the inclusion (nay, intrusion) of a spoken word bit into a music block was too much of a fly in the ointment. If memory serves correctly (and at age 55, I’m aware of how fickle and fragile memory can be), I eventually, sheepishly spoke to Bob about all of this. Rather than toning his approach down, he retired the segment. I regretted his decision but respected it, in equal measure.

As imitation is the sincerest of flattery, I began to end my last run of shows with a monologue. Believe me, this wasn’t intentional! But over two, three, four, then many more weeks, I began to conclude each Silver Tray with a blast of words about something-slash-anything on my mind at that moment. It was a freeform thing and if the person, or three, at the station who were mildly annoyed at Barroom Bob’s segment heard them, they’d have surely been annoyed by my own format-busting, as well. 

And here… look! Consider this a prime example of how we as humans influence one another. Subtly or overtly; over time or in a flash. For a chunk of my 20s and definitely the bulk of my 30s, Bob influenced me with his many skills and life roles. As a radio talker. As a business owner. As a confidante. He was a wisdom-giver. A half-fast, half-slow bartender. A curator of treasures. A man devoted to a blended family. A person with an interest in anything interesting. Bob was the Captain of the Good Ship Fun. 

Though I miss seeing many of you today in person, my heart is with you. With Sherri. And with Barroom Bob. A good friend, a good man, a good soul. May his memory long serve as inspiration.

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More on Bob Putnam: Planning to spend part of today listening to this recent interview with Sherri Danger on St. Louis’ NPR station. That piece links out to another story on the same site, written by Evie Hemphill in 2021, at the time of the Way Out Club’s closure that summer; it’s a very good read.

Here’s a recent essay on Bob from Chris King via The Common Reader.

The Love of KDHX notes Bob’s passing and role at KDHX. Here, we’ll highlight this piece written by the late, great DJ Wilson, discussing the departure of talk shows from KDHX in 2015, with a nod to Barroom Bob.

And because it’s a favorite piece of personal, archival media, here’s a Pixelvision short called Sandwiches, featuring Bob, Fred Friction and Mark Stephens. Shot at the original Way Out Club. And offered with love to all who’ve read this far.

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