COLUMN: RIBCO

This is a story about change. I hate change.

I must have been 22 or so, around the time I thought it would be best to put my newly-acquired college degree to use by... DJing at bars and working part time at a record store. My friend Michelle had recently opened Co-Op Records in the District of Rock Island and invited me to come work for her. It was one of my first weekends there, manning the counter during my first-ever summer District festival, when an imposing figure walked into the store.

I didn't know the guy at all, but it was clear the other employees did. He was loud, commanding, confident, and everything I wasn't. As a young and cocky music snob who clearly already had life 110% figured out, it was my duty to be unimpressed as this guy held court at the front counter, offering up his unfiltered opinions on everything from the store to the festival to Rock Island politics.

"Who was THAT know-it-all?" I sneered as he left.

"That," it was quickly explained to me, "was Terry Tilka. He owns RIBCO. And when it comes to Rock Island, he pretty much DOES know it all."

It would be a few years later when I got a surprising phone call from that same man. By then, I had left the record store and taken a job at the local newspaper -- you know, until I figured out what to do with my life (cough.) But then Terry called. A band had cancelled at RIBCO at the last minute, and he wondered if I might be available to spin a set in their absence. I hadn't DJed in years, but I was bored and broke, so I took the offer.

That night went well, and I ended up covering a couple more cancellations that summer. Eventually, it led to a permanent gig as RIBCO's resident DJ. When the bands would get done around 1 a.m., I'd jump on and spin records until closing time. One day, Terry pulled me aside, told me he'd bought the building next door and wondered if I might want to work there if he turned it into a dance club. That building became the nightspot known as 2nd Ave., and it was my home every Friday and Saturday night for the next decade.

It's been over a decade since the decade I worked there, but the news of these two legendary bars closing this month has hit me especially hard. Terry Tilka has decided to call it a career, and with it, perhaps the most storied party spots in all the Quad Cities. For Terry, a well-deserved retirement beckons, grandkids beckon, and I'm going to venture a guess that Florida beckons. A Quad Cities without RIBCO is tough to imagine, though.

Pretty much every local band I can think of owes a portion of their career to Terry and the RIBCO stage. I was fortunate enough to see HUNDREDS of great shows there over the years, from young locals taking their first steps outside the garage to storied pros coming to town for once-in-a-lifetime sets. From my catbird seat in the RIBCO balcony, I got to see blues greats like Junior Wells and Koko Taylor. I saw bands like the Wallflowers and Barenaked Ladies before they became some of the biggest bands in the world. I saw the disco fury of The Travoltas so many times that I had their setlist memorized. I once saw Mike Mills from R.E.M. play to a crowd of about two dozen people with his supergroup, The Baseball Project. Time and again, I got to witness musical magic.

There's two ways the bar business often goes. Either you do it wrong and you're closed within a year or two, or you do it right and you get to leave on your own terms. Terry did it right. He treated artists with fairness and respect. He always had the proper permits. He always paid the taxman. If you were fortunate enough to earn a free beverage from Terry Tilka, you'd also have to sit there and watch as he pulled three bucks out of his wallet to pay his own register. 

Was Terry the easiest guy to work for? Absolutely not. If you didn't pull your weight, he'd let you know. If you did something stupid, he'd let you know. Being a RIBCO staffer, you learned right away that working at a bar wasn't all fun, it was WORK -- and the work was making sure everyone had fun. If you left work NOT feeling like you just ran a marathon, you did something wrong -- even if you're just the guy making a side hustle standing in a box playing records all night.

God, I'll miss that place. The weird slanted floor. The allure of a fresh burger basket. Leaning on the side rail of the stage where true music geeks could stand inches away from their musical heroes. That peculiar smell of wood polish and stale beer that was intrinsically RIBCO. 

But what I'll take with me forever from those glory days are the memories of the people I was privileged to call my friends. Bartenders like Bailey, Paulie, Ryan, Keppy, Tommy T, and the master, Janos Horvath. The cackling laugh of Amanda Baker Wright. The late night fishing trip tales of Tommy McGivern. The best sound engineers to walk the earth: Mark Burrage, Lonny Benge, Mouse, Mike Gentry, and the late great Al Dimeo. Dozens of door guys and security staffers. All brought together under the watchful eye of one Terry Tilka: boss, ringleader, mentor, and if I'm bold enough, friend.

Me? My favorite RIBCO memory belongs to me and me only -- a ritual I don't think anyone ever noticed. Whenever the Travoltas would play an outdoor show in the District plaza, I'd arrive just early enough to wander out to the back patio at 2nd Ave., where I'd often sit by myself for a few minutes, staring up at the WHBF tower rising over the Rock Island skyline like a giant Tinkertoy, feeling the swell of adrenaline slowly build, knowing that in three or four songs, a throng of humanity would file into the club, where me and two turntables would soon commence battle to keep their business for the rest of the night. I don't know if I've ever felt more alive in my life.

Here's to you, Terry T. Thanks for taking the Quad Cities on a mad, musical voyage, and thanks for letting me tag along for part of that ride. Here's hoping someone buys those buildings and carries on the legacy you've carved out. And if that someone ever has a band cancel on them at the last minute, hopefully they know how to reach me.