Christopher West looks the part, if indeed bowlers have a “look” (which might be defined as looking unfit for any other other sport). But for a guy who hadn’t bowled since he was a kid, for a guy who spends his days and many nights as curator of the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art, how it came to be that Chris West spends his Monday nights with 31 other bowlers of disparate heights, weights, hairlines, ethnic backgrounds, genders, habits and artistic sensibilities is an interesting tale.
Or it might be, if I can make enough stuff up while I ponder the sociological and psychological implications of the Chatterbox Bowling League, which convenes these winter months on Monday nights at the All Star Bowl on the city’s Far Eastside.
“It’s the fellowship,” West said. “It’s a lot of fun – more than I thought I was going to have.” And it turns out that West, defying all logic, is quite the good bowler (but don’t tell him I said so).
The league began last year with four teams, and was such a success that league commissioner David Andrichik, owner of the Chatterbox Jazz Club, the eye of this social network, decided to double its size this year. Andrichik is a lifelong bowler, no surprise since he grew up in Chicago of Czech, German and Swedish stock. Bowling is in his DNA. Somewhere in his family tree there’s a Lebowski.
His heritage also explains his shrewd business sense: In a faltering economy, he convinces a gaggle of his customers to spend one night a week buying their beer at someone else’s joint.
Yes, there is beer. There is also an auxiliary game involving playing cards, in which the keglers earn cards by notching spares and strikes, thereby assembling poker hands. Law enforcement note: This game is played for amusement and recreation only; there is absolutely no wagering. (Hey, guy with the kings-over-tens full house: please collect your winnings.)
The scene defies any sensible, intellectual description. This motley crew consists of artists, musicians, salesmen, lawyers, carpenters, photographers, realtors and even an historic interpreter who do not spend their Monday nights at home on the internet, even though many, alas, have Facebook pages. They are here, contradicting Robert Putnam’s assertion that we are frittering away our social capital. These folks are not – to quote the title of Putnam’s influential 1995 book – “Bowling Alone.”
Ross Whitfield, relatively new to the Mass Ave business scene, said Andrichik’s invitation to bowl gave him an opportunity to meet more people in his new community. “Plus, it gets me out of the house Monday nights.” He neglected to consider that he had never bowled more than once a year – a situation not conducive to strong bowling scores. Fortunately, Ross has the thick skin of an insurance agent. “I get to come here, have a beer and let people make fun of my game,” he said with a broad smile.
Beer was also mentioned by Mark Kesling, late of the American Cabaret Theatre and now the director of an antipoverty initiative in the heart of the city. “I never wanted to bowl – ever,” said Mark, who had heretofore refused to follow in his father’s footsteps. But David Andrichik is incredibly persuasive, Mark indicated. “I think there was alcohol involved – but I am having a ball. This is a great way to connect with everybody.”
Leann Bailey, a defense attorney who spends her days working with clients who were probably kicked out of bowling alleys, said the venture gets her out of the house with “a diverse group of people.” Despite having bowled only about 10 times her whole life, Leann has managed to keep her average above 100. She sees the adventure in cardiovascular terms. “It’s a great excuse not to go to the gym.”
Not everyone is a neophyte, however. Among the more dependable scorers are Wilbur Andrichik, the league commissioner’s father, who has been bowling longer than automatic pin-setting machines, and who for all I know may have in his youth been himself a pin boy. There are others who know their way around the one-three pocket – Rich Culy, Chuck Pace and Mike Wilson, who all spend their days at Roberts Camera (doing exactly what is anybody’s guess); John Gentry, photographer par excellence; and David Boeke, who spent a tour of duty in Iraq, where he probably didn’t get to work on his tenpin delivery.
There is an interesting dynamic going on here, not unlike the dynamic at the Chatterbox itself, which unlike many bars tends to draw a very diverse crowd. Chatterbowlers include Melissa Gallant, a classical harpist. Others include the principal percussionist with the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra, a YMCA executive, a community development corporation director, a video producer, an artist. And then there’s Kay Niedenthal – a baker. I have scoured the league roster, but so far no butcher or candlestick maker.
Many of these folks are twentysomethings who are seriously computer savvy, begging the question why they spend their Monday nights at the All Star Bowl and not cocooning in front of their keyboards. The fact that a covey of keglers spend one evening a week drinking beer while mixing insults with morale support isn’t exactly a clue that the American republic is in good shape. But they are here, few laptops in sight, bonding in a very intriguing way.
It would certainly be an unscientific leap to assert that one bowling league is proof that the American republic is in stronger shape than Putnam claims in “Bowling Alone.” That argument is better made by author Russell Dalton in his recent book, “The Good Citizen.” He asserts that young Americans are more engaged in the political process than Putnam would have us believe. I do not know how many of these Chatterbowlers even voted last November (although I do know that at least a few of them were very politically active). The only thing that can be said is that they enjoy each other’s company, that they establish social networks without the aid of hyperspace, and that they drink a very great amount of beer.
Their spokesman may be Kristofer Bowman, a rail-thin lad of sturdy Scandinavian stock, whose mother hunts moose in her Minnesota environs, and who is another of those unlikely bowlers. “I bowled maybe twice a year,” said the manager of At Home in the City/Silver in the City. “I think that’s probably the case for most of us.” He said the idea of a bowling league was tossed around the ’Box for a while, until it seemed like a good idea. “Now, we’ve become addicted.”
Then, Bowman summed up the venture perfectly: “Plus, it’s a little quirky.”
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