Mt. Lebanon bartender was as authentic as they come
Although bartender is among the more mythologized professions in the service industry, there are archetypes among their ranks who aren’t always great. There are the wannabe jokers who try too hard, the toocool-for-school types and the too-clever-by-half pedants.
They typically don’t last long.
Kevin “Beav” McKeever worked behind the stick at The Saloon of Mt. Lebanon for a quarter-century and was respected and beloved because he was none of those things. He was blunt, hilariously caustic, suffered no fools and always read the room right. New customers worked for his affection as hard as he did to quench their thirst.
But once you were a regular, “You were in for good,” his longtime friend Randy Baumann said.
Mr. McKeever died Feb. 28 from cancer in his Mt. Lebanon home with his fiancee and family by his side. He was 48.
“He loved his friends dearly, and he let us know often. He had a great empathy. It was his defining quality. He understood what made people unique or special. He was the funniest person I ever met,” Mr. Baumann said.
Mr. Baumann came to Pittsburgh from Erie to take over the WDVE Morning Show in January 2000 and, new to town, went to The Saloon for a drink.
“The first night I met him, he was working behind the bar and had a funny, four-letter word quip to a question I had, and we instantly became friends for the next 21 years. He was the easiest person to get along with but would nonstop bust your [chops] in a way that never felt mean. He had a great way of throwing in tiny compliments that far outweighed the many, many insults.”
Christine Barry and Mr. McKeever were a year apart at Upper St. Clair High School but had never met until 2015, when she started popping into The Saloon after work to escape family that was staying with her for an extended period.
They clicked immediately and traveled the country extensively: Chicago to see Pearl Jam; the Kentucky Bourbon Trail; New Orleans; Red Rocks, Colo., to see Sturgill Simpson; overnight dinners in Cleveland; Philadelphia; and Sea Isle City, N.J.
“There was always an adventure with each one,” she said.
But he also helped her discover her own city. Although she’s lived in Pittsburgh her entire life, he took her to restaurants, neighborhoods and trails she’d never been to or knew about.
“He knew everything about Pittsburgh, and it added so much to my life because he opened my eyes to all these new things,” she said.
Sean Casey met Mr. McKeever in little league more than 35 years ago, and they played baseball together through high school. Mr. Casey played 12 years of Major League Baseball, was a three-time All-Star and was inducted into the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame.
Mr. McKeever was intensely proud of his friend’s accomplishments, though he never let on.
“That’s the greatest thing about Beav: There was never any air about him. He’d bust my [chops] even more than he’d bust other people’s [chops]. He never treated me any different than when we grewup together.”
Doug Whaley echoed those sentiments. They became close playing high school football. Mr. Whaley went on to a career in the NFL, working in the Steelers’ front office for 10 years, including their Super Bowl XL and XLIII seasons, and later was general manager of the Buffalo Bills.
“He always checked our titles at the door. He looked at you for the person you were. He never asked for anything, and to him, I was Doug and we played football together.”
As friends who worked odd hours, the pair did bachelor Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners together — always fried turkeys and steak and crab legs — and golfed everywhere from Schenley Park to the St. Andrews Jubilee links course in Scotland on a 30th birthday trip.
Like the bishop in Caddyshack, Mr. McKeever was having the round of his life on one of the most prestigious courses in the world when Mr. Whaley had to abruptly leave the course. He insisted that Mr. McKeever keep playing and that he’d see him back at the clubhouse.
“He said that’s [really] stupid,” Mr. Whaley recalled and waited for him to come back, by which point his game cooled off considerably. “He said, ‘I’d rather play bad with my boy than great by myself.’ That’s the kind of guy he was.
“There was no pretense. It didn’t matter who you were or what you did, he would bust on you in a second. But more importantly he would bust on himself more than anyone else. When you were with him, you could be yourself. It was like coming home when you talked to him.”
Talking was what they did best.
“It was the ease, depth and variety of conversation. Sports. Food. Drink. Music. Travel. Pittsburgh. That was his life. Now, he obviously thought he was the foremost expert on those things,” Mr. Whaley laughed. “He did not backdown, and he would not compromise.”
But like a good bartender, it wasn’t about politics or religion — topics best left alone at the pub. Rather, he’d dig in about the best chicken sandwiches in town or the sordid state of the Pirates bullpen.
After Mr. McKeever’s death, a makeshift memorial was set up on the bar at The Saloon, with photos, including one of him meeting his rock hero, Eddie Vedder, along with a Bud Light and a shot of Maker’s Mark — his usual.
“I feel incredibly lucky to have had someone like Beav in my life,” Mr. Baumann said. “He had more fun than anyone I know. He always said he had a sense that he wasn’t going to live into old age and wanted to make the most of life right now. And he always did.”
Ms. Barry, his fiancee, said that when he died, his doctors said he lasted as long as he did because he had a “a really strong heart. We thought, ‘Yep, he sure did.’ ”
“He was a caring, sweet boy. And he made my life better for sure.”
Mr. McKeever is survived by Ms. Barry; three brothers, Brian, David and Chris; and 10 nieces and nephews. He was predeceased by his parents, Dorothy and William McKeever, and another brother, Michael.
Memorial contributions may be made to Pittsburgh Restaurant Workers Aid.