"Ironbeard"

For no reason at all I was reminded of a guy I met only once at a bar in Crescent, OK about 1999. I don't remember his name, but I gave him the nickname "Ironbeard" for the first words he said to me: "This beard? Like iron."
It wasn't the first thing he said to me, it was just the first words. The first thing he did was sit next to me, get in my face and growl. I liked him immediately.
The growl was a test. A challenge to the college boy sitting in his bar. I passed the test with a broad smile I could not help and buying him a beer. He softened like a huge teddybear with the worst puke-breath I had ever smelled.
I shook his gigantic hand and it felt like a cheese-grater. With that I assumed he was an oil worker and he was skunk-drunk. The bar owners had nearly run out of patience with him, as they didn't (or couldn't) handle such a huge guy that was that drunk and ready to fight or drink, whichever came first. Since he had obviously blew every bit of cash he had at the bar that night, I was a target for one. I'm not a fighter —and since I could envision him pounding me into the ground like the bulldog in a Sylvester cartoon, I bought him a beer.
We talked for a while about his beard and what I should call him. He seemed to like Ironbeard, and so did I, so that's what I know him as.
Into our second beer, some OSU kids came in to play pool. He started growling again and suggesting we go over and start some shit. I had no doubt he could handle all 4 of them, as they were skinny college frat guys and he had to be 6'4" at 275lbs. His skin was dragon scale and he was feeling zero pain. His giant arms were almost cartoonish and when he made a fist, which was often, it was like two boulders on the ends of telephone poles.
Part of me wanted to see him pound someone. Even a bunch of someones. But I played the peacemaker and told him to sit tight and he obliged, not because I had control, but because he didn't want to jeopardize the beerflow.
The conversation was fractured, of course. He was wasted and I wondered how much liquor it took to get him that way. He had been there all night, judging by the bar owners attitudes toward him, and his friend was happy I had given him some time without having to deal with him. Ironbeard was obviously a hand-full. From what I could deduce from snippet of conversation and what I could observe, he had gotten drunk, pissed off the staff and left, "borrowing" his friends car without asking or even telling anyone. His friend found him a few blocks away (Crescent is small enough to canvas on foot) and brought him back to the bar. I am convinced that he wanted him to go home, but couldn't very well stop him from doing what he wanted. There was puking involved at some point, as I could smell. While puking usually means goodnight for many people, it just made more room for ironbeard to fill with alcohol.
My cash ran out and I disengaged from his friendly... too friendly grasp and made my way out to him starting trouble and the staff yelling at him to leave. Nobody there seemed to have the ability to throw him out if they wanted to. They wanted to.
Anyway, here's a tip of the hat to Ironbeard. Just thought of him today even though I met him only once a decade ago.
I'm gonna raise a beer to you today. Here's to you, Ironbeard. What a character.