Dead guy life of the party

Sherman Avenue watering holes draw an eclectic clientele in the summer, the post-midnight carousers at the Ironhorse being in their own tier.

Famous entertainers. Local politicians. Your free-spirited uncle. Twenty-somethings exhibiting their love for hunting so much they make a conscious decision to wear camouflage in a social setting. The harmonious 'Horse is a wildcard.

But when a mustachioed, middled-aged man oddly sauntered onto the bar's dance floor the night of Ironman Coeur d'Alene in August, my mouth was immediately agape.

The circular shades, Hemingway's cap and windbreaker jacket stood out in the dimly lit room. Notice of the the noodle-armed, tilted head and 45-degree leaning backward posture followed.

After taking a few steps forward — "Swing" by Savage filled our eardrums — my inclination was affirmed when I saw the grin. That iconic, post-mortum grin that stuck for almost the duration of two movies, the only two films in cinematic history that featured a dead central character.

This was Bernie Lomax resurgent, an impersonator of the character from the 1989 cult classic “Weekend at Bernie's,” before its memorable 1993 sequel, “Weekend at Bernie's II.”

"Oh, my God it's Bernie!" a couple 30-somethings and I yelled, proceeding to hug the inaudible man, who stayed in character throughout the night.

The group of nearby college-aged girls was lost on the reference. ALF could have walked in with a Jack and Coke asking for their cats, and their listless reaction wouldn't have changed.

A picture with my iPhone followed, one all-too-reminiscent of the movie covers that featured a pair of loser office drones propping up their dead, crooked boss, pretending he's alive. An Instagram hashtag of #WeekendatBernies was included, naturally.

The following day I clicked the hashtag and noticed three recent photos of Bernie from different accounts, each poster in Spokane and Coeur d'Alene, all sharing my enthusiasm.

One was from prominent, up-and-coming comic and actor Chris D'Elia, who recently performed at the Spokane Comedy Club.

"This dude bought a ticket to my show and showed up dressed like Weekend at Bernie's by his f------g self in the front row," D'Elia posted. "So obviously I have a new best friend now."

D'Elia's post generated 14,460 likes.

Another social media account showed a video of Bernie on a Coeur d'Alene boat cruise, delighting the patrons who dove into nostalgia with each photo they took.

Who was this guy? Why is he doing this? I needed to know. 

•••

In my initial Bernie encounter, I wasn't exactly in a journalistic frame of mind. Or in a position to drive. Or in a position to tell you the last four presidents.

But since this character piqued my interest, I made it a point to track him down, an arduous pursuit considering I didn't know his real name.

Being a townie pays off, though.

A few text messages to some of my more social, downtown-centric friends drew one lead. Josh Phillips, an affable, longtime bartender at the Moose whose beard is as big a staple as the bar's 34-ounce Moose mug, was the primary cog.

Phillips, a man whose pop culture knowledge is extensive enough to warrant his own VH1 special, did a little digging before proceeding to drop a John Stockton-like assist.

When he texted me an image two days after I inquired about everyone's favorite corpse, I figured it was another Beetlejuice meme. Instead, it was Bernie's business card.

"Bernie Lomax for President," the card read. "He's the life of the political party, even though he's dead," a parody of the first movie's tagline.

The card, which didn't list his real name, noted he was a commercial pilot and flight instructor, and listed two Idaho phone numbers and an email address.

Oh, and other services include: Starting wars, overthrowing governments, fitting bras, verifying virgins, quelling uprisings, party crashing, organizing orgies and staring riots.

Par for the course.

I called his cellphone number and asked for Bernie. He gently responded. After selling him on why I think his story is worth sharing, he obliged and agreed to meet me at JB's Restaurant in Coeur d'Alene.

He told me his name is Tracy Jenson, a 58-year-old Spirit Lake resident who spent more than 20 years in the Federal Aviation Administration and was a former member of the U.S. Navy.

•••

JB's Restaurant isn't known for its dinner rush, so Jenson and I met at 6 p.m. The diner — one of his favorites — is one-waitress-on-shift kind of slow.

Having made the half-hour jaunt to Coeur d'Alene to tell me about his schtick, Jenson is sporting the same windbreaker jacket but is holding the hat and sunglasses, not sure if the interview was also a photo op.

We sat down. He ordered soup and I ordered a milkshake, as I expected this to be a swift, 30-minute interview.

When Jenson speaks, though, it’s at length. He's articulate and seemingly well-versed in politics and cinema. He's happy to talk about Bernie, but would use movie references as a segue into other topics.

For the last 23 years, Jenson has dressed up as Bernie solely on Halloween, bringing in an estimated $3,000 in contest winnings from as far as Seattle and Spokane to various pubs in North Idaho,

Four months ago, though, Jenson, who is single with no children, opted to make it a weekly occurrence. Comedy clubs, country bars, boat cruises, state fairs — if people are en masse, he's trying to start a conga line, akin to that oh-so-memorable beach scene in the sequel.

"Why do it just once a year?" Jenson asked. "So I started doing it more, go out and get people laughing and have a good time.

"Some people are like ‘Oh, hey, Bernie. Others go a bit crazy.’"

After his brother passed away six years ago, Jenson’s family inherited some money, and he now helps his 78-year-old mother. For the last 13 years he has done odd jobs, taught flying courses — he said he has logged more than 1,000 hours of flight time — and, for a labor of love, designs jets.

He vehemently discusses his disdain with the FAA, which he said unlawfully didn't pay him and others wages they deserved during their lengthy tenures, even mentioning an information packet and flow chart he planned to present to Sen. Mike Crapo this week.

"A whistle-blower suing a company defrauding the government can get money if it helps win the case," said Jenson, a former Boeing employee. "You get 15 percent, and the suit is $12,000,000. I could use that to try and make a third ‘Weekend at Bernie's.’"

He was serious about the trilogy. So serous, in fact, he told me his pitch that aligns with his business card's Bernie for President text.

Jenson envisions Danny DeVito playing the role of a scandal-ridden politician who can't get elected as president, but can be picked up as a VP from a presidential candidate with an ensuing death, thus propelling DeVito into the presidency.

DeVito's character, a Democrat, has a connection to the two men who prop up Bernie in the first two movies, who then exhume Bernie's body — he was under a voodoo spell in the second movie that prevented his body from decomposing while also giving him mobility — and use him as the presidential figure. His voice would come from behind a curtain, of course.

John Travolta would play the role of the Republican candidate who senses something awry in the Bernie campaign.

"A comedy writer could take that idea and run with it," Jenson said.

Jenson said he plans to swing by Nashville North tonight.

"This is fun," he said. "I just love seeing the look on people's faces when they see Bernie."

Bernie Lomax is still the life of the Inland Empire parties — even though he's dead.