Toward the end of his night, after collecting covers at the door of his Berwyn blues joint — the Harlem Avenue Lounge — Ken Zimmerman, readers on nose, would count the cash, plunking down bills on the bar in rhythm with the band.
He loved his job.
To regulars, Zimmerman’s bar was a treasure with a vibe unto its own.
It had worn tile floors, wood-paneled walls, cheap drinks and a rectangular bar with orange countertops that took up most of the room. Blues licks occasionally were interspersed with an oddly familiar ringing sound that could be traced to an old rotary phone affixed to a random wall that apparently — under previous ownership — served as a “Hey, Bob, your wife’s on the phone, take it over there” phone.
To musicians, the place was a lifeline and a launching pad.
Mr. Zimmerman was known for his ear for talent and willingness to offer bands with no previous headlining experience the chance to showcase their stuff.
“He gave me my first gig. June 7, 2001,” said Chicago bluesman and former CTA bus driver Toronzo Cannon, who went on to play gigs around the country and world.
“He was just a cool dude, man,” Cannon said. “And promoters trusted him. They’d come to him for advice on the up-and-coming scene, and who’s reliable to show up on time.”
Mr. Zimmerman died Feb. 2 at his Stickney home with his wife, Mari, at his bedside. He’d been diagnosed in August with lung, bone and brain cancer. He was 69.
After a tough time keeping his business open during the pandemic, and months after his diagnosis, the bar closed abruptly in December.
A sold-out benefit concert will be held Monday at Fitzgerald’s in Berwyn to help Mr. Zimmerman’s family pay his medical bills. More than a dozen musicians with ties to him plan to perform at the benefit. A GoFundMe account was also created for this purpose.
Mr. Zimmeram was born in 1954 and grew up in Berwyn. He graduated from Morton West High School.
“In our 20s, me and him used to drive to all the old blues clubs in the city. We just loved the music,” said his lifelong friend Dan Senediak.
Mr. Zimmerman was working for a large printing company when he bought the Harlem Avenue Lounge, at 3701 S. Harlem Ave., from a family member, removed a few coolers to build a stage and began hosting blues musicians.
One quirk of the new configuration: a bathroom door located on stage.
“It was funny. You’d come out of the bathroom and you’d be on stage with the band,” said former bartender Andrea Mesco, who added that Mr. Zimmerman was known for his quick wit, wide breadth of knowledge and his habit of assigning everyone a nickname or calling them “kid.”
“Going to Harlem Avenue Lounge was kind of like seeing the blues in your uncle’s paneled basement rec room ... or like going to a friend’s house to hear some blues,” said former WXRT “Blues Breakers” host Tom Marker.
“It was a very friendly place, and it’s a very sad loss — two losses, really, because everyone loved Kenny, and all the regulars loved the Harlem Avenue Lounge. There will never be another of either of them,” Marker said.
For Curt Johnson, the bar, near Harlem and Ogden, which had a maximum capacity of under 100 people, was hiding in plain sight.
“I think I overheard someone talking about it, and I’d driven past it for years, and finally figured I’d check it out, and the first time I walked in I felt like I belonged there,” he said. “It was a real under-the-radar, word-of-mouth type place.”
Joe Moss, a Chicago bluesman who credits Mr. Zimmerman with helping him out of the gate as a young musician, was heartbroken at his passing.
“I wish he wasn’t gone and there were more places like Harlem Avenue Lounge for musicians, and more people like Ken who gave a f--- about the musicians and the music and helping them and keeping it alive,” he said.
“Ken’s place was every bit as important as FitzGerald’s or Kingston Mines. A lot of them are like a farm system for national touring acts, but places like Kenny’s, they got you ready for that. And blues fans from all over the world came to Harlem Avenue Lounge, believe it or not,” Moss said.
“He was a real person; so many people today aren’t,” said another musician, Studebaker John. “And he really cared about the musicians coming into his club. He would actually do right by ya. He’d call you up and say I’ve got an opening, which was amazing because usually it’s the opposite, and you’ve got to hound these guys to get jobs.
“It was a rundown, old place, but home to a lot of good times.”
