The half-drunk, 200-strong crowd assembled at the Chicago Brauhaus at 10 PM on a recent Saturday was already flush with the spirit of Oktoberfest by the time Gody Windischhofer, in forest green lederhosen, lurched to the front of the stage, raised his cocktail, and began to shout.
“Oi! Oi! Oi!” yelled the crowd.
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Oktoberfest at the Brauhaus is a boisterous affair. Though most of the restaurant’s original clientele has drifted off to the suburbs, a core of diehards–mostly postwar German immigrants–turns out every Saturday during Oktoberfest, which at the Brauhaus begins mid-September and, if business is booming, lingers till the end of October. This core is bolstered by a large contingent of Lincoln Square thirtysomethings and a smattering of tourists, mostly Japanese, who occasionally do karaoke with the band (“Desperado,” “Only You”) during breaks in Windischhofer’s show.
Part lounge singer, part pied piper, part master of ceremonies, and all-around bon vivant, Windischhofer, 56, is the palpitating heart at the center of the Brauhaus’s revelry. Besides the crowd, he plays drums and a little guitar; with his band (two Maxes on accordion and bass, Guenter on drums, Wolfgang on keyboards, Mario on guitar) he normally does five shows a week there. During Oktoberfest it’s two or three shows a night, six nights a week.
“Are you sure?” the man asked.
“I woke up early today,” Windisch-hofer said. “I started smoking when I was 11 years old. Now I’m 56. The doctor says, ‘You have a lung like an old person.’ I say, ‘I don’t care about my lung, I only care about my liver.’”
