An evening spent with a 'serial entrepreneur'

Wearing a Mickey Mouse T-shirt, old jeans and beat-up running shoes, cool sunglasses pushed back over his head, Daren Jorgenson doesn't look anything like an Internet pharmacist or a man who is trying to drag health care into the 21st century with a radical vision to restructure the system.

But then that's not the Daren Jorgenson I met one night recently for a beer at the Royal Albert Arms, which he recently acquired. On this occasion, he wanted to talk about his plans for the nightlife (and day life) at his latest business venture.

I had observed in a previous column that there was an opportunity in the downtown for a new kind of bar, one that served as a public place for meaningful social interaction, political debate, philosophical argument and current affairs. In other words, a place where you can not only hear yourself think, but where you can actually meet over a table of ideas, a place where people of all ages would be comfortable together.

It's not an original idea, but it's one that has been largely missing in Winnipeg. Some 30 years ago, for example, the Royal Albert brought in Timothy Leary for a night of entertainment. Leary was an advocate of the therapeutic benefits of LSD in the 1960s and famous for the phrase, Turn on, tune in, drop out. His appearance was a huge, if largely forgotten, success. Incidentally, his ashes were sent into orbit on a space shuttle with the remains of 24 other people, including Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry.

Jorgenson informed me he was sort of heading in that very direction (not into space, I mean, but along the lines I had outlined in the column), although with a more business-savvy approach than mine.

And so, over a few pints of Guinness, he proceeded to outline his vision. During the day, giant plasma TVs in the Albert's main-floor beverage room will be permanently tuned to the BBC -- he loves the British network because the news is literate and trustworthy -- turning it into a sort of political bar.

A small magazine bar with "just about every magazine in the world" will open in the building next door, which he also owns. There's also room for a small jazz bar -- "maybe just 25 seats" -- with a nifty, neon-lit entrance through the hotel back door, a British bar in the basement where the TVs will be constantly tuned to European sports ("no hockey or curling, even if the Brier is on") and even a licensed barber shop. He already runs an award-winning hair salon and a spa in the same building, which will be connected to the Albert.

In the Albert's bar at night, Jorgenson said he intends to keep his customers on edge by switching between different genres of music, from country and western, to punk rock and blues and even some symphonic offerings -- "I love the Winnipeg Symphony Orchestra."

The theme of the entire enterprise is called TIA, short for tolerance, inclusion and acceptance.

Jorgenson says some of the hard rocker types who frequented the place will have to get used to the mixed company. The kids with the spiked hair (affectionately known as rooster heads) and faces decorated with metal sometimes feel unwelcome in other venues, but Jorgenson says they never seemed to make outsiders feel welcome in theirs. "That will change."

Some of his ideas sound a little raw and undeveloped, but he's got the means and the will to make it all happen. If he does, it will mean that just about anyone of any age can show up at any time of day for good food, a haircut, a good read or listen, and a drink.

It's not quite the public space I imagined a bar could be, but it definitely sounds like it will become, as the rooster heads say, a happening kind of place. He still hasn't quite bought into the idea that his club could serve as a stage for interesting people and ideas, but you never know. I even offered up my colleague, Tom Oleson, who I know a lot of people would like to question, but he wasn't biting; the idea, I mean, not Tom.

Jorgenson, 40, made his mark in the Internet pharmacy trade before branching out to other ventures, such as store-front health clinics and sending Canadians to places like Cuba for hip replacements and other medical procedures.

In the meantime, his restless, inquisitive mind keeps charging forward, looking for new ventures and opportunities. "I'm a serial entrepreneur," he says, like it was some kind of disability.

Meanwhile, the rooster heads and the grey beards with bald heads and bellies that cause dementia may actually cross paths on their way in to the Albert for a drink. Will they get along? Jorgenson will insist that they do.

dave.obrien@freepress.mb.ca