It’s a typical Friday night on the Strip in Carbondale. Despite the sub-zero chill, South Illinois Avenue is swarming with college students actively seeking a drink, a mate or a game of pool.

While all five bars on this half-mile stretch of federal highway have lines of shivering, jacketless patrons fishing in their pockets for identification, the longest line leads down the stairs and to the door of Gatsby’s II, 610 S. Illinois Ave.

The line of about 75 people spans the ethnic and social strata. Some talk among their band of companions, others jump up and down to try to circulate blood through their chilled bodies. A 120 beats-per-minute dance track booms its bass tones through the walls, serving as a siren’s call to the sea of festivities waiting inside.

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One person sticks out at the end of the line:He’s the guy checking the identification of potential patrons. His 6-foot 3-inch frame, topped by a tied-back swath of red hair, looms like an oak sporting autumn red leaves on its upper branches. Here you go, he says, handing back a girl’s driver’s license with a cheerful tone that belies his intimidating physique. He’s the keeper of the gates, the St. Peter who can deny entry to the paradise of drinking and dancing clearly visible over his shoulders.

While many bar-hoppers might envy Brad Balke for his position that brings him in constant contact with women and cheap drinks, it’s just another day at work for the senior in psychology from Joliet.

People think that bouncers go around, beat up people and pick up women, he said. Society glamorizes the job, but it’s not really that glamorous when somebody falls into their own puke in a garbage can.

Unlike other jobs where one can do homework or leisure reading during lag time, Balke constantly has to keep his eyes roaming in search of potential trouble.

It can be very monotonous at times, he said. A lot of nights, it will just be watching other people get drunk.

Sometimes you think to yourself, I wish something would happen’ because it’s so boring. But when it does, you want to get it resolved quickly without hurting anyone and without any damage.

Balke admits that no matter how boring his job may be at times, he is always aware of the latest fashions by watching the crowd, and he knows what customers to watch for a little lesson on how or how not to pick up a woman.

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It is interesting because you get to watch other people interact with each other, how they drink, dance, dress, how they try to pick up on the opposite sex, or even the same sex, he said.

Sometimes the regular customers Balke sees from night to night are not the sociable types who hand over a friendly greeting with their IDs. Balke has seen his share of trouble, especially when he worked in the beer garden at Booby’s, 406 S. Illinois Ave., last summer.

Balke admitted a drunk patron who was told to leave several times by another bouncer. When Balke found this out, he immediately approached the troublemaker and told him to leave. The man didn’t feel like it was time for him to go.

He grabbed an umbrella pole and began shaking it in anger or to try to break it, he said, imitating the two-handed choking-like motion. So I tackled him and pushed him down the stairs. He got a hand free and knocked over the cooler I was selling beer out of. Luckily, it was near the end of the night and it was empty, so all he did was scatter ice around. I pushed him the rest of the way out the door, and he didn’t come back.

By midnight, Gatsby’s is so crowded that it takes five minutes to walk a mere 50 feet to the other side of the bar. But as Balke responds to a call for assistance on his headset, the crowd reluctantly parts for him. He walks, shoulders parallel to the floor, ready to respond to whatever the altercation might entail.

People come in drunk from other bars, and you can’t always tell, he said. Sometimes, it only takes a couple of drinks before I have to carry them out.

Balke walks over to the scene of the incident on the edge of the dance floor, inserting himself between a feuding pair. One man, flushed red from heat and alcohol, yells about getting pushed by an overzealous dancer. The dancer watches the accusations through eyelids weighed down by either intoxication or exhaustion. You go this way, he says, leading the accuser toward the back of the room with a sturdy hand on the back, and you go over there. The dancer melts into the crowd before Balke can assist him.

As he walks back to his post near the door, he says he is glad the dispute didn’t escalate.

You want to get there before anything can happen, which isn’t always possible, he said. Most people are very cooperative. Usually, it’s not tough because people have been consuming alcohol and their balance is off.

Balke said that since most fights occur out on the dance floor, he can usually spot trouble as it begins to unfold.

When you see an argument in progress, you find out what’s going on first, he said. The purpose is to make your presence known. You tell them to cool it, and they know if they don’t, you’re going to be right there.

The goal is not the money, he said, it’s to get behind the bar and then make money.

As the hands of a beer clock on the wall creep toward 2, the lines begin to point out the door. Balke walks around, looking for customers who may have trouble realizing the bar is closing. The closer it becomes to the hour, the more adamant Balke becomes with the stragglers. Soon, the crowd is off to bed or in search of an after-hours party. But not Balke. He still has an hour of cleaning and locking up ahead of him.

At night’s end, Balke says his good-byes to his co-workers. Just another Friday night, he says, pulling on his green Robin Hood-style cloak. I just hope tomorrow night goes this good.