30 years of ‘Tommy Boy’: Celebrating all things Chris Farley at Farley’s Pub in Ringle, Wisconsin

Mitch DeSantis is Milwaukee Record’s Rural/Northwoods Wisconsin Correspondent. Find his dispatches HERE.

One of my earliest childhood memories involves watching Saturday Night Live. I don’t remember much about the sketches themselves, but I vividly recall the excitement in the room. My parents and our visiting neighbors were buzzing with energy, celebrating the fact that a fellow Wisconsinite was making waves on national television. The atmosphere was akin to a Packers potluck, though instead of cheering for first downs, our household was rooting for Madison’s own Chris Farley.

At four or five years old, I hardly understood the context of most of his sketches, but his infectious energy and physical comedy resonated with me, even with my underdeveloped “Swiss cheese” brain. The experience felt special, not only because of Farley’s performances but also because my parents let me stay up late to watch as much as I could—until, inevitably, I crashed before Weekend Update. That tradition, I must admit, still holds true for me at 34. Sunday Morning Previously Recorded anyone?

My family’s Farley fandom didn’t stop at SNL; we also embraced his films. As a child, my favorite was the universally panned Beverly Hills Ninja (I stand by my love for it). These days, though, I, like many others, prefer Farley and David Spade’s 1995 masterpiece Tommy Boy. In fact, I firmly believe it deserves a place in the Criterion Collection.

This March 31 marks the 30th anniversary of Tommy Boy, a film that remains special in ways I only came to appreciate over time. I’ve watched it at least once a year since its release, and it’s fascinating how my perception of it has evolved. At age five, I probably loved it simply because “fat man falls down.” Now, I see it as a film with unexpected emotional depth. Tommy Callahan isn’t just funny—he’s wholesomely kind. The movie explores themes of personal loss and community connection, particularly in moments that, to this day, make me cry—not from laughter, but from personal reflection on my own life and loved ones.

Hollywood doesn’t make movies like Tommy Boy anymore. There’s no sci-fi element, no over-the-top action sequences. At its core, it’s a road movie about two Midwestern salesmen trying to sell brake pads to save a family business from corporate takeover. On paper, that premise might not seem like a blockbuster, and perhaps it even raised doubts upon release. But Tommy Boy endures because it’s authentic, heartfelt, and genuinely hilarious.

What makes Tommy Boy special is that, at its heart, it’s a sales story. One about perseverance, authenticity, and the art of connecting with people. Tommy doesn’t win by being the smartest guy in the room; he wins by being himself. It’s funny how life works. Sometimes, you end up on a path you never saw coming. Much like Tommy Callahan found himself on an unexpected road trip that changed his life, I found myself in an industry I had never considered: sales.

For better or worse, I was gifted with the ability to talk—a lot. It wasn’t until I worked in the brewing industry, spending my days on a bottling line, filling kegs, and cleaning tanks, that a supervisor pointed out that my chatty nature might be better suited for selling beer rather than making it. As fate would have it, a sales position opened, and I took the leap. It turned out they were right. For nearly a decade, I traveled across Wisconsin, selling beer everywhere from Milwaukee to some of the state’s most rural pockets—including my hometown of Ringle, a small Marathon County community of about 1,700 people, home to the county dump, a post office, one church, and two bars.

One of those bars was Club House, a humble watering hole owned by a family friend, Emily Ohlrich. It was the kind of place with great bar food and, for a long time, likely the only spot in the community where you could order one of those “fancy” IPAs. My family were regulars, and in adulthood I had the pleasure of selling beer to Emily as well. Years later, she sold the business to new owners. I never met them, but for reasons that aren’t my story to tell, the arrangement didn’t work out, and the bar ended up back in Emily’s hands.

This time, though, she had a new vision. She wanted to change the vibe and celebrate one of Wisconsin’s greatest comedic icons. So, as of late November 2024, the establishment has been remodeled and renamed Farley’s Pub in Chris Farley’s honor. And yes, the bar is decked out with all sorts of memorabilia.

I was struggling to find something to write about this month, until I realized that Tommy Boy is celebrating its 30th anniversary, and I still hadn’t checked out the new Farley’s Pub. That was the moment it clicked; this would be a fantastic endeavor.

Recently, I had the pleasure of joining my parents for a night out, grabbing a beer and a bite at the newly revamped pub. My dad was raving about the Chris Farley-themed menu items, and I was eager to try them. As we pulled into the sloshy gravel parking lot, surrounded by farm fields, my parents noted, “Boy, it’s busier than usual.” It wasn’t until we walked in that we realized why; it was Opening Day of Major League Baseball.

We were greeted by Emily, who welcomed us with a smile and informed us that they had set up a build-your-own Chicago-style hot dog buffet, free for customers. However, when we asked about the regular menu, she regretfully informed us that the grills were turned off for the day due to the baseball frenzy. I slumped into my chair, my soul crushed. The Chicago dog was excellent, but this meant I wouldn’t be able to experience the La De Frickin’ Da burger or the Lunch Lady sandwich.

And that’s when it hit me—the legendary “Tommy Want Wingy” scene from Tommy Boy. In the film, Tommy, desperate to make a sale but struggling with confidence, tries to order chicken wings only to be told the fryer is off. He then launches into a hilariously over-the-top, self-deprecating sales pitch that ultimately convinces the server to fire up the grill and make him his “wingys.”

Inspired, I decided to channel my inner Tommy Callahan. When Emily stopped by our table, I mustered my best impression of “Jo-Jo the Idiot Circus Boy,” explained my writing project, and, by God…it worked!

Thirty minutes later, the La De Frickin’ Da burger arrived—a juicy masterpiece stacked high with lettuce, onion, tomato, pickles, crispy fried onion, and melted cheddar cheese. I couldn’t have been happier.

Huge thanks to Emily for humoring my ridiculous writing antics. It was an excellent way to celebrate the anniversary of one of my family’s all-time favorite films. I sincerely can’t wait to return and try the Big Tom with Farley’s Flat Fries.