Albany

Six times in less than an hour the chant rang out:

"Mis-ter Har-ris! Mis-ter Har-ris!"

Delivered in a pitch and cadence familiar to sports fans as the four-syllable chant that starts, "Let's go ...," the respectful and appreciative refrain, uttered by decades of patrons at Washington Tavern, sounded for the last time on a regular night late Wednesday and into early Thursday.

Mark Harris, bartender extraordinaire, he with a look that barely changed over 34 years except for the length of his mustache and the preponderance of gray in his hair, has retired.

"It was time," says Harris, now 67.

His final night ended, as most of Harris' shifts did, soon after owner Michael Byron arrived, a little before 6 a.m. Thursday: Two old friends, still employer and employee but also kindred brothers in the hospitality business, talking about the previous night's receipts, the crowd, the staff — anything an owner of 43 years might want to know from the manager and bartender who's worked overnights for him since 1980. Byron was at the beginning of today, Harris at the end of yesterday.

For 39 years behind the taps, Harris finished his days well after most people had started their next one. He typically woke around 5 p.m. and, Tuesday through Friday, was at WT's, as the Pine Hills bar is commonly known, a few hours later. (Monday nights he worked the bar down the street at The Ginger Man, a sibling restaurant Byron has owned since 1983.) Harris shooed out the last WT's customers at 4 a.m., did end-of-shift stocking and cleaning, inventory and management duties until his chat with Byron, and left around 6:30 a.m. Bedtime: about 11 a.m.

"He's an amazing man and bartender," says Mark Gerling, who has known Harris for 40 years and was part of a crew that used to close down WT's with Harris, adjourn to illegal speakeasies and move on to Pauly's Hotel on Central Avenue, where Gerling worked the 8 a.m. happy hour for third-shift workers.

In an industry known for transience, Harris was more than a fixture — he was a monument. Eight and a half full cycles of college students arrived in Albany as teen freshmen and departed after their senior year, most with degrees in hand, as twentysomethings. Their minds were expanded, their circle of acquaintances enriched by the inclusion of Mr. Harris, as almost everyone calls him.

He was revered by generations, friend to thousands, known to vastly more. He's been to customers' weddings, their children's baptisms, their funerals. When Harris takes a vacation with Melanie Greenspan, his companion of 30 years, they have a standing bet: If he's not recognized by someone, she owes him a dollar, but he has to give her $2 if a current or former customer says hello; on their most recent vacation, a cruise, he ran into four people he knew.

"Everyone gravitates to him no matter what age," says Dan LaFave, a 2012 graduate of the University at Albany and a Washington Tavern patron who now works for the state Assembly. "Just the way he is — the tie, the look, his manner — it encourages the college kids to act more mature," says LaFave. "And when you talk to him you find out he has an astute political mind, a million stories and knows all about Albany's incredible history."

Harris, who was raised in Gloversville, moved to Albany in the early 1970s to join his brother, Bill, then in law school and still an attorney in Albany. Bartending for a rugby club's social events led Harris to a job in a hotel bar, followed by the Partridge Pub when it opened and, in 1980, to Washington Tavern.

"It wasn't really an interview, just a conversation, and I hired him. He stayed for almost 35 years," says Byron, who inspires loyalty among his employees; another bartender was on staff for 26 years.

Byron says he found comfort and security in Harris' supreme competence. "He said he'd call me (late at night) only if something was extremely important. In 34 years he never called," says Byron. "I could sleep at night and know things would always be taken care of, no matter what it was."

With his calm demeanor and paternal air, Harris was also able to defuse many a situation that, begun in a hothouse atmosphere of young people, alcohol and rivalry, might otherwise have resulted in a scuffle.

Says brother Bill, "It always seemed like everything was fine when he was bartending, but as soon as he went on break there was a fistfight."

Harris was strict, believing as resolutely as Byron that, though WT's attracts a young crowd, underage patrons are prohibited. Byron says he has never been cited for serving below the legal age for alcohol consumption, and Harris made sure the doorman knew he was adamant they should do nothing to change that.

Harris says, "When a new guy started on the door, I'd tell them, 'If you let someone (underage) in and I get arrested for serving them, I'm going to burn your house down. ... I have a full book of matches.' "

"I don't remember him threatening to burn down my house, exactly, but he definitely did threaten my job on my first day if it ever happened on my watch," says Steve Southwell, who rose from bouncer to management over 10 years working with Harris at the tavern.

As long as they're 21 or older, Harris enjoys youthful patrons.

"He makes friends better with college students than anyone I've ever met," says Southwell, who now works in the beer industry.

"I like their energy, their enthusiasm, their optimism," says Harris. He says he felt continually refreshed by each fall's youthful infusion, even as he himself became one year more removed from 18-year-old freshmen. Now in his late 60s, Harris wants to be able to travel freely and spend more time with his daughter, Jessica Tabakian, and her three children.

"I've never seen anyone more dedicated to their job," says Tabakian. "He's so committed that I think he had to retire to find time for something else. But I know he's going to miss it."

Harris also looks forward to getting on a daytime schedule that matches Greenspan's for the first time in their three-decade relationship.

"She's my better three-quarters," he says.

He got to know Greenspan when she was a student. They met, of course, at Washington Tavern, when he was behind the bar.

sbarnes@timesunion.com • 518-454-5489