ON a winter afternoon, the light in Snooky's Pub in Park Slope, Brooklyn, is almost the color of Scotch and water. Outside, the baby stroller army rolls down Seventh Avenue. Inside there is cigarette smoke, a Dennis Quaid movie playing silently on TV, and murmured talk and laughter around the polished bar, the light glinting on the upside-down glasses.
Some days, you can find Barbara Lewnes here, after her morning errands, having lunch, talking with a few of the regulars. A widow with sharp, strikingly youthful features and white hair, she has friends at Snooky's. Not long ago, when she didn't come in for a while, Michael the bartender worked the phones to track her down. He wanted to invite her to a benefit for a victim of the World Trade Center, but he was also a little worried.
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