randy_byers (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
randy_byers) wrote2007-08-03 10:20 am
randy_byers) wrote2007-08-03 10:20 am
Face of the past
One of the fun things that happened last night was that when I got to the Dubliner, where ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daveon was waiting for me, I immediately recognized the bartender's face, although I couldn't quite place where from.
"Did you use to work at the Blue Moon?" I asked him. I thought he might have been the soft-spoken, walrus-mustachioed gentleman who originally recommended the Hale's Porter to me, which made a huge impression on me twenty years ago (both the gesture and the beer). Then again, his current mustache was not a walrus.
"No," he said, in an unexpected Irish accent, "but I worked at the Rainbow next door for a while after it re-opened."
"Huh, maybe that's it," I said, although it didn't seem right. I didn't hang out much at the Fabulous Rainbow when it re-opened, less fabulous than it once had been when I saw Robert Cray and Fishbone there. No, this was someone I'd seen regularly at some point.
"I also used to work at Murphy's," he offered.
"Yes!" I cried. "That's it! The old Murphy's, where the Starbuck's is now, not the new Murphy's."
"That's right," he agreed.
"I loved the old Murphy's," I said. "It was much better than the new one."
"Certainly," he said. "The new one looks like any other pub. The old one was like no other. It didn't matter if there were a hundred people there or twenty five, when you walked in, you knew it was your place."
The old Murphy's was my first regular pub in Seattle after I moved here in 1984. I mostly drank Ballard Bitter and Guiness there. It had a low ceiling crossed with heavy, old-growth wood beams, and it was always dark and smoky. One of the beams sported a cheery advertisement: "Fresh dingleberries picked daily." That's how I learned what a dingleberry is. (As one online source has it: "a Klingon near Uranus.") The Men's room featured an old-school trough urinal (which were still widespread in Seattle back then, very noticeable and strange to my Oregonian eyes) and the original grout puns written in the wall-tile grout, of which my all-time favorite was "Grout Mask Replica". On Sundays there was a fiddle circle in the center of the pub playing Irish reels.
I have many fond memories of the place, many of them centered around Robyn, who loved it there too, as I discovered when we got together in October 1986 -- but who's counting? She was still only 20, but she had fake ID that they accepted there. (This wasn't universally true.) It's where we had our first, impromptu date, when we couldn't wait until the one we'd agreed to for the next evening. We spent many an hour under the big beams, playing War to see whose turn it was ... but we'll draw a discreet curtain across those sweet memories, shall we? It wasn't always that sweet anyway! A couple years later she made the Blue Moon her regular, with a new boyfriend, and there were too many bullshit philosophers there for my taste, although they had Hale's Porter on tap, so you could at least drink deeply to forget.
What a blast to run into one of the old bartenders, from a bygone era and displaced landmark of the city -- at least in my internal landscape. "That was more than a few years ago," I said to him.
"It's true that my hair was darker then," he said. (It's almost completely white now, although I think even twenty years ago it was pretty grey.)
"I had hair then," I said, and we laughed at our old selves.
daveon was waiting for me, I immediately recognized the bartender's face, although I couldn't quite place where from."Did you use to work at the Blue Moon?" I asked him. I thought he might have been the soft-spoken, walrus-mustachioed gentleman who originally recommended the Hale's Porter to me, which made a huge impression on me twenty years ago (both the gesture and the beer). Then again, his current mustache was not a walrus.
"No," he said, in an unexpected Irish accent, "but I worked at the Rainbow next door for a while after it re-opened."
"Huh, maybe that's it," I said, although it didn't seem right. I didn't hang out much at the Fabulous Rainbow when it re-opened, less fabulous than it once had been when I saw Robert Cray and Fishbone there. No, this was someone I'd seen regularly at some point.
"I also used to work at Murphy's," he offered.
"Yes!" I cried. "That's it! The old Murphy's, where the Starbuck's is now, not the new Murphy's."
"That's right," he agreed.
"I loved the old Murphy's," I said. "It was much better than the new one."
"Certainly," he said. "The new one looks like any other pub. The old one was like no other. It didn't matter if there were a hundred people there or twenty five, when you walked in, you knew it was your place."
The old Murphy's was my first regular pub in Seattle after I moved here in 1984. I mostly drank Ballard Bitter and Guiness there. It had a low ceiling crossed with heavy, old-growth wood beams, and it was always dark and smoky. One of the beams sported a cheery advertisement: "Fresh dingleberries picked daily." That's how I learned what a dingleberry is. (As one online source has it: "a Klingon near Uranus.") The Men's room featured an old-school trough urinal (which were still widespread in Seattle back then, very noticeable and strange to my Oregonian eyes) and the original grout puns written in the wall-tile grout, of which my all-time favorite was "Grout Mask Replica". On Sundays there was a fiddle circle in the center of the pub playing Irish reels.
I have many fond memories of the place, many of them centered around Robyn, who loved it there too, as I discovered when we got together in October 1986 -- but who's counting? She was still only 20, but she had fake ID that they accepted there. (This wasn't universally true.) It's where we had our first, impromptu date, when we couldn't wait until the one we'd agreed to for the next evening. We spent many an hour under the big beams, playing War to see whose turn it was ... but we'll draw a discreet curtain across those sweet memories, shall we? It wasn't always that sweet anyway! A couple years later she made the Blue Moon her regular, with a new boyfriend, and there were too many bullshit philosophers there for my taste, although they had Hale's Porter on tap, so you could at least drink deeply to forget.
What a blast to run into one of the old bartenders, from a bygone era and displaced landmark of the city -- at least in my internal landscape. "That was more than a few years ago," I said to him.
"It's true that my hair was darker then," he said. (It's almost completely white now, although I think even twenty years ago it was pretty grey.)
"I had hair then," I said, and we laughed at our old selves.