Hated that place. God, I'll miss it.

Well, they’ve closed her down.

For the last 10 years, every time I made the long drive to visit the extended pack, I stopped halfway in the town where I used to live to take my lunch at the bar where I used to earn my living.

And for the last 10 years, there has been at least one old-timer there who knows my name, and will lie to all the young pups, saying I was the best there ever was.

They roll their eyes and leave us alone, or maybe, if the day is slow, a fresh-faced bartender will stand and listen and laugh – at us? with us? – who knows? who cares?

But not this time. The sign is gone. The windows are dark.

Sure, I bitched and moaned like the rest, hated the managers who came and went while we slugged it out year after year. But boy, there were some golden friendships.

Some of them are still my friends. We live in the secret diaspora. I know their children now. They’re even getting old enough to listen to our stories – “And daddy and Uncle Sample got these tattoos when…”

Maybe it’s all just superstition, or clinging to things I should have let go of a long time ago.

But I nearly cried when I saw the place all left alone like that, with no one to love it – or even hate it – anymore. I even scrounged around in the old concrete bay, where the dumpster used to be. Found the wreath we used to hang on the front door every Christmas, abandoned on an iron breadrack. I salvaged it from the wreckage.

Eventually, I know, the last old-timer had to go. But I didn’t want the place to close. Someone will come along and remodel. It’ll all be different. And I’ll never again be able to take my rightful place on a time-stained wooden stool and say, even if to a complete stranger, “Back when I was a younger man, this is where…”

Oh Sample, that was a beautiful description. You could really feel your love for that place through your writing. Almost made me cry. Especially since you saved the wreath.

I kinda sorta know how you feel. When I was 14, my family moved from Dallas to East Texas. I hardly ever went back to our old neighborhood. However, in the last year, I have. And places that wouldn’t even have any connection to me whatsoever, bother me to see them changed or closed. It’s like wandering through a ghost town, but it still has folks up moving around and living in it, rather than floating or haunting. It’s definitely different and hard to get used to.

But hang in there. One day it will turn in to only happy memories and won’t have the sad ones of it no longer being open accompanying it. Not the best trade-off when you wanted to keep it the way it always was and how you remembered it, but that’s the only thing that sucky nature allows us a way to deal.

{{{HUGS}}}

I know how you feel.
May I suggest you watch Cinema Paradiso.

As harsh as it is, it’s better for a good place to close or burn down than to slowly fade away, so that every time you drive by you feel compelled to bore your passengers talking about how good it once was, before it got vanilla and ferny.
I’m sorry for your loss, dude.

Long time ago I used to go out to a place on the jetty off some little island near Freeport, Texas. I don’t even recall the name of the place anymore. ‘twas something bait camp. They made a greasy burger that I still haven’t found the equal to in all my ramblin’, not even Hunky’s or The Hole in the Wall in Dallas. It was off behind some ship yard. If it was your first time going there, you’d swear you were lost before it suddenly appeared as you rounded the dune.

One day me and some of my coworkers went out there for lunch and found the place closed and some guy was throwing the fishin’ nets, bouys and traps out the window. He said he’d bought it and was fixin’ it up. I told him they made the best burgers in the world and they’d best not change that. He assured me the burgers he made would be better.

Reopening day finally came and we ventured back out there to find red-checkered tables and ferns where the old weather worn wood benches and old dog used to be. The Jetty Burger cook, a crusty old cuss, was replaced with a fresh faced lady with clean apron. There was bottled water in a cooler by the door. The cut bait out front was gone. We wept. Then since we had driven out there anyway, we bought burgers. We wept even more.

I moved away not long afterwards. But I heard through the grapevine a few months later that the new guy had gone bust and sold it back to the old owner who tracked down the crusty old cook and the Jetty Burger was reborn.

I felt better with the world with that knowledge. Sometimes the good does win.

I understand your pain.

Women come and go, children grow up and leave home, old dogs eventually die.
But NOTHIN’ hurts like loosing your favorite bar (OK maybe it’s not THAT bad but it does really suck).

Homebrew – I hear you, brother.

Now I’m glad I once declared publicly, on this very board, that homebrew has a lot going for it. :wink:

And the rest of you, too. Glad to know I’m not alone in my sentiments. You are all very eloquent, and I think you understand me. There is comfort in that.

And Devil’s, I think you and Neil Young have a point there, and it ain’t just under your hats. Let us raise a glass to what once was. It shall never be again. But damn, wasn’t it a helluva ride!

Hey, mister, get away from the jukebox! This one’s for Sample. :slight_smile:

Thanks to the internet I was able to find the name of the little spit of land that shares the name of the home of the Jetty Burger: Quintana. It was the Quintana Bait Camp. I can’t find anything on the net to confirm that it still exists though. I did find a picture here of the Jetty at Quintana. One site mentions

Sounds like the place but with a new name.

About once a year or so, I’ll take a detour through my old neighborhood and look at the changes. I always stop and look at the house I grew up in. It’s barely recognizable now because it’s been yuppified.

I then drive around and look at the park where I spent so many hours playing. Then my old girlfriend’s house. Then the elementary school that I attended. Then I drive away feeling incredibly sad. It takes about a year for me to forget the sadness.

Why do I keep doing this? And can you tell I went last week?

My little elementary school has been turned into an administrative building. It didn’t really bother me til they dismantled the playground – you know, the old kind with the metal monkey bars and the 2-story-tall pole-and-chain swings that don’t make code anymore. I felt like something had been robbed from me. :frowning:

Along the same lines: they completely redid my old elementary-school playground. Almost everything I knew and loved there is gone–the sledding hill, the swinging tires, the big orange tube slide, the shelters under the wooden walkways… it’s all new and plastic-y now. :frowning:

raises her glass and tips her hat to Sample

I’ve got a point all right. I just hide it under the tin foil.
<taps beer glass on monitor in honor of all the lost burger and wing joints.>

I found out yesterday that both my junior and comprehensive (UK for elementary and high school) have both closed. I haven’ seen either of them for over 20 years, but still :frowning:

I found out yesterday that both my junior and comprehensive (UK for elementary and high school) have both closed. I haven’t seen either of them for over 20 years, but still :frowning: