I’m sure this has been asked here before, but what is the origin of the term, “86”, that refers to an item being out of stock.
Most often used to describe a menu item that is no longer available in the short term at a restaurant , I have heard the term throughout my life and have only now really begun to wonder at its source (because my kids are asking me…).
I put a little effort into searching for the meaning, but I only came up with a list of several possible origins, made up of other people’s opinions.
Cecil doesn’t really get into the origin of the term in that article. He throws out one half-assed suggestion and then quits. Not one of his better works.
I seem to recall a History Channel or similar show discussing a speakeasy in New York whose address was 86 something street, and when they were being raided, the servers could pull a release which would drop all of the liquor bottles down below, lending credence to the “86 it” meaning trash it, or make it disappear etymology.
When I was a young lass I had a job one summer as a bartender in Red Bank, NJ. In bartender code, if a person was ‘86ed’, that meant the person was to be thrown out of the bar. As in ‘You’re 86ed - you’re outta here!’
I also saw that History Channel program (on prohibition IIRC). There was a secret door that would lead down a back alley. The people would exit thru a door whose address was 86
You might mention that, according to your own source, that “half-assed suggestion” is the one adopted by the OED. Not that they’re infallible - or Uncle Cecil, for that matter - but seems to me you’re bein’ a bit harsh on what is, after all, an early column.
Chumley’s in Greenwich Village, NYC is the pub you’re thinking about. The pub has two entrances - one on Barrow Street, and one on Bedford (86 Bedford, to be exact). Neither entrance has a sign; you have to know where the place is. The story I was told is that, during Prohibition, the door on Bedford was the one that was used as a quick exit when the police came knocking on the “main” entrance on Barrow. I suspect it’s urban legend, because it would be pretty easy to hear (and see, depending on how many police there were) people leaving through the other door. They’re just not that far apart.
It’s an interesting place with a long literary history. The first time I went there (8 years ago, I think), I spent an excellent Saturday afternoon there. There was a good beer selection, the bartenders were all off-duty NYC firemen, and the bar played host to two of the fattest, laziest Labrador Retrievers I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.
The next time I was there (about four years ago), it was just another crowded New York bar. I was either lucky the first time, or unlucky the second. Still, worth a stop on a Village pub crawl.