The Barfly Chronicles

Locker 8 Sport Bar is located on the west side of town. The west side of Lancaster is a working class neighborhood, once populated by thousands of workers at the large glass factory nearby. Recent decades have brought slower times to the glass manufacturing business and consequently there is less income to be had from the plant. The west side remains a very working class neighborhood today, only not as affluent as once upon a time, and sadly the area’s reputation has suffered because of it.

Locker 8 Sports Bar is a corner watering hole that has seen a couple of management shifts in recent years, this current sign is fairly new and there seems to have been some small renovations. We got there fairly late on a Saturday night, probably close to midnight. This bar has a 1AM closing time. Many bars in town close down at 1AM. I am not sure why this would be the case, since most licenses allow for a 2am last call with closing time at 2:30. Perhaps it has something to do with liability, the one in the morning closing time my cut down on problems by curtailing that last hour of drinking. We settled onto bar stools and ordered drinks. The drink quality was average, I had a JD and coke, once again a mostly honest shot, and I didn’t feel cheated in any way.  The bartender was a woman and she was friendly and seemed a bit busy with the other clientele, who were laughing and seemed to be having a good time.

It was Karaoke night, and we got there right at the tail end of it. The last act was a man, obviously near the end of a long night of drinking. He finished up his song while my group chatted and tucked into our drinks. Suddenly the man who had just finished singing, was canvassing the bar patrons as to whether he should perform an encore. I was approached and he earnestly asked if I wanted to hear more. He looked so intent on one more song that I encouraged him to take the stage one last time.

Meanwhile, one of our party somehow got into a conversation with another very inebriated customer about cell phones. Most of our group have fancy smart phones with internet access and all sorts of goodies. I have no idea how this particular conversation got started but soon I was dragged into it because of my phone, which I was using to record a snippet of the promised Karaoke encore.  The gentleman holding forth, advised us he owned a $400.00 cell phone but for reasons not disclosed his “room mate” wouldn’t let him leave the house with it. Ok, not that any of us really care, but the man persisted to let all who would listen that his phone was cooler than ours. I thought his money might be better spent on dental care, since he virtually had no teeth. Eventually, I was able to disentangle myself from the conversation but my friend was still stuck. I later found out the bar patron with the phone had asked for my friends phone number, and was invited to his apartment later, ostensibly to see the vaunted expensive cell phone. Needless to say, the offer was declined with vigor. I doubt the drunk, toothless, cell phone guy even remembers. He was harmless enough though. We felt no bad vibe in this bar, just a sense of things being barely under control. As if at any moment the alcohol would finally cause all sorts of bad behavior.

The encore was, you guessed it, Free Bird. The dude didn’t butcher it too badly, but how classic is that? Country bar, late in the evening, rednecks singing free bird at the top of their lungs. We laughed about it quietly to ourselves and continued to enjoy our drinks. The atmosphere at Locker 8 is average American dive bar fare. Neon and mirrors behind the fairly well stocked back bar, some sports memorabilia on the walls. There were hightops in the bar area and tables in the side room where the Karaoke was set up.  While finishing my first drink one of our group came over and suggested I see the bathrooms. Now, you can tell alot about how a bar is run and what the average clientele is like by investigating the bathroom. If the mens room is in a state of disrepair, dirty and stinky, well, that indicates a lack of respect by the owners and the patrons alike. Don’t get me wrong, a room full of drunks peeing all night long is bound to make a mess, but if it is obvious the mess is never properly cleaned up on a regular basis, that is where the issue lies.

What was interesting about the mens room at Locker 8 was the door. Someone had knocked holes all the way through the cheap laminate door. It looked as if some bar fight had ended up with someone fleeing into the john and the enraged pursuer vented his violence on the hapless door. Or perhaps some jilted lover found refuge in the shitter long enough to turn his heartbreak on an inanimate object. In either case, there were large holes with views into and out of the restroom.

There were only a few couples in the bar while we were there and I do not remember seeing any unattached females. So it was primarily an adult male crowd. Of course at midnight it is unlikely to find unattached females in a bar environment. If you haven’t figured out who you are going home with by midnight, you might as well resign yourself to another night alone. Just as well,  really, you would hate yourself in the morning.

Locker 8 isn’t really my kind of bar, so I am unlikely to return, but with just a little work it could probably be a fun place to party. The element of just in control hillbillies with lots of alcohol was a bit disturbing but like I said we never felt threatened or in danger. Actually, folks were pretty friendly, just ask my friend who was propositioned by the toothless phone guy.

Ratings (scale of one to five)

Dive rating:5

Drink Quality: 4

Atmosphere: 2

Cleanliness: 3

Picking up a “date”: 3

Scenery:1

Of all the diving we have done recently, this bar was by far and away the deepest dive yet. We probably needed to de-compress to avoid the bends on this one, but we got the bends anyway. What a surprise this bar turned out to be. The exterior was very dark, no sign proclaimed the presence of a bar here, just a large Bud Light sign in the window and a rather harsh spotlight outside that did almost nothing to illuminate the parking lot. We found the bars address online and no one seemed to know where it was, none of us had ever been there and no one was sure the joint even existed. Upon arriving, I looked at my dive partner and asked if he was ready for such an experience, he nodded and we shored up our confidence and plunged into the unknown.

This place is dark, and seedy and smells bad. The folks are there to drink cheap liquor and have a good time at any cost. There is a large “U” shaped bar that greets you as soon as you walk in with the ends extending back to a well stocked back bar and coolers full of beer. The bartender was a woman, she was nice and compentent, and served a decent drink but I would not call it an “honest” shot, maybe a “mostly honest shot”. It hardly mattered though since I was driving and it was late enough in the evening to be winding down some. We ordered drinks and looked around to take in the atmosphere. There were some loud couples and a good mix of men and women. The bar was doing a fairly brisk business at 11PM on a Saturday night. There was a table of lesbian women not far from us, as evidenced by the attire and attitude. They were cool though and added a bit of the exotic to the crowd assembled. No one seemed to mind.

It was Karaoke night, some of the singers were really bad, others were trying hard and sounded passable. One of our gang decided he would take a turn at the mic. He did this immediately after I indicated we were going to short time this place, so all I could do at that point was order another drink and continue the people watching. There were men and women, playing that age old game of chase, but I would not consider this place a “meat market”. Although, perhaps management wanted to perpetuate the idea of available nookie because my coaster was a proud advertisement for Trojan brand condoms. Did they sell them at the bar? Was I supposed to run down the street to get a pack? I am not sure what the angle was but right there in front of me each time I set my drink down was a cardboard coaster emblazoned with the Trojan logo.

Eeveryone seemed to know each other on some level and while I felt sure there was danger in the air, it wasnt directed at me or my crew. I was about half way through my second drink when all hell broke loose at Mulligans bar.

My friend the Karaoke singer was up, the opening strains of  Journeys classic rock epic “Don’t Stop Believing” came blaring through the PA. Well what can I say, this guy nailed it and was the consumate showman. After only a few seconds into the song, he was working the crowd, getting hugs from chicks and mostly hamming it up for the customers. His sense of

showmanship was infectious, walking into the drinkers, sharing the mic and all the while singing in key. At the songs peak he flipped up his t shirt to expose a large shiny belt buckle in the shape of a dollar sign and encrusted with rhinestones, like something Snoop Dog would wear. This brought the house down with appluase and cheers. By the end of the song the entire bar was singing along, cat calling, and having a blast. Myself included. He finished up and came back to his seat beside me at the bar, instantly, a drink appeared in front of him, someone had bought the man a drink in honor of his performance.  I couldn’t help myself but to congratulate him on his show. I know it was nothing if not pure ham, but what a great time. Of course he had to do it again and his next selection was even nuttier. He decided to karaoke “Bitch” by Meridith Brooks. Nothing like seeing a grown man call himself a bitch and actually get on his knees when the appropriate line in the song came up. Once again the crowd was on its feet with glee.

We finished up and left soon after that experience, there was nothing else to see or do at Mulligans, nothing could top our guy singing karaoke like a pro. I probably wouldn’t be a regular at Mulligans, too smelly and dark with a slightly evil vibe, but that night we had a blast and I could be persuaded to return, if only for Karaoke night.

Ratings (scale of one to five)

Dive rating:5

Drink Quality: 3

Atmosphere: 2

Cleanliness: 3

Picking up a “date”: 4

Scenery:3

Night two of our diving adventures has just concluded, and what a night it was. A very fun night and we scored four for five tonight, excellent dive bar action.

We visited five bars tonight and all but one was nothing if not a great time and one was a very deep dive, but was very fun nonetheless.

Blog post coming up:

The Long Branch

Locker 8 - Visited / Reviewed

The Pink Cricket

Leo’s Bier Haus

The Dawg House

Mulligans

The Fair View

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The complete list of Lancaster dive bars:

1.Pauls Night Club - Visited / Reviewed

2.Hillbilly Heaven - Visited / Reviewed

3.The Bottle Cap

4.The Long Branch - Visited

5.The Orange Carpet Lounge

6.Citi Bar

7.The Minute Bar

8.Mulligan’s Bar and Grill - Visited

9.The Madison Bar and Grill

10.Old Road House Saloon

11.Locker 8 - Visited / Reviewed

12.Old Bill Baileys

13.The Main Event

14.The Dog House Tavern - Visited

15.Starlight Night Club

16.Pink Cricket - Visited

17.Sweeneys Pub

18.Coaches Corner - Visited

19.Leo’s Bier Haus

20.Stinking Dads Saloon

21.Just Another Saloon

22.Luckys Bar

23.Lincoln Bowling Alley

24.The Fair View

25.Hawkes Taverne at the Mill

26.JD’s Pizza Pub (188 W.)

27.Liberty Billiards

28.JD Henderson’s Sports Lounge - Visited / Reviewed

29.Castaways

30.Berne Station

Next on our list was J. D. Hendersons Sports Bar. I had heard a thing or two about this place since I have an aquaintance that frequents this bar. On the night we went the bar was doing a thriving business and had attracted a fairly good size crowd for a Friday night. I couldnt see much “sports” however, I had expected banks of flat screen televisions with sports memorabilia on the walls but the inside of this place was pretty much standard fare. There were pool tables, a small seating area with hightops and a wrap around bar. We took a seat at a hightop one of our party went to the bar to order drinks.

The drink was pretty standard, tasted like a short shot meaning if there was alcohol in it, it was buried in the coke. I noticed they used those metering devices when making drinks. Nothing wrong with trying to pinch a penny in this economy but I vastly prefer the “free pour” method for preparing drinks. Some of us remember when a shot meant 1.5 ounces of liquor. That was (and is) the standard pour for a drink. When I was bartending back in ‘85 the bar staff were trained to free pour exactly 1.5 oz. into a glass. To test this, we would periodically pour the contents of a glass of liquor back into the jigger. Without fail the big end of the jigger would be exactly full. Today it seems that a shot means something different to each individual bartending staff. I am pretty sure the 1.5 oz shot was not the standard at J.D.’s.

The place was pretty lively, a mix of men and women, lots of laughing and drunken revelry. At first I thought the place was going to be a winner. We had been seated for only a few moments however, when a bad vibe settled over us. We noticed the D.J. and some hanger on with him staring at us with what could only be ill intent. Additionally, other patrons took turns staring and otherwise projecting a form of mild malice. At one point a member of our party asked me to look at a woman who was talking and laughing loudly at the bar. I couldnt see her from my angle so I peeked around a support pillar to get a glimpes. There was a very tall woman in shorts, nice legs at first glance, not bad I say to my friend. He looked archly in her direction again  and asks me to take another look. Ohhh, she is not only very tall but her shoulders are as wide as mine. The joke for the rest of the evening was we had a possible transsexual sighting. I doubt seriously if that was the case, she was probably just an Amazon, but it made for a fun running joke.

All of this was private and subtle, meaning we gave no one any reason to hate us in thier bar, but hate us they did. The vibe just got darker as we started to hurry through our drinks. The D.J. and his sidekick were still looking very sour in our direction and the music was urban rap, not my favorite genre. I started to get the notion that on weekends this place was probably a “meat market” or a pick up bar. Maybe the arrival of three new males upped the competition and that is why we got the evil looks. Thats ok boys, we arent after your women.

In the early part of the last century there were bars where the owner / bartender kept some “girls” around. They lived upstairs and their primary job was to “service” the male clientle. For a fee a dude could get roaring drunk and get laid. However, the times have changed and this sort of practice is decidedly frowned upon by the laws of the land. So now it is just given away, sordid trysts born in a drunken stupor. Men will always go to bars to meet women and women will always go to bars to be met, it is just striking the level at which this activity exists in some places. Thus the pick - up bar, and the alpha male instinct to do away with as much competition as possible.

J.D. Hendersons may actually have a different vibe on an off night. There was a long bank of hard point dart boards set up along a wall. It looked like league play happened here at some point. As an avid dart thrower in my past I was intrigued by the thought.

Since we felt threatened and the music sucked, we rushed through our remaining drinks and left. Outside there was a knot of men smoking and talking loudly. We imagined an insult threw our way upon parting. Thats ok, we will not leave our money at this bar ever again. Congratulations, J.D. Hendersons, three new customers you will never get. It is probably unfair to judge a bar by the clientle on any given night, but frankly if you do not feel comfortable drinking in an establishment, you are unlikely to return.

Ratings (scale of one to five)

Dive rating: 3

Drink Quality: 2

Atmosphere: 3

Cleanliness: 3

Picking up a “date”: 4

Scenery: 3

Yes, the place is really called “Hillbilly Heaven” and the sign is really lit with surplus Christmas lights.  We walked in, the place was dark and it seemed several sections of the building were unlit, and since there were no occupants, the darkness was just as well. Perhaps the management of Hillbilly Heaven were being “green”. The long bar area was empty, a television blared above our heads, not a sleek wide screen, but a ratty looking tube type. Away from the bar were tables lined up, sort of like a hoffbrau, a small group of partiers hunched over beers at one of them. They looked up as one unit when we walked in then continued whatever conversation they were having before we landed on their planet.

We took seats at the bar and ordered, the bartender was in his late ’40’s and called himself Stacy. The rest of the night I joked about naming your male child Stacy. He has worked behind the beat up bar for 11 years. He told us that, repeatedly. Stacy was friendly though and served a very stout drink which immediately made me happy. This was obviously another one of those bars where people come to drink cheap liquor and get drunk very fast.

The bartender engaged us in some polite conversation, as we were the only customers in his bar. I liked the guy frankly, but was a bit bewildered by his attire. He was wearing one of those shirts made of nylon mesh. So one could see his bare belly underneath, not the most attractive sight of the evening.  My drink was delicious as mentioned earlier, $3 bucks for Jack Daniels and coke. The Coke came out of a two litre stored in a large upright cooler, not a soda gun as you might expect and the drink was served in one of those previously mentioned weird little juice glasses. I do not know why it is so hard to get a genuine rocks glass with a drink. To the right is a photo of the actual drink in question. Notice the home made ice, not clean, pure manufactured ice but ice made in a home freezer. The funniest part was getting a short bendy straw with my drink.  I guess maybe I could get really drunk and have trouble keeping my head up, then I may need the bendy straw to continue drinking in comfort.

The place was decorated in a mix of styles. Patriotic designs like American flags and the ceiling seems to have been painted red, white and blue. I suspect the place was last re-decorated in 1976 during the Bi-Centennial. The back bar was small and homey, with lots of everyday detritus clustered around a small selection of liquor bottles.

There were probably many long hours behind the bar with little to do but smoke and watch T.V. or work a crossword. The rest of the back bar area was filled with coolers containing beer and soda pop. They were old but seemed to keep everything cold. It was nice to be able to see the beer selection through the glass too. I noticed that they seem to go through a lot of Old Milwaukee and Old Milwaukee Light. There were no bottles of Sam Adams in evidence.

At one point we smelled cigarette smoke and noticed one of the patrons smoking with the bartender. I politely asked for an ashtray and as if by magic one appeared forth with.  I love smoking in bars and with the smoking ban on, it was all the sweeter. Sticking it to the Man as it were.

All in all I rather enjoyed Hillbilly Heaven and would probably go back. I cannot comment on the clientele since we were the only ones in there for most of the hour we spent drinking at the bar. The small group mentioned earlier  left shortly after we arrived and two men showed up right before we left. I think we should go back during prime time to see what the folks are like at this small country bar. Other than the bartender, we did not even see any obvious hillbilly’s.  I have been to bigger bars with much more pretentious names and still saw more people in need of dental care than here at HH.

I believe Hillbilly Heaven is one of those neighborhood bars that struggles with it’s identity and has for a very long time. Today it seems to be on a familiar slide into obscurity or yet another sale. The new owners will once again try to make the bar over into something that will draw customers. In the  meantime, if I wanted a strong drink and a game of pool this would be a great place to get it.

Ratings (scale of one to five)

Dive rating: 4

Drink Quality: 4

Atmosphere: 2

Cleanliness: 2

Picking up a “date”: 1

Scenery: 1

I will tell you the truth about this place,  it looks like 1971 arrived here and never left. The exterior is disintegrating, crumbling sidewalk, faded signage, rusted metal door, duct tape over a crack in the one window.  Pauls is also a “carry out” meaning they can sell take out beer, and perhaps wine. It appeared as though one could buy a loaf of bread there too and maybe a pack of bologna. I suppose they could do a thriving business by selling bread and lunch meat to drunken customers with a raging case of the munchies. “Yeah, I’ll have another Jack and coke and could you sell me a loaf of Wonder and a pound of the Oscar Mayer? “.  I can just visualize someone making a round of sandwiches at the bar.

The place is old, but fairly clean. It smelled like Pine Sol and the funk of decades of cigarette smoke. Since the smoking ban, fresh coats of tar are few and far between. The barstools are padded and worn, repaired with duct tape and the chrome on the legs is rusting and falling into decay. I got a special kick out of the back bar, where the top shelf looked a little like the well in a more modern and upscale place. When was the last time you saw Black Velvet on the top shelf? There was no dust on the bottle either. There were napkin holders and an old “buffalo arrestor” emblazoned with outdated brands. Who drinks Lord Calvert anymore? The decor was southern junkyard, David Allen Coe concert posters, neon and confederate flags. Not the most PC of wall decorations, but the place felt safe and comfortable for a white man with money to spend.

On this particular “Diving Adventure” we took turns going into the bar first. There were four of us, all big sturdy men, so it is not like we were in any danger, but the first man in did get all the stares and the first impression. One of our party frequents Pauls and he went in first. Of course he knows the owner, a grizzled woman working behind the bar. She was older than any of us, but I couldn’t tell exactly which decade of life she was in.  She looked worn, tired and almost sad at first but I realized a life in a place like this would overwhelm anyone with the stories, the sheer humaness of countless Saturday nights serving alcohol, listening to the drama, and keeping order. I do not remember her name but as we sat there, drank and laughed and took in the place, tipping well the whole time, she seemed to actually enjoy our presence in a quiet sort of way.

We all placed orders for our favorite libation, and a good thing right off the bat was the fact we got what I like to call an “Honest Shot” there was no cheating on this drink. I ordered a Wild Turkey and Coke, a favorite of mine because of the refined fire that is 101 proof Kentucky bourbon. However, apparently the bottle only had a swallow in it and not enough for a full drink. I substituted the next best thing on the bar, a Jack Daniels and Coke on the rocks and was very pleased with the Whiskey to Coke ratio. There should only be a splash of Coke for color.

The place was pretty good sized but also nearly empty at this early hour, it wasn’t quite nine PM yet and the place was pretty quiet. Another woman intently playing some sort of fake gambling game on a video console apparently worked there as well and was also known by a member of our party. She seemed friendly enough, said hello and went back to her game.

Meanwhile a few folks started arriving including the nights entertainment, an older gentleman with cases of cd’s and some equipment was setting up for a DJ / Karaoke session along the back wall. It was amusing to see the grandfatherly guy setting up but even more amusing was when I heard the throaty cadence of Hank Jr. begin singing, but wait it wasn’t the album version it was grand dad singing Karaoke! He was pretty good actually.

We had a few rounds and had a smoke outside where another colorful character who looked like a cross between Conway Twitty and Jackie Gleason regaled us with a story about not being able to smoke in bars anymore. He was cool though, I didn’t catch his name. He went back in and later I saw him drinking a beer out of one of those wierd little glasses they give you when you order beer in older bars. I honestly have never seen anyone actually use the little glass.

It seemed as though Pauls still held on to the neighborhood bar tradition of friends gathering for a drink and a laugh, maybe a good tune and some fun. I liked the place and would return. I hear  some good live music rolls in from time to time, there was a stage set up in the corner with a decent PA system. I wonder sometimes why I pay $7.00 for a drink at a finer, upscale place where the customers can be cold, the bartenders over worked and the atmosphere bought at Hobby Lobby, when I could be at a place like this. Real people, real stories, real good “top shelf” drinks for $3.00 each.

Pauls Night Club doesn’t try to be all things to all people, just a corner watering hole. I am sure danger lurks there at times, I am sure hearts get broken and lives get washed up on the worn, stained bar, but by and large it seemed as if anyone in the place would buy you a drink and call you a friend if only for the night.

Let the good times roll.

Ratings (scale of one to five)

Dive rating: 4

Drink Quality: 4

Atmosphere: 3

Cleanliness: 3

Picking up a “date”: 2

Scenery: 2

One day soon there will be no more dive bars. The day of the neighborhood drinking establishment will be a thing of the past.  Like so many other institutions in our day, it will be replaced with slick corporate schmaltz and national advertising campaigns. There is just nothing organic about BW3’s or Applebees, they are stamped out of a mold and plopped on an out parcel pad in front of the mall and we go there, to drink and dine, but I for one almost always feel like I have been cheated somehow.

Today, most of the old neighborhood bars are nothing if not squalid and a bit run down, but this wasn’t always the case. There was a time when every neighborhood had a butcher, a baker and a bartender. Hard working men would flock to the watering hole each day after work to quench a powerful thirst, socialize with their friends and assuage aching muscles.

The demise of the old neighborhood bar wasn’t a quick thing, usually the owner died or fell on hard times, then the place was sold, perhaps several times and before you know it, the bar is a bit of a dive.  Old dive bars, no matter how dirty, dark or stinky all have a tale to tell.  I am completely fascinated by these stories. What was the place like back when the beer signs were new and the toilets still sparkled? Who were the dominant clientele that originally made the bar a success? How many fights were broken up at closing time by a burly bouncer? The stories are as varied and colorful as the rooms themselves are dim and smoky.

I want to document as many as I can, a true documentation would take years, but that is ok, starting with this blog I hope to at least showcase some of the local drinking culture and where that drinking happens. The project has some different names already. I am calling it Phresh’s Diving Adventures but I am sure we will think of something else clever before too long. We hit six bars the last trip out, some we had been warned never to enter. We went in anyway, and unanimously had a great time.

Enjoy