The subway wasn’t hot as I thought. I grabbed an uptown express, which dropped me at 72nd. There’s an enormous statue of Giuseppe Verdi when you exit. The Mannes College of Music and Julliard- the famous music school are also close by. P & G Café was originally 279 Amsterdam, but I was fortunate to have looked for it on line and found it had a new location as of a year ago at 380 Columbus & 78th Street.
The original P & G was established in 1942. It was a family business which was named for the initials of the founders sons- Pete & George Chahalis. The book said it had real character with graffiti and a mural, which had been covered up with the exception of part that remained on the back wall. From the on line article, they had difficulty moving the neon bar sign above the place because of water damage. It was a sore topic for the bartender I’d met. He’d worked there for the past ten years before the transition and after.
He just opened the place and I was the first into the downstairs bar. He served me a Sam Adams Summer Ale, which was pretty perfect for the hot day I’d already experienced in my short walk. The heat was already getting on his nerves- the fans blew on full in several areas. He started a conversation with me right away, and started to relax a little into my stay. Charlie, the bartender, was one of these really down to earth sorta guys. A guy who had a very interesting past- a guy who worked in security in the 1980’s and protected plenty of the early dance musicians- stuff I listened to in my youth- Lisa Lisa & the Cult Jam, Shannon, Salt & Pepa- a virtual who’s who of dance from the 1980’s. He was filled with stories of parties here and there, champagne & drinks for free, VIP’s and lists on which he was placed: A charismatic guy who lit up when he talked of those times. He talked of the old P&G and how much he enjoyed the clients, the money and the old time visitors, the regulars who would never show in this neighborhood, only about 6 blocks away.
Even though the new place was bigger and there were a few more rooms to hold pool tables and a music room, the dynamics had changed. This neighborhood had people with attitude and the politics between family and business were typical of those with money. The LAST place women would want to be seen in was a bar and many in the area had kids- obviously, a no-no for afternoon visitors. Where once he made money from those long established down to earth daily clients, he now made a portion of what he used to. He was also upset about the fact there was room, and what was once cozy and looked busy with 5-10 people, this place would scatter them and it’d appear empty during the day.
I’m sorry the original place was closed, but I was happy I still had this soul who transitioned to the new place. He was elected an award some years ago for being the best bartender and I could see why. It was his sense of humor. It’s like I told him, many come to bars to have a drink, get rid of some misery, talk-have someone listen, and try and find a laugh. If you get a cynical bartender or someone who has no desire to even BS with you, what’s it worth anyway? I know many times I’m lookin for that genuine laugh and I’d found it here- once we got past the heat and shitty things which bothered us.
I found my drinks went down clean, and I did my share of listening. I’ve always loved storytellers, who have interesting experiences, a worldly view, and a damn fine sense of humor. I’d found one here, that’s for sure. Charlie was probably one of the most amiable bartenders I’ve experienced on my tour. He talked to me about a security gig he had an opportunity at getting, and I hope he gets it.
I’d drank probably 3 drinks when first guy showed and disappeared into a back room. Two other guys came in- one had an accent and seemed to me to characterize the neighborhood- general yuppies. One raved about Cambridge and England to the other and sounded more like he was trying to impress either his friend or the people around him (which was only me and the bartender). I shook my head and Charlie went quiet, until another couple of guys came in who knew him. They talked about basketball and Lebron James. He didn’t miss a beat, started spinning stories about this and that, every one with a glow in his eye.
The time passed quickly. It was difficult to leave the place, but I knew I had to get downtown and time ticked. It was already approaching 1:30, and I hadn’t even hopped a subway- remember I had to get back to Penn by 3:30pm. They didn’t have food, which finalized my decision. I’d have a bite at the next place, sweat off some of my buzz- and MOVE along. I had him autograph my book and it just so happens he makes an appearance at the original P&G in a photo, which made it even better.
I hopped the express back downtown in a fraction of what it’d normally take. I exited at Chambers street to catch a local, but decided to “foot” it to South Street. I had to head to Broadway, turn down Fulton and follow that to South Street. It was fairly easy, but it was HOT and it was CROWDED and I was buzzed. I felt vultures’ overhead, I felt the heat off the blackened tar cause hallucinations of more and more people… WATER…. WATER…..
I eventually made it down to the water after a couple of distracting sites. By the time I reached Paris Café, I was ready to burst- not from a malnourished belly, but an over nourished bladder. There were signs ALL over which read- “Bathroom for customers ONLY”. I sat down at the bar with only one thing on my mind- I’d order my beer- and rush off to the bathroom with all the urgency of a medic to an old aged home. The bartender noticed my Thomas Edison T-shirt and commented about his visits to the Paris Café back in the day when he set up the first centralized power station on Pearl Street. He had a great brogue – but lets face it- when ya gotta go URGENTLY, you can only see one direction and conversation isn’t it.
After a breath of relief, the bartender had turned his attention on the many visitors to the bar. The large screen TV’s played the Cup and there seemed to be quite a few sports fans in the place. I took in the beautifully ornate bar.
The Paris Café has a great amount of history associated with it. Diamond Jim Brady and Thomas Edison used it like a home away from home. Celebrities like Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Cody, appeared in the early day- Teddy Roosevelt was a regular when he was a police commissioner, but there were also the criminals with it’s proximity to the Fulton Fish Market- it became a hang for the mob. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids, Murder, Inc kingpins Albert Anastasia and Louis “Lepke” Buchalter used the place as a base. But like the P&G, the neighborhood changed.
The Fulton Fish Market, in the same location for 200 years, was moved to the Bronx, and employees that were once in excess of 5000, are now down to 2000. Many of the old warehouses have changed into lofts and condos, which of course brings more residents to the area. According to one of the mail men interviewed for the book residential deliveries were probably up to 20,000 from 3,000 years earlier. No longer fisherman, but financial types-bankers.
In New York, neighborhoods change- locations change and they change quickly. The one good thing about most of these bars I’ve visited are they’re pieces of old New York that remain in one of the most vibrant and ever changing cities in the world. Nothing excites me more than being in a place which has grown character through the years- has stories of the many who have passed through the doors- the stains on the walls, the old décor which was there when those who saw it years earlier, saw it with the same eyes as I. History is like that- generations and generations experience things in their lives which change them, or make them who they are. They might not be the exact same, but their reactions could very well be the same to how you react to the stimulus around you. We’re not so different from our ancestors. Times change and our reaction to the stimulus around us is based on the time we’re in. Even though we’re different now than then, everything is relative. Being a human, is being a human- love is love, pain is pain, sorrow is sorrow and they are facts which are always consistent (of course there are more, but you get the idea) Our reactions have most likely been experienced one time or another in centuries past- in different times. What I’m trying to say is there is a straight line which every human taps into, and it comes with being in the right place, speaking to the right person, observing your surrounding and interpreting how it is it effects you. Why else would I be in a bar?
Oh yea- drinks……
I had a ENORMOUS Swiss burger with my white beer. Ketchup and fat dripped all over my fingers, down my chin. The insides slid on to my plate and the pickles fell out one side of my sandwich as I dislocated my jaw to take a bite. I felt the bar was watching me pig myself up, but I wiped after every bite- both my lips and my fingers. DAMN was that thing sloppy, BUT it was worth every morsel!
When I’d finished, I was TRULY finished. FULL and feeling nothing but immobility, my mind raced. The time was 3pm and I had just enough time to get back to Penn Station for my train. The timing was impeccable, if I don’t say so myself. Sure, I would have enjoyed a few conversations at that point, but there was no topping my talk at P&G. I was content and ready to board the express. Everything from there was smooth as silk. I nodded in and out of sleep on my train and got home a little after 5pm.
Next week my visits will take me to Parkside Lounge at 317 East Houston Street and Pete’s Tavern at 129 East 18th Street. Thanks again for reading. Catch me if you can.
Steve