Croxley's Ales RVC

Popped in last night after visiting a nearly deserted Blackthorn's and enjoyed more of the Leinie's Sunset Wheat. Pretty good, easy going crowd on hand. There was a roving bachelorette party, with bride to be sporting a bridal veil.

For those not too familiar, Croxley's serves 54 varieties of tap beer, none of them are Anheuser-Busch, miller, or Coor's products. The most 'mainstream' beer you will find here is Stella Artois, which is an export of Belgium, and not nearly as good as some other Belgian brews.

In addition to the Leinie's, I would recommend Paulaner (a terrific Hefeweisen), and Hoegaarden (a refreshing Belgian white).

BEAR and the 1st Amendment

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League Pool / Ass**les and Idiots

“RJ, We really need you, come out and shoot for Game On this Summer” asked Yaega Lee. “I will not be available for every Wednesday due to travel and business, but when I’m in the area, I’ll come out.” On Wednesday, 16 July, I went to Sonny O’s in Valley Stream to shoot with Yaega, ERL, and the Quiet Man for Game On. I shot pool against them before and took two out of three so I assumed we were shooting against the same team. That was a bad assumption.

I remember, it was as little as two years ago, that there was an unwritten but thoroughly observed etiquette by all shooters in all leagues respecting both shooter and the shooters property, i.e. pool stick, pool case, jackets and other items when visiting an opposing team. Courtesy when a shooter was at the table was also something given for the sake of decency and gamesmanship.

But my last experience at Sonny O’s revealed to me that League Pool as a tool for community and business in the South Shore bar culture of players and drinkers is in danger of ending. Not only were we as a team constantly and ignominiously disrespected while shooting, but the fools shooting thought the racial epithets and sexually degrading language from the rap crap they played on the jukebox applied to our team and to me.

I arrived at Sonny O’s early and got in a practice game before their team showed up. I knew Tracy, she and Jimmy (the other Owner) have been friends of my brother for decades. We know the regular shooters and have always had a good friendly competition and cordial relationship with the bar. This night all that would change. Another set of shooters, younger, nastier and undisciplined showed up. I thought, “what happened to the regulars?”

As they shadowed the pockets of the pool table in groups of two and three while we were shooting, it was obvious others were also actively working on distractions as the rap crap that played spewed out nigger this and nigger that. As I sat at the bar drinking my tonic water one of the young punks bumped me in the back (I have had surgery on my back, it still hurts all the time) I looked at him expecting an ‘excuse me’ and got “don’t get mad my nigger”.

“Who the fuck you talking to? Better learn how to address people, I’m nobody’s nigger!” The asshole I’ll call Ralph was wearing a Tony Soprano style bowling shirt and long shorts. He went to the table to shoot against Yaega Lee who was using my stick. As Yaega made a bank shot that was super nice, Ralph started with the nasty talk, I won’t quote it exactly because I don’t want Google to punish me for overt sexual content but Ralph called her a female body part.

Ralph then failed to make his shot then grabbed my pool stick, slammed it against the wall and then kicked my pool que down the floor length of the bar. I went ballistic. I picked up my stick and shouted “what the fuck is wrong with you. Why are you trying to break my stick you ignorant asshole, WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?” Ralph got cocky “that’s my stick?” “NO ASSHOLE ITS NOT, MY NAME IS ON IT, LOOK!”

“Ok, your stick looks like my stick,” said Ralph. “Get your stick, NOW” I demanded. His stick had a dark weaved handle, it was black, my stick was obviously white, the difference in look and feel would have been apparent to Stevie Wonder. “Get the fuck away from me asshole, I don’t need to be treated like this by some punk.” “Yo’ Nigga I’ll get you another $10 dollar stick” said Ralph as he grabbed his crotch.. I started packing my pool cue’s and headed for the door.

I had to leave to keep from getting in a fight, apparently that’s what this class of lowlife was looking for. They have no respect for people and it seemed to sit quite well with Tracy to tolerate this. I treat people the way I want to be treated, I did nothing to instigate this kind of treatment. Just because it’s a bar and people are drinking doesn’t excuse belligerence, disrespect or other forms of assholiness.

Yaega asked me to stay for the sake of the team, so I did provided that I didn’t shoot against Ralph. Then I noticed that as they played more and more rap crap that they were trying to act like they grew up in Bedford Styversant, Brownsville, or Crown Heights. ‘Wiggers’ is what they call them down South. But for the sake of the team and the bar I represented I never called anyone that name, but I wanted to.

Ralph’s brother, I’ll call him Al approached me and asked to talk. I, being as gracious as I could granted his request. Al told me that Ralph gets like that sometimes. “When Ralph was a kid he got cracked in the head with a shovel and he’s been stoopid ever since” said Al after taking a drag off his cigarette. Al looked at me and said “I want to apologize for him.” I told Al I appreciated that but Ralph should apologize for himself. He never did.

So even with intentional acts of distraction, contempt and ignominious behavior on the part of our hosts, we persevered. Although we lost in doubles we kept our composure and shot well. ERL did go off and mention all the bad acts to Tracy who casually dismissed it. Nevertheless we did go on make ourselves good representatives for the Game. After that I left as fast as I possibly could.

I got to Game On and told Poppy J about what happened. He shook his head and said “what kind of league did I sign this bar up for?” I then shot some more pool with Quiet Man and ERL before heading home. I still get mad thinking about that night. But if some people who witnessed that night have anything to say, it will be a long time before the end of this is heard.

If the purpose of the League is to get people to go out to bars and taverns then it better consider who represents them. Game On represents well.

RJ

McQuade's - Lynbrook

I went to dinner with the bride last night at McQuade's in Lynbrook, on Merrick Rd. (down the block from The Purple frog).

Drinks:
Wife had Goose and Cran - strong pour, barely pink in color!
Beer - had a Leinie's Wheat Beer on tap (1762 mgmt might look into this one) - excellent Wheat beer, crisp, and refreshing on hot ass day!

Appetizer:
New Orleans clams $12.95
13 Little necks w/ Andouille sausage in a light onion broth, with crusty bread for dunking...Incredible, my only criticism is that there was more broth than bread, couple of more pieces would have made this 1st time appy that much better.

Entrees:
Fisherman's Platter - Halibut, Salmon, Shrimp, Scallops and maybe more fish in a light herb sauce...also with crusty bread for dunking.

Corned beef Reuben - Tender, melted swiss, kraut, Russian dressing on a Schnitzer's Marbled Rye, side of sweet potato fries.

Dessert:
Tres Leche Cake - Yellow cake infused with three types of milk...pure heaven and terrific presentation.

Waitress, Chrissie, was dynamite, very attentive and courteous, and a GREAT big smile!
Look for the busboy who looks like a young John Turturro!

Total damage $70 with tip, $85. Worth every penny!

MORE ABOUT MC QUADE'S

Moving the Blog

It seems as if Google has hit a nerve with the email they sent to me this week regarding the adult flavor of one of the posts here. I am a little overwhelmed by the response from contributor and reader alike.

"Anonymous" [I know who who are!] has suggested moving the blog to another hosting service. I invite her to go through the sign up process on any of her suggested sites and to set up a new home for the blog. She has even suggested that I fight Google, which I find laughable. Imagine getting them to change their "No Adult Content" policy so we can write about the bar?

Yes, this is America. Yes, freedom of speech, blah blah blah. And I am not a fan of censorship, but I don't have the time to do what it will take to recreate the blog elsewhere. I invite comments from all on the subject.

Lazy Sunday at the Game

It was a quiet summer Sunday so I went to Moms for a very early supper. Afterwards I took up Yeaga Lee’s invitation and went to Game On (Valley Stream). It wasn’t like the rumors had it, weirdo’s, drug users, assholes and idiots…it was the old crowd from the Corner Tavern aka the ‘ancient dive’. It was nice to see souls I hadn’t seen in a long time and the vibe in the place was quite nice, everybody was really easy going digging the sounds from the jukebox.

What was really good to see was Yaega being really free to be herself without the threat of a screwed up owner fucking up her afternoon (i.e. Bossman). Poppy J, boss of the Game, has things in line and his bartenders are very relaxed and make everybody feel welcome. Devilynn and Wouff were in the Game celebrating Devilynn’s birthday, the pool table was free, Big B and Hardy were playing good tunes.

I was missing ERL (he did show up later) he and Evie are having great summer fun. I was in the mood to chill out and the Game was all fun and easy all day and some of the night. Then the parade of faces not seen since the Corner made their way in. Dusty and his four legged buddy showed up as shots started flowing from all directions and at least three teams for eight ball doubles had formed up to shoot.

Demmi was in the bar hanging out, she backed up YaegaLee when the air conditioner had a problem (but it never broke down). Demmi, an old familiar face who has been tending bar for over 25 years, who knew my family and the regulars from a lot of old haunts, made us laugh and smile some. A few ladies showed up two in their twenties one in her mid thirties, letting it all hang nicely on this beautiful summer day. Then I heard that sound, the deep rumbling pipes of the big Yamaha, oh yeah, Biker Bob showed up.

Biker Bob hugged than spanked Yaega Lee because, as he put it, “that ass really needed spanking.” Beer was flowing like a river, the din of conversation from people catching up with each other, the parade of shots and the good tunes made it nice. Then I saw Riff, (a long time regular for over 35 years, a kid from Lawrence with grandkids, I know him and his family since I was seven). I met Riff’s daughter and future son in law, we caught up on everything that was yesterday.

CB (Met Fan’s brother) came in with Hildie (Evie’s former old man) and challenged Yaega and me to a doubles game. CB shoots semi pro pool in Vegas and put a lot of trophies on the wall at the old Corner Tavern when it was ‘Cheers’ and the Beverly. Hildie is a dead shot from the old school who makes what he shoots at and can put on a show when he wants. Yaega walked up to me, hugged me and said “You can do this! Do it for me. DO IT.”

With a bar stick (Wouff and Devilynn brought their own) and Yaega we went up against bar room legends who still had a reputation and a following, ERL always talks about CB and how he ritually takes down his opponents. I broke, had a five ball run, CB did a trick shot, the ball went in and came out of the pocket. The bar fell silent all you could hear was the juke box as all eyes were pasted on the table. Yaega Lee sunk the last two balls and the eight ball.

We couldn’t buy drinks after that. Yaega was feeling no pain and having fun and everybody was in a super cool mood. Like school kids on summer vacation at a neighborhood clubhouse we all had a real good time. It reminded me of the Corner when it was Cheers. It reminded me when hanging out on Sunday was a fun thing. That Sunday, it was yesterday once more.

RJ

Friday Night Fly-By

It had been a good few months since I ventured into the former Corner Tavern. I have been reading about some of the goings-on since the change of ownership.

On my way back from somewhere else I decided to stop in for a quick cocktail. The oft maligned Jaime was tending, the owner Mr. E was present, and there were a few other unfamiliar faces imbibing intoxicants. Jaime was pleasant enough, beer was cold, and the place looked cleaner than I remember.

As I type this, I realize that I bought three drinks (Shot of Cabo, Shot of the "House Special", and a Coor's Light) and didn't get a buy back. That may be a first for that location. Maybe they changed the policy. Whatever. Doesn't make or break the place for me. In my VERY brief visit, I felt a sense of anomie there. Gone were the salty drinkers, who had already seen it all. They had been supplanted by youth, who appear to be on their way to where the old regulars have already been. What was missing for me was the old IDENTITY of the bar. The bar may be headed for a new identity, but I don't think it has been established yet.

Sometimes an identity just makes itself, which I suspect was the case in the older incarnations of 1762 Broadway. The younger crowd, the younger owner, and the younger bartender will have much say in what the NEW identity will be for 1762 Broadway. IMO, the owner should be instrumental in guiding the bar as it finds its new persona. Some factors he should probably take into account are the neighborhood in which his establishment resides, the proximity to the local police station, and doing what he can to become a part of the Five Towns as a business owner. He should realize that he now has a vested interest in the neighborhood and the community he serves. The lack of addressing these factors was where the prior management fell woefully short, and I suspect added to their demise.

It will be interesting to watch and see what the old haunt will evolve into.

Life & Legacy

“Sometimes you look at people and ask ‘who the fuck dressed you?” N.F. sipped on his water as we drove down the country back roads of Ulster County.

The old Ford pick up ran like brand new and the feel of the day was out of the 1960’s, kids were wearing jeans, girls in shorts and tie dyed shirts as we passed the farm stand heading toward the railroad tracks. The clouds played with sunlight as they blew by the sun giving shades of grey and vivid colors to barns, farms and fields.

I walked the property while N.F. fixed the tractor for Ms Elly’s friend Marta. Marta walked out of the house to give us water, which I gladly thanked her for. Her belly had a small bulge but her figure was still petite, her face was lightly weathered as her brownish blonde hair blew in the wind. Her long light blue sundress didn’t hide the fact she was about two months pregnant. Her man had been dead for over three months. N.F. got the tractor started and began cleaning up.

“Marta, we gotta come back later, we’ll spray your fruit trees to kill of the Japanese beetles” shouted N.F. Marta’s a woman in her early thirties in a 19th century farm house on 22 acres in a rural community, single and pregnant. As N.F. and I drove back to his place I asked him about Marta and if the baby’s Daddy was gonna do the right thing. “RJ, Elly didn’t tell you about Marta?” “No.” “What’s to tell N.F. sounds like another hit and run story.”

“When we get back I’ll have Elly tell you. Its not another hit and run pregnancy, far from it.” The afternoon was gorgeous looking at the flowers and trees out of the large picture window in the kitchen.

When we got back we had a late lunch, N.F. said, “Elly, RJ doesn’t know about Marta.” Ms Elly looked at me and sat down at the table (something she hardly does because of her back) she said, “RJ you knew Sam, right?” “Yeah, the young Soldier at Ben and Becky’s Wedding, didn’t he get hurt or something, Elly?”

“Yes, he was Marta’s boyfriend, they were engaged, he was brain dead from the fall he took down at the Old Railroad Station bar in Middletown. His family pulled the plug on him RJ.” “His family must be happy that at least they’ll have a grandson, Sammie will have a survivor.” Ms Elly said, “they’re not that happy, in fact they tried to stop the pregnancy.”

I looked in absolute mystification at Ms Elly asking, “how the fuck do they stop her pregnancy? Are they gonna kidnap her and take her to some quack? How do they stop a pregnancy that’s well on the way?” Ms Elly raised her eyebrows, “at the time her pregnancy hadn’t started.” “Elly, I’m confused, help me here. Sam’s been dead how long?” “Three months or so RJ.”

“OK, Marta’s what, two months pregnant?” “Right again RJ.” “OK, here’s the stupid question, how does a dead man get a woman pregnant?” “Well this is what Marta told me, its kind of amazing considering the courts didn’t have to get involved.” Ms Elly told the story of Marta’s pregnancy as it was described to her: “Sam was two weeks in a comma, he was going back to Iraq on his third tour of duty when he fell and split his head in the bar.”

Ms Elly continued relaying Marta’s account steadfast and in an even tone of voice. It was as if I was hearing Marta herself saying; “His parents told me they knew that he didn’t want to live like this and they decided to let him go. I told them that we were to be married and we wanted kids, I wanted his child. Sam’s parents got angry and wanted to get me thrown out. I spoke to his patient advocate, next thing I know were all sitting in a board room with his Doctor and some Hospital administrators.

The Hospital Administrators were an old scholarly looking gentleman about 80 years old in a grey suit, a thin black woman who looked like Condoleeza Rice and a hard bitten dark haired man in a black suit (The Chief of Medicine, Hospital Legal Council and the Hospitals Chairman of the Board respectively).

They sat us down and asked all kinds of questions but it all boiled down to these things: Did Sam have an End-of-Life Plan, if not, did I have some proof of Sam wanting to have kids after he died and did he put it writing or other form that could be produced to them, writing, e-mail, telegram, etc. So I asked them if I could bring it to them, they said to go and come back right away and show them what I had. I brought them a letter he wrote me from Iraq on his second tour.

The Black Woman, the Legal Council read the letter aloud after having the other administrators examine the letter. She read: “Dear Marta,
I’m glad you accepted my proposal and I expect to see that ring on your finger when I get home. I couldn’t believe you could find a nice ring at the PX in Germany, but there it was. I’m concerned that I won’t be able to get my old job back at ‘Phil’s’ Junk Yard when I get back, but even if I don’t I want you to have our baby.

I hope I can give you a baby, I want a big ol’ healthy boy I can teach to play ball, fix things and fish, like my Dad taught me. There’s so much stuff in the air around here you don’t know if what your breathing is killing you. We go through contaminated areas or Kurdish areas where Saddam gassed people all the time. I should have bottled some Sam seed just in case (don’t want a handicapped kid either).

Get my shotgun from Roy and take it to Old Man McDougal so he can check it out for me because dickhead hunted with it twice and didn’t clean it. Wear that black dress for me when I get home so I can bend you over the saw horse in the barn and f…..”

“That’s enough said the Chairman as he looked at Marta and turned red.” Ms Edna continued Marta’s story after getting up for some iced tea and cookies. “Marta said that night Sam’s Dad tried to talk her out of having the baby. Marta told him, “I can’t have Sam, but I can have what Sam wanted….a son.”

“Elly, the hospital actually got sperm from a dead man?” “RJ, Marta said they hadn’t pulled the plug at that time, but the Hospital allowed a ‘testicular biopsy’ while he was still breathing. Sam’s Dad didn’t want it to take place, but he gave in when Sam’s Mom produced baby pictures of the Soldier as a boy.” I pondered the ethics involved in that decision.

N.F. and I went back to Marta’s and sprayed the fruit trees before the sun went down. Marta invited us in and I expressed my sympathy for the passing of her friend and lover. Marta then told me the rest of the story.

Marta said, “Before I was inseminated and got pregnant we decided along with the hospital staff that some of Sam’s organs be saved for transplant to someone who needs them. The man who got Sam’s heart sent me the flowers on the table, he sent flowers to his Mom and Dad too.” I choked back hard on the tears after I hugged her as we left.

After we got back to N.F.’s, I thought about my mortality. I took a bottle of Jack and walked in the woods and stared at the stars. Jupiter was rising in the southwest sky, the coy dogs barked, the deer scattered, the horses snorted, the half moon appeared and the wind cried “Marta”.

RJ