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A Toasted Almond salute to Foley's Tavern of yesteryear...
There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
(“In My Life" from the album, 'Rubber Soul' by the Beatles, 1965)
If you uphold the notion that you can tell a lot about a place by what it does with its eggs, follow me to Foley's Tavern--not the Foley's of today, but the one of yesteryear-- that special place where most of our nostalgic memories reside. This dive on Manville Hill Road in Cumberland, Rhode Island became Friday's after-school stomping ground for a group of teachers. No doubt about it, the "counter culture" inside Foley's inspired me to conjure Torch's, the seedy bar in my first published novel, 'Underlying Notes'.
Foley's Tavern was distinguished by its lopsided green canopy over the entry way leading to a small basement hideaway. Proprietors Doris and Bill Foley extended their hospitality as did Shane, the Irish Setter, making his rounds by the tables for back rubs or settling at your feet. Cigarette haze and the odor of smoke not only assailed you, but infiltrated your hair and permeated your clothes permanently.
At the time, most of the locals who frequented the bar and sat on its stools, were of French-Canadian descent with an accent thick as bacon. Our crew had the habit of commandeering the tables where we'd congregate for the rest of the night by pushing them together along the wall whose window overlooked a meandering tributary of the Blackstone.
As with most social gatherings, thoughts turn to food other than goldfish lining the bowls scattered throughout the bar. Inside Foley's Tavern, food choices trickled down to goldfish or pickled eggs. Crammed alongside the bottles of hard stuff on shelves behind the bar, stood a couple of mammoth jars filled with green embryos one might find in a little shop of horrors. The first time I bit into one of those rubbery hard-boileds my eyes watered, my lips puckered, and the inside of my mouth felt sucked dry from the aftertaste of vinegar. This interlude proved a false lull of disgust as I soon acquired a taste for fermented Faberge’s and bought them regularly at the supermarket.
Not only did we monopolize the tables at Foley's, but regularly sent out for wieners or pizza to eat on the premises. To further pass the time, a bunch of us divided ourselves into two teams to play "Name that Song Artist." Someone from either team fired out a song title from the Fifties or Sixties, and the first to hazard the correct guess won a point for their team. Yours truly was not only one of the oldies champs, but could stump the best of them with the forgotten or obscure.
Feeding the jukebox in the corner throughout the night kept the joint jumping. I never tired of selecting Wilbert Harrison's "Kansas City."
On rare occasions Foley's was a meeting place to finalize other evening plans we'd mustered. The logistics figured out, we'd pick ourselves off from the red vinyl chairs and tailgate to the next event or destination. More often than not, we idled away the time just fine inside the close quarters of that tavern.
Years later, to my lament, Foley's Tavern came under new ownership. Out with the old, in with the new, the tavern has been reincarnated into a metrosexual establishment on the first floor of the building. No longer a hole-in-the-wall bar purveying liquor and pickled eggs, Foley’s Tavern offers finger food, sandwiches, and other fare.
Just as there is loyalty among thieves, fondness and allegiance remained intact among members of a motley crew who joked, laughed, and commiserated in each other's company. When the "founding father" of our social movement passed away, there was no better sendoff than a reception in his honor held inside Foley's Tavern.
All these places have their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life, I've loved them all
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Regis
as always I enjoy your work!!
well done, holds reader interest
NEVER stop writing!
m
I've heard of those eggs but never tried one, I think I prefer deviled eggs to pickled ones. Goldfish were a favorite in bars in the 70s. You may not believe this, but my twin brother has partnered with two younger women. He called them the Jeep girls, when they both had Jeeps. But they moved on to some other kind of automobile, so I don't know what he calls them now. Anyway, he meets with them every Monday night at a bar that I don't know the name of and they play Trivia. I can imagine my brother being good at trivia, I'm certainly not. But he said they win quite often.
Ron
I can only remember the nightclubs that my dad used to take us when we were younger in Hong Kong. It was a lot of fun too as we, too, could dance and listen to the music. He took us there because he liked the singer and the band.
Sandie :)