The book has happened. Hard to believe. It’s called ‘Road Work.’ This is a low-res version of page 60. (June 4, 2022)
Support, Eugene, Oregon
Tom & Jim, Philadelphia
Youth, Albuquerque, N.M.
(2022)
Afternoon drinking, Milford, Pa.
(2019)
The W&J, Northern Liberties, Philadelphia
“Youth must keep decently away.” (Eugene O’Neill) The first time I entered this joint, on a late night in spring, my friends and I had to be buzzed in. It was named the W&J, at 5th & Poplar Sts., and both Walter and Juliette, the aging Polish couple who owned it, were on the other side of the door along with absolutely no one else. There were handwritten signs prohibiting cursing. This was the Philadelphia few knew. I moved into the neighborhood a couple years later, at the cusp of its gentrification, and not long after that the place was sold to a couple of guys in their 30s who turned it into what would then have been called a hipster bar. The guys were OK, but the secret weirdness was gone. (2001)
Dirty Frank’s, Philadelphia
Today’s special: no children (1992)
Bartender, State College, Pa.
(2019)
The Shandon Star, New York
Been there. A few blocks south of Columbus Circle on Eighth Ave., the Star was one of a rapidly vanishing class of Irish steam-table bars that were a warm embrace. A diminutive and quite old man named Pat, from Queens, served up a murderer’s row of comfort foods — piping hot pastrami, roast beef, meatloaf, brisket, turkey, with mashed potatoes and gravy and some other alleged vegetables. In the back was a large room with linoleum floors, booths and sturdy tables and chairs, bad lighting and dodgy bathrooms. It had its regulars and, with a bus stop right out front, its transients. Behind the long bar along the left wall was another Patrick, young and stout, by way of Ireland’s County Wexford, who became my best friend during my years there. And on the business side of the bar were men like this one, recognizable in any city anywhere. (1995)
Ancestors, Orleans, Mass.
Betty and Reginald, my mother’s parents. Reginald was an insurance man from Baltimore who made his career at INA in Philadelphia. Betty, born near Richmond, Va., raised my mother. Betty is wearing a wig. Reg’s cardigan is now mine. I learned unconditional love from them. (1988)
Old Colony Tap, Provincetown, Mass.
Late morning, mid-September The usual drill is to wait for the rainy day that always comes. Let the fishing rod and muscles rest. Arrive around 10 a.m. It’s a shot-and-beer bar, and by noon you’re ready to wander Commercial Street. (2006)
