Adventures of the Second Lost Expedition, Part I: All aboard for the Lumber City

The Second Lost Expedition, Part I: 

All aboard for the Lumber City

Nov. 11, 1983

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XVII: In its golden era, when the factories along it were producing three shifts of thirsty workers a day, Oliver Street in North Tonawanda commanded its own entry in the Guinness Book of World Records – the greatest concentration of taverns on a single thoroughfare. Legend has it that there were 47 gin mills in the stretch between the Barge Canal at its southern end and its northerly conclusion at the city line, where it becomes Ward Road.

        One of the much touted but rarely accomplished feats of that misty, fondly-remembered period was the $5 grand tour, wherein a group of stalwarts, each bearing a fiver, would tip a 10-cent glass of draft beer in each of the licensed establishments on Oliver Street and celebrate at the final stop with a 30-cent shot of whiskey. But alas, the times for such triumphs of thrifty tippling have gone the way of the nickel cigar and the penny postcard.

        Besides that, a preliminary scouting survey revealed that roughly one-third of the bright lights in this once-fabled constellation have turned into dark stars, never again to lift the spirits with liquid libations. Even more distressing were reports of a harsh and unrelenting campaign by authorities in the Tonawandas against drunken drivers. Tales filtering in recounted roadblocks, patrol cars following motorists as they left the bars, long nights in jail and legal fees that ran into four figures.

        Determined not to let such a cruel fate befall the crew of the Second Lost Expedition as it set off on its new mission to visit every surviving establishment on Oliver Street, the Captain devised a transporter scheme not unlike the Space Shuttle. The sipping safari would congregate at a neutral nook not far from the Tonawandas, designate some sober pilots and load everyone into a couple capsules which would blast off into the night, returning to the rest of the vehicles at home base once the evening’s quest was complete.

        The sudden mid-evening arrival of the full party of eight was hardly subtle, however. It startled the denizens of the southernmost outpost, a modest place called The Little Club at 216 Oliver.

        “It just got crowded in here,” announced one of the young men lounging near the pool table on an upper level at the rear of the storefront-sized room. He and his friends took a hasty exit.

        The Little Club proved to be the very essence of the down-home tavern. A jar of pickled sausages and bowl of hard-boiled eggs stood on the counter behind the barmaid, augmenting a big selection of chips and nuts. According to hand-lettered placards, pizza and chili also could be had. Other signs announced the birth of a baby girl and the upcoming meeting of The Little Club’s club.

        Draft beer came in four varieties, with a glass of Stroh’s going for 40 cents. The repertoire of mixed drinks was limited, however. One of the crew members struck out with successive requests for a whiskey sour, a margarita, a vodka collins and a glass of white wine.

        Left to their own devices, the expeditioners gravitated to the billards, the puck bowling machine and a jukebox full of rock oldies. The Neon Knight took note of an outstanding assembly of Genesee Beer paraphernalia, but after that, amusements ran thin.

        A single regular held down the bar as the troupe set off on foot for the next stop, Bonnie’s Restaurant at 248 Oliver. The first arrivals struggled momentarily with a stuck aluminum storm door until an outcoming patron, impatient with gentler procedures, smashed it open with a hard, well-placed kick.

        Bonnie’s featured a puck bowling machine, a jukebox, a back room with a pool table and the same wood-veneer paneling as The Little Club, but the resemblances ended there. The predominant theme at Bonnie’s was Indian and so, apparently, was the clientele, a mature group which stood two and three deep around the bar.

        The air was dense with cigarette smoke and loud country music. The crew found a little breathing room near the bowling machine, which was set up in the hallway between the bar and the back room, but not much. A couple shuffles and it was time to go.

        The wood-veneer continued at Por’s Restaurant, 286 Oliver. So did the smoke and the loud music, although here the tastes ran toward Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Saturday Night Special.” A prominent sign above the door announced “Show ID,” which assured that the youngish-looking crowd was at least 19. A significant contingent seemed to be motorcyclists, their bikes put away for the winter, but not their leathers and their Harley-Davidson T-shirts.

        Clusters of young men and women filled the tables in the large barroom and smaller back room, where a billiards match was in progress. Aside from socializing, another attraction here is the pricing. Not only does Por’s offer a drink-and-drown special on Friday and Saturday nights, but it’s also easy on random orders. One crew member stood for a round of five drinks and got change from a $5 bill.

        A change of pace was anticipated across the street at O’Malley’s Pub, 291 Oliver, but it didn’t turn out that way. Ostensibly an Irish bar, it’s run by a couple young fellows named Jack Viola and Mike Kacz. In fact, that was Viola up in the deejay booth opposite the bar, loudly laying out rock hits of the ‘60s and ‘70s from a large selection of singles.

        The place also had a kitchen that turned out sandwiches and snacks, a neat wood-and-stucco décor and a game room out back, filled with a clean-cut young crowd. O’Malley’s also is big on drink specials – Monday, for instance, is beer night with $2.25 pitchers – but the most serious special is Heavy Drinking Hours – 6 to 8 p.m. – when draft beer is 30 cents and bar drinks are 75 cents.

        “Look, you can see six bars from this corner,” one of the crew marveled as all exited O’Malley’s and contemplated the universe from the intersection of Oliver and Schenck. On the opposite corner, at 300 Oliver, sat what appeared to be a Polish palm bar, full of house plants and comfortable amenities behind a sign that promised duck soup.

        Sure enough, here were wall-to-wall carpets, Heineken’s on tap, background music that stayed in the background, a refined sit-down sort of crowd and only one video game. The kitchen was still open, the barman reported, but there was no duck soup at the moment. “My mother makes that,” he said.

        Finding a table, the troupe summoned up a couple double orders of greasy, glorious chicken wings and studied the menu’s list of special drinks. The Neon Knight fancied one called The Mafia, which consisted of amaretto, Galliano, scotch and cream.

        Thus refreshed, with more than an hour left before the 3 a.m. closing time that prevails on weekends in Niagara County, the Second Lost Expedition pressed onward to one last stop – Wilke’s Pilot House Tavern at 342 Oliver. Here was a quintessential North Tonawanda hangout. Though the kitchen, which carries a good reputation, was closed, a genial group of grown-ups hung out at the bar. One of them was one of the city’s assistant fire chiefs.

        The Chief Science Officer recognized another patron instantly from his snow-white beard and hair. This was Fred Wisnieski, a North Tonawandan who’d gained a certain notoriety a couple football seasons ago when a newspaper pictured him in a Rich Stadium crowd, wearing a scatological version of the Talking Proud T-shirt.

        As the two of them talked over $1 bottles of Molson’s Golden, the others found amusements galore – pool, puck bowling, Pac-Man and pinball. Ultimately, last call arrived, spurring Wisnieski, the Chief Science Officer and the Captain to agree to get together some Saturday for a modern version of the old grand tour of Oliver Street. On the way out, they noticed a sign in the window that they hadn’t seen before. It was a realtor’s placard. This chummiest of outposts was for sale.