Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XII: Approaching the promised land.

Aug. 23, 1985

Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XII:

Approaching the promised land.

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XXXIV: It was with considerable anticipation that the Third Lost Expedition rounded the corner at Sheridan Drive and North Bailey Avenue and surveyed the brand-new universe that lay in front of them on this, the latest installment of their quest to lift a libation in every licensed establishment on fabled Federal Route 62 from Niagara Falls to El Paso, Texas. Or as close to El Paso as they could get.

        After light years on the Niagara Falls Boulevard suburban strip, with its seemingly endless succession of restaurant-lounges, family-style eateries and franchise outlets, the sipping safari was ready to sink its sensors into some real bars. They didn’t have to look far to find one. The party glanced around approvingly the moment they stepped into the designated staging area, Bogart’s Bailey Bar at 4414 Bailey Ave., Eggertsville.

        This was no duded-up homage to scenes from “Casablanca,” bur rather a rustic and unpretentious kind of place. There were flagstones on the floor, barnwood on the walls, along with a few artsy and alcohol-related posters. The bar itself jutted prominently into the path of entry and around it could be found a healthy compliment of regulars, knocking back beers and mixed drinks. Aside from the 90-cent mugs of Michelob draft, all appeared to carry a universal price of $1.25.

        Bogart’s clearly inspires loyalty among its denizens, as the Captain discovered in conversation while waiting for his first round of drinks. It wasn’t hard to see why. This was a consummate hangout, a long, narrow room complete with sound booth, video games and pinball machines, not to mention those baskets of complimentary popcorn. What’s more, it had a kitchen that was open until midnight, offering snacks, sandwiches and, since this was Friday, a $3.75 fish fry.

        The kitchen wasn’t quite prepared for a group the size of the expedition, however. When the troupe had their fill of games and retired to a table, it was discovered that Bogart’s doesn’t employ a full-time waitress, but lets a rather harried cook handle the orders, the cooking and the serving all by herself. Needless to say, the food took a while.

        There arose considerable dissension about how to approach the next landing at the Pizza Hut at 3980 Bailey and Grover Cleveland Highway. Since this was the fourth Pizza Hut the trekkers had encountered in 12 outings, many agreed with the Chief Science Officer, who maintained that the place should be given a quick study over a single pitcher of beer, followed by an even quicker exit. Others, however, were inclined to linger. The Billiards Technician’s Mate spread out a display of jewelry she’d become a distributor for. One pitcher of beer turned into four. A couple pizzas materialized, too.

        Returning finally to their transporters, the crew shifted into warp drive for a long voyage to the next outpost, crossing Main Street into the City of Buffalo, passing the old UB campus, noting the demise of Khaki’s at the corner of Winspear and finally coming to rest in a spot familiar to most of them, The Library at 3405 Bailey.

        Like all the nightspots run by the Turgeon clan, this one had a comfortably clubby and cluttered ambiance, with lots of books and other paraphernalia lining the walls and lots of tables in the barroom and adjacent dining room. It had an earnest young staff, as well. But flawless, it wasn’t. The free taco chips in baskets on the bar were stale. Service tended to be a bit frustrating. And the waitress was obliged to cut a path through the video game players next to the bar in order to reach the patrons beyond.

        Half of the party, which numbered 16 at this point, retired to a table to sample the dessert menu, which included things like a strawberry cheesecake soda with real strawberry cheesecake in it. The other half hung out at the video games and made short work of pitchers of draft Guinness Stout at $8 apiece.

        On a beerdrinking visit here several moons ago, the Captain and Chief Science Officer had marveled at the round-the-world list of 40 beers and delighted at the promotional “passports” which curious drinkers could fill out by sampling each brand. This time, having become sophisticated in these matters, they discovered that they’d quaffed all of these brews within the past year or so and that the list wasn’t really so exotic after all. The Chief Science Officer, having ordered a Czechoslovakian Pilsner Urquell for $2, decided he might as well get a passport book anyway, but was rebuffed when he asked to have his drink duly checked off.

        Better, in that case, to find the stairs and climb to the second level to the BBC, which was as kinetic as The Library was sedate. A big open room – all glass, brass, wood and mirrors – with a bar left-of-center affording a long panorama of the street outside, its focus was a sound booth and dance floor at the far end, over which signs were posted that warned: “No Dancing Allowed.” A pair of young women, appreciating the irony of this order, danced a peculiar crouched, hopping step. It was midnight and there were perhaps 10 people present altogether. Within half an hour, the total had more than tripled.

        A large retractable video screen formed a backdrop on which rock videos were projected, notably Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam’s “I Wonder If I Take You Home” and a superset of Madonna. The young men in the place, decked out in T-shirts emblazoned with logos of such summer spots as Captain Kidd’s in Angola, sang along to “Neverending Story.” To liven things up, the deejay announced a drink special – 50-cent shots of root beer schnapps as long as the next video was playing.

        Across the street at Muldoon’s, 3398 Bailey, a portable electric sign at the curb proclaimed a perpetual 50-cent special on not just root beer schnapps, but on peach schnapps, too. Downing a few samples from plastic shot cups, the remaining expeditioners reverted to their usual potions and settled into the pastimes at hand. They were plentiful. Video games, a bowling machine and, best of all, a pool table.

        Holding down the pool table was a talent the crew quickly dubbed Ross the Boss. He informed them that he’d been there since noon and had only spent 50 cents. The Billiards Technician rose to the challenge after a few unsuccessful doubles matches and took him on head to head, fighting a seesaw match until the final ball made him victorious.

        During slow moments, the others discovered the art deco remnants of the front for a long-departed Italian restaurant on the side of the building. The interior, with its wood paneling and its black ceiling flecked with glitter, was a souvenir of the ‘60s. Now it was a penultimate hangout with a Sunday oldies night featuring 50-cent draft beers (Miller, Michelob and Bud) and 75-cent vodka drinks. Clearly this was an omen, an unmistakable indicator. Yes, after all those months on the boulevard, the trekkers had finally reached the promised land.