Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XVII: The portals of South Buffalo

Jan. 17, 1986

The Third Lost Expedition, Part XVII:

The portals of South Buffalo

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XXXIX: The crossing that lay ahead of the Third Lost Expedition as they set forth onto fabled federal Route 62 this particular Friday night was one which had confounded generations of their predecessors. Even as mighty a planner as Frederick Law Olmsted threw up his drafting pencil in dismay when confronted with it 100 years ago.

        This would be their passage out of the East Side and into South Buffalo, through a morass of meandering highways, railway viaducts and heavy industry, over the lowlands surrounding the once-treacherous Buffalo Creek. Needless to say, they couldn’t lift a drink in every licensed establishment along the highway from Niagara Falls to El Paso, Texas (or as close to El Paso as they could get), without taking the plunge.

        There were no way-stations on this part of the route, so a bit of preliminary fortification was in order. For this, the crew warily pulled up to dock outside a place at the corner of Bailey Avenue and Clinton Street called Desi’s Market Restaurant. From the outside, Desi’s resembled an old-fashioned neighborhood tavern, presumably pouring shots and beers for the drivers and the food wholesalers from the nearby Clinton-Bailey Market.

        On the inside, however, it was basic truck stop – white, Formica-topped tables, a long lunch counter and grill and signs covering virtually every square inch of wall space, offering things like pizza at 95 cents a slice and daily specials, which meant a $3.50 fish fry.

        Even so, it still had many of the amenities of a neighborhood bar. A draft of Genesee Beer or Cream Ale, normally 50 cents, could be had in a frosted schuper for 75 cents. One could indulge in chilled shots of vodka or peach or apple schnapps, 10 for $5. One could also buy six-packs to go. Clientele ranged from a pair of leather-jacketed bikers to a frisky group of young revelers who pushed together a bunch of chairs and tables, downed one drink and left. A car in the lot outside proclaimed: “Norman Skulski, Polish Prince of Painting.”

        Diversions included a bowling machine, a video game and a juke box, though the sound system played rock oldies from the ‘60s. The Native American Guide learned that they were compiled by a fellow named Mark, who is a cousin to the Desiderios who have the dinner theater restaurant in West Seneca. He lives upstairs.

        Reassured that there was no danger of the kitchen closing – it was open till midnight – the safari, which numbered 10, leisurely ordered an array of sandwiches, fish fries and wings, discovering that the daily 5 to 9 p.m. 10-cent chicken wing special was still in effect. They came from the grill in a leisurely fashion also, in servings that revealed what made the low menu prices possible.

        Next they set off to stiffen their resolve and sharpen their reflexes at an emporium half a block north at 727 Bailey Ave. called the Bowl Inn. Entering via a door off the parking lot, they passed a dozen bowling lanes with record scores posted above them and found their way to the tables and booths of the lounge and snack bar, lit partially by the glow of neon behind glass bricks.

        Beer was cheap here too – 50 cents for a Schmidt’s draft, 55 cents for Labatts 50 Ale on tap, $1 for a bottle of Ballantine’s India Pale Ale. The tables held little placards bearing the beaming, all-too-familiar face of Olympic gymnast Mary Lou Retton and the message: “C’mon, America. Go for 10. Go Bowling.” Though a couple lanes opened up, the trekkers opted to exercise their coordination at the video games instead.

        Then it was time to buckle into the shuttlecraft and head into the void. “How do we find the next stop?” someone asked the Captain.

        “No matter what happens, just keep following the Route 62 signs,” he instructed. “Sooner or later, you’ll wind up on South Park Avenue.”

        Amazingly, the perilous passage to South Buffalo went without incident, at least until they walked through the front door of McPartlan’s Grill, 1586 South Park Ave. at Alamo. Sitting smack in front of them was the Billiards Technician, his mate and their grown-up daughter. They had just finished a fish fry. “We couldn’t find that other place,” they explained, “so we decided to see if you’d show up here.”

        In truth, they may have had the better deal of it. McPartlan’s had a cozier décor – wood paneling, cloth covers on the backs of the chairs. It had cheaper beer – a Genesee draft was just 45 cents a glass. And its menu was less expensive. The haddock was $3.25. A beef on weck went for just $2. What’s more, the amenities included malt vinegar for the French fries and a beer cooler that housed half-liter bottles of foamy Spaten Club Weissbier, served with a tall glass for a mere $1.75.

        From the quiet of McPartlan’s, they transported to quite a different atmosphere at the Red Brick Inn, 1626 South Park. The long bar was crowded with amiable standees of both sexes and the computerized, space-age jukebox thumped with Motley Crue’s “Smokin’ in the Boys’ Room.” The Billiards Technician’s mate took one look and declared, “This place is hoppin’.”

        Even so, this wasn’t your basic South Buffalo hangout. There was no pool table, no hardcore loiterers. It was more like a singles bar with a strong neighborhood feel. Here a Genny draft went for 55 cents. A Molson’s Golden was $1.25. The décor included signs for the bar’s social club and primary election posters for Mayor Griffin. The grill behind the bar was still open to serve snacks – the fish fry had run out at 8 p.m. – and the Captain decided to see whether the place still served the specially spiced chicken wings it used to be known for.

        The wings were as small as those at Desi’s, but meatier and extraordinarily peppery, though they weren’t swimming in sauce. But was that special spice there? The Chief Science Officer couldn’t detect it. The Captain thought he could. To settle matters, they asked the manager, Dave Oake. “It’s still the same recipe,” he reported. “Maybe it’s a new jar of sauce.”

        For the nightcap, they ventured on to a pair of classic South Buffalo saloons that stood side by side at the corner of Folger Street – J&B’s Cozy Grill at 1757 South Park and the Capitol Bar at 1761 South Park. Oddly, the Captain hadn’t noticed them when he took preliminary readings of the sector.

        The Cozy Grill had a pool table, where the ultimate victor was the young bar assistant. It also had a fish tank standing in the center of the bar. The droll, middle-aged bartender explained there was a free drink waiting for anyone who dropped a coin into one of the shot glasses that stood on the bottom.

        The Capitol had no sign over the door, just a number. Inside was a long, looping bar and décor that could best be described as unfinished drywall. Behind the bar was a middle-aged woman with threads of grey in her hair. The pool table was full of waiting quarters. The Billiards Technician, having gone off in search of his kin when they didn’t show up at the Cozy Grill, checked back in and said he was going to go down to Argy’s at 1797 South Park to see if they were there. Sure enough, there they were. Their sensors hadn’t even picked up these two other places.