Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XIII: Just like home

Oct. 4, 1985

Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XIII: 

Just like home.

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XXXV: Never in its three light years of venturing boldly up to unknown bar rails had the Third Lost Expedition contemplated an itinerary as favorable and familiar as the one which beckoned brightly on Bailey Avenue under the full moon over North Buffalo Saturday night.

        Since every one of the licensed establishments on this stretch of fabled federal Route 62 was filled with fond memories for many of the crew, the Captain couldn’t help thinking that only a freak mishap would keep this rendezvous from going into the books as their most pleasant interlude – a veritable rest stop in their mission to lift a libation in every licensed establishment on this highway from Niagara Falls to El Paso, Texas. Or as close to El Paso as they could get.

        That mishap certainly wouldn’t come from driving from one place to another. Once the shuttlecraft were docked outside the designated staging area – the Wurzburger-Hof at 3250 Bailey – everything else could be explored on foot.

        Nor would that mishap come from not being able to get a table there on the weekend. Experience indicated that the Wurzburger-Hof would be harboring a hefty clientele during the dinner hours, so the Captain took the additional precaution of reaching for his communicator and calling ahead for reservations.

        Plans didn’t call for sticking around to take in the evening’s entertainment – the easy-listening sounds of the Mary Simon Trio – so the management assigned the safari accordingly. Rather than put the troupe with the family crowd in the wood-paneled back room, they were installed in the most prominent place in the barroom, just inside the door, right smack in front of the front window.

        This proved convenient in more ways than one. Not only was the group easy for latecoming trekkers to locate, but it also was within handy hailing distance of the bar whenever another $5.50 pitcher of German-brewed Spaten draft beer was required, which was often.

        Once the party achieved optimum strength of 14, a full-scale scanning of the menu was in order, uncovering such ethnic favorites as sauerbraten, weiner schnitzel and some truly excellent potato pancakes. These single-digit delicacies were as easy on the purse as they were on the palate. Average price, including several rounds of drinks, came to less than $9.

        Hospitality didn’t end there, however. One of the troupe recognized one of the waitresses as Susan Briand, a former staffer of the late, lamented Deli Place in the University Plaza, that haven for lovers of strange and exotic brews which, unhappily, was consumed by fire last spring. That, in turn, led to an invitation from owner Greg Klaffka to enjoy a round of drinks on him. The gregarious Klaffka, after a hearty round of hellos, presented one and all with souvenir key rings.

        It was quite a different world that the safari stepped into diagonally across the street at Jimmy J’s, 3259 Bailey. The crowd was a generation younger and the theme was party, party, party. A sign on the wall designated a different special for every night of the week. Fridays offer 50-cent vodka drinks from 8 p.m. to midnight. Saturdays are Las Vegas Nights, the implications of which became clear to the Captain when he stepped up to the bar to obtain a $1.50 bottle of Molson’s Golden.

        With his change came a little card with perforated windows that opened to reveal slot-machine fruit combinations. Hit three in a row and win “Jimmy J’s Bucks,” good for things from the bar. One card was given out with every purchase. Or by specific requests, as one member of the party discovered. None of the group was a winner, however. Not that it much mattered. All were engrossed in the bar’s wealth of coin-operated games, notably video trivia and electronic darts.

        Similar pastimes awaited the trekkers at the next stop, Shirley’s O’Aces at 3215 Bailey. Since the place was relatively unpopulated, there was no trouble commandeering the shuffleboard bowling machine in the side room, where players spent the time between pucks admiring the mural depicting a cocktail lounge for dogs – “If people want to know what we look like, we should show them this,” the Quartermaster quipped – and the pool table beyond the bar, where the Chief Billiards Technician quickly put together doubles teams.

        The Mets game played on the TV while Barbara the barmaid bustled about bringing forth 55-cent Schmidt’s drafts and $1.25 Molson’s Goldens. Photo montages across the bar memorialized the regulars here, who must have been elsewhere this night, and a large blackboard in the rear proclaimed a “Goodbye Ann Marie” party at Shirley’s sister saloon, Shirley’s Ace of Clubs on Hertel Avenue.

        Population was thicker a couple doors down at Ray’s Antique Tavern, 3205 Bailey, a place which the Chief Nurse noted was a favorite of her grown-up daughters. They weren’t present, but a healthy crowd of other gamesters was on hand to take advantage of the twin pool tables that dominated the side room, not to mention the free popcorn, the scent of which dominated the area. During warm weather, there’s horseshoe pitching in the back yard.

        The charms of Ray’s didn’t stop there. The walls and ceiling were a veritable riot of old artifacts, particularly hats, lots of hats. Behind the bar hung an equally wondrous collection of buttons. Also prominent was a sign which read: “This ain’t Burger King. You get it our way or you won’t get it at all.” The Captain discovered what that meant when he asked for a split of Rolling Rock beer. “Sixty cents apiece, three for $1.25,” the barman barked.

        While the crew was inclined to linger, the Captain was considering the time. Several would-be expeditioners had suggested they might show up at the evening’s final port of call, Anacone’s Inn, 3178 Bailey, after midnight. Since that hour already had come and gone, the Captain reckoned that he’d better check in and see if they’d arrived.

        Aside from the gang around the pool table in the back room at Anacone’s, the club was entirely taken over by couples, none of them belonging to the safari. The Captain squeezed between a pair of them at the bar and settled in to wait with one of the bar’s famous beef on weck sandwiches and a $1.40 bottle of Guinness Stout.

        “A home away from home,” the sign outside Anacone’s proclaimed and though none of the missing members showed up, it once again proved to be an outstanding place to simply hang around, what with the jazz and oldies on the jukebox, sports on TV, the earnest, educated clientele and the abundance of homemade signs covering virtually every square inch of wall space. When the party from Ray’s rolled in, it wasn’t long before contentment settled in on one and all. Yes, there was no place like home.