Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XXI: A big night in Blasdell.

May 16, 1986

Adventures of the Third Lost Expedition, Part XXI:

A big night in Blasdell

CAPTAIN’S LOG, BAR DATE XLIII: Pulses quickened when the Captain announced the designated staging area for the Third Lost Expedition’s latest exploration of fabled federal Route 62 in continuing pursuit of their quest, namely to lift a liquid libation in every licensed establishment along that highway from Niagara Falls to El Paso, Texas. Or as close to El Paso as they can get.

        This time they would assemble at coordinates of wide renown, Ilio DiPaolo’s Restaurant and Lounge, 3785 South Park Ave. in the heart of downtown Blasdell, the domain of a retired wrestling star of a generation ago. Scouting reports indicated not only that the food was good, but that the party also stood an excellent chance of encountering the great man himself.

        They gathered in the Ringside Lounge, a dark, intimate room full of souvenirs of DiPaolo’s career. There were formal photos and action photos, autographs and framed newspaper clippings, even a set of ropes from the ring installed upside down on the ceiling, where they outlined the perimeter of the bar.

        There was no doubt who the proprietor was as he strode through the swinging doors at the back of the bar. Still trim, the years have little changed him, aside from the touches of grey in his full head of wavy hair. He was ready to give autographs at a moment’s notice, inscribing business cards which carried a photo of him from his pro days on the reverse side.

        “Eh, campari,” he greeted the Captain, clapping his shoulder with a hearty stroke. His hands were mighty, so big that they engulfed the hands of well-wishers as he shook with them. He was particularly pleased to speak Spanish with one expeditioner, the Cosmic Caballero, having spent several years in Latin America between the time he left Italy and when he came to wrestle in the U.S.

        Settling in finally at a table for 15 in a banquet room that was surprisingly understated, the crew took full advantage of the family restaurant’s gourmet touches. No chicken wings ($4.50 for a large order of 24, not 20 pieces), no pizza for this bunch. The result was complete fulfillment. The sauces were zesty, the fish fry generous, the garlic bread superb. They thanked the proprietor profusely as they departed.

        Cheers erupted as they arrived at their next destination – McPartlan’s South, 3726 South Park. They walked in at the very moment the Montreal Canadiens scored the goal that clinched their victory in their Stanley Cup semifinal series against the New York Rangers. Also cheering was the sight – and eventually the sound – of singer and guitarist John McCann, who was setting up for an evening of entertaining in the back room.

        McPartlan’s South was so exuberantly Irish that it seemed like it was still St. Patrick’s Day. Everywhere the eye came to rest – including the plaque identifying the proprietors, Tom and Judy Gilbride – there were shamrocks. Lining the upper walls were drinking mugs, hundreds of them. Thus inspired, the expeditioners scanned a sign on the wall which offered half a dozen import beers for $1.35 a bottle and ordered a round of Beamish Irish Cream Stout.

        Had they been hungry, McPartlan’s South could have handled that, too. The place offered a fish fry not just Friday, but every day, plus a series of $10.99 Mother’s Day dinners for two. Nibblers could find solace on the back bar, where there were not only candy bars, but also a jar of pickled eggs for 35 cents apiece.

        Accommodations didn’t end there, however. Like many other oases in this part of the galaxy, McPartlan’s South is a darts bar. “Welcome, Darters,” signs proclaimed and three boards awaited them. An obliging barman not only cleared tables from in front of one of the boards, but also brought out an assortment of darts and scorekeeping markers for the party. Needless to say, that necessitated another round of Beamish.

        For their third exploration of the evening, the crew was obliged to backtrack north around a bridge-construction detour to reach the Stop Inn, 3445 South Park, which stood at the very corner of the turn-off. This also was a two-room affair, roughly the size of McPartlan’s, which offered a Friday fish fry, along with chicken wings five nights a week, and a special consisting of a roast beef sandwich and a Genesee beer for $2.50.

        Amusements were abundant – a pinball machine, a dartboard, a Trivia video game and a pool table, plus a live band, the Willie Mays Blues Band, turning out righteous renditions of such classics as Jimmy Reed’s “Big Boss Man.”

        Circling the detour to the south again, they docked in the parking lot of a Convenient Food Mart across from the Blasdell Inn, 3868 South Park, where the most prominent decoration was an immense sign promoting the Multiple Sclerosis Society’s Ugliest Bartender Contest, which has just begun its month-long run. The man behind the bar certainly had a line on it – a gruff but obliging fellow, he was quick to pick up on the trekkers’ requests for $1.25 bottles of “Molson’s Red,” the red-labeled export ale.

        Diversions included a jukebox full of old and new rock records, an electronic dartboard, a Trivia machine and a pool table, where teams of attractive young women were holding their own against the males in attendance. The Billiards Technician and the Chief Science Officer couldn’t resist the challenge and actually won the table from the women. But their triumph was short-lived. They lost to the guys by sinking the eight-ball on the next round.