“Why are you taking a picture of me?” the man demanded. “It’s weird.”
It is a good bar, open and airy, but pleasantly divey. Each of the two main rooms has its own bar. The room on First Avenue has walls covered with plenty of funky memorabilia: Coast Guard lifesavers, odd advertisements and signs, cut-outs of Wally and the Beaver, and, of course, the everpresent “12.” The decorations are from many decades, but not much from the twenties and thirties in honor of the shantytowns of the Great Depression. There are no TVs in the room, but The Velvet Underground was playing when we sat down at the end of the bar.
We ordered drinks -- blackberry pear cider for Mindy, apple for me. Most of the other seats were occupied, and there was a dog at the other end.
We wanted to end the year with a particular place a few blocks away from Hooverville and across the street from Safeco Field (soon to be T-Mobile Field). Mindy’s dad's name is “Henry,” and he was not enthusiastic about our bar visiting project. His upbringing and choice are anti-alcohol, and he wondered why we couldn’t go to cafes rather than bars throughout the country.
I explained I wasn’t taking a picture of him specifically. I was taking a picture of the bar for a blog we do about visiting a different bar every week. This seemed to satisfy him.
But he was right. It is weird. For three years we’ve been doing this peculiar thing -- going into places as strangers where friends gather. Taking pictures of the signs outside, stuff on the walls, bottles behind the bar, and sometimes even the restrooms -- and of course the food and drinks (sure, millions of people post pictures of their food and drinks on Instagram, but that doesn’t make it less stupid. Especially when the photo is of something as banal as a can of Mike’s Hard Lemonade next to an empty glass).
But he was right. It is weird. For three years we’ve been doing this peculiar thing -- going into places as strangers where friends gather. Taking pictures of the signs outside, stuff on the walls, bottles behind the bar, and sometimes even the restrooms -- and of course the food and drinks (sure, millions of people post pictures of their food and drinks on Instagram, but that doesn’t make it less stupid. Especially when the photo is of something as banal as a can of Mike’s Hard Lemonade next to an empty glass).
This was the last weekly bar visit, so we'd decided to go to two bars to wrap the project up. We decided to start with Hooverville because it’s a few blocks from the hotel where I work, and it seemed like a good idea to go myself to the place I'd mentioned to guests when they ask what's open after 11:00 pm.
It is a good bar, open and airy, but pleasantly divey. Each of the two main rooms has its own bar. The room on First Avenue has walls covered with plenty of funky memorabilia: Coast Guard lifesavers, odd advertisements and signs, cut-outs of Wally and the Beaver, and, of course, the everpresent “12.” The decorations are from many decades, but not much from the twenties and thirties in honor of the shantytowns of the Great Depression. There are no TVs in the room, but The Velvet Underground was playing when we sat down at the end of the bar.
We ordered drinks -- blackberry pear cider for Mindy, apple for me. Most of the other seats were occupied, and there was a dog at the other end.
And there were dollar bills. Many, many dollars were tacked up around the shelves behind the bar (and even on the ceiling), and almost all of them have the letter H in the circle on the front -- like the bar's logo. "People like giving us dollars," the bartender told Mindy when she asked about them.
Meanwhile, I'd gone into the other room to check it out. The NFL and the NBA were on the TV screens, and there were dart boards and pool tables as well. The man who asked me about taking pictures approached me. After I told him about our project, I asked him our two questions, “What makes for a good bar?” and “Whether you go or not, what makes for a good church?”
Meanwhile, I'd gone into the other room to check it out. The NFL and the NBA were on the TV screens, and there were dart boards and pool tables as well. The man who asked me about taking pictures approached me. After I told him about our project, I asked him our two questions, “What makes for a good bar?” and “Whether you go or not, what makes for a good church?”
He said, “I go to both. It’s different for everybody. You can’t force church on anybody, it’s something they have to decide for themselves.” I asked him what he looked for in a bar and he said, “I need time alone.” I asked for a name to use for the quote, and he was reluctant, but I when I said it didn’t have to be real, he said “Tom.”
The bar was getting busier, and we didn't want to interfere with the bartenders by asking them more questions, so we decided it was time to head to our second bar.
We wanted to end the year with a particular place a few blocks away from Hooverville and across the street from Safeco Field (soon to be T-Mobile Field). Mindy’s dad's name is “Henry,” and he was not enthusiastic about our bar visiting project. His upbringing and choice are anti-alcohol, and he wondered why we couldn’t go to cafes rather than bars throughout the country.
He's a retired pastor, and when he told the pastor of his church (who's younger than Mindy and me) about our project, Dad was surprised that the pastor thought it was a good idea. After that, Dad seemed to warm a bit to the project, sometimes asking about our "tavern" visits.
That's why it really did seem imperative that we finish this project with a visit to Henry's Tavern. We got there at 7:50 on Thursday night, and there was a long line for the holiday light maze and skating rink at Safeco Field nearby and lots of foot traffic on the street. Mindy tried to open one of the double doors, but it didn't open, so she tried the other. It, too, was locked. She looked inside, and the hostess gestured that they were closed. (We noticed that the opening times, but no closing times, were listed on the window near the doors).
We could see families with small kids finishing their meals inside. Henry's Tavern (probably fittingly) really did seem more like a restaurant than a bar, so we were happy that our last bar in the project was Hooverville.
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