(This column first appeared in the September print edition of the Hendersonian.)
A Facebook post by Algonquins Bar and Grill this summer reported that the venerable watering hole will no longer permit smoking.
Which led me to wonder, what other bar in town does permit smoking?
Which led me to wonder, how many bars are even left in Henderson?
Because there aren’t that many.
Oh, there are plenty of restaurants where one can order an adult beverage. But I’m talking about taverns, saloons … bars.
Downtown Henderson used to be chock-full of them. The 1957 city directory listed 10 taverns in the central business district alone — the Brass Rail, Cedar Bar, Fiesta Bar, Friendly Bar, Kozy Korner, Little Bar, Mecca Bar, Plaza Bar, the Right Quick and, of course, Wolf’s Tavern at First and Green.
But that list isn’t comprehensive. Former mayor and Gleaner publisher Steve Austin in 2011 reported that when he was a newsboy in the 1950s, there were 23 places downtown where one could buy alcohol, including pool halls, the Elk and Moose lodges and veterans’ halls.
When my wife and I pulled into town in 1980, there were still some bars downtown. Like Fred & Ginny’s Lounge in the basement of the Audubon Inn (formerly the Soaper Hotel), Doc Holliday’s Saloon across the street at 117 Second St., the Country Bar across from the city building, the Plaza Bar (also known, in various eras, as Puckett’s, Beardsley’s or Pier 101) at Second and Water and, of course, Wolf’s.
But there were so many others scattered around town. There was the, ahem, colorful Bridgeview Inn way up on 41-North. Also on the North Strip were The Alibi (once known as Trixi’s Alibi, later called The Black Horse Lounge) and the Filling Station Lounge (where tables were fashioned from glass-topped automobile tires). Near the cloverleaf was the cavernous Country Inn (formerly Pearson’s Tavern). And I heard the bar inside the original Ramada Inn was a right lively spot.
There was Algonquins on 41-South. Way out on South Green Street was the Sportsman’s Lounge. Out on Madison Street was Gabe’s Place, where some of us went one night when we heard a performer was going to sing some Jimmy Buffett songs, which ran out most of the disgruntled regulars who were unaccustomed to having melody with their cold beer.
And tucked into neighborhoods were, well, neighborhood hangouts like the Family Corner at 54 S. Holloway St. (later called Steve’s Billiards and Brains, where one of my best friends moonlighted as a bartender and first laid eyes on the comely — and, at the time, highly skeptical — young gal who he would eventually convince to become his wife). A block farther south was a joint called Spanky’s.
But none shone more brightly in my eyes than Metzger’s Tavern at 1000 Powell St., run by the team of Don Metzger and Joe Tigue in its heyday.
Metzger’s was literally the place where I could (and did) run into our mayor and my garbage man on the same evening. It was a great melting pot where men (but, once upon a time, no women) of all stripes came. Rick Pitino visited there once. So did governors and other sorts of cads. Christmas Eve celebrations were like family reunions.
In 2011, Metzger’s drew some unexpected national fame when the HuffingtonPost.com listed it among its 10 “Great Dive Bars Across America” thanks to Henderson native Brooks Reitz, who had gone on to fame as a restaurateur and mixologist in Charleston, S.C., and founder of the Jack Ruby Cocktail Co.
“The scene is incredible—everyone in the community drinking beer, telling stories, eating burgers, chomping on oyster crackers,” Reitz told the Huff Post. “It also doubles as a package store, so you’ve always got people coming in to buy a fifth of Old Grand-Dad and heading down the road. Priceless.”
Identifying Metzger’s as a great dive bar was considered a compliment by Reitz, who said, “The thing that makes these places special is that they are relatively untouched. They feel loved, worn, weathered and not at all fabricated. The history is real, and you can feel it in the bones of the space.”
But long before that, Joe Tigue foresaw the future. DUI laws had been tightened. Gas stations (well, convenience stores) sold the six-packs of beer that once passed through the drive-thru windows at Metzger’s and Wolf’s. The bar business was not at all what it once was.
One by one most of our saloons closed. Some were torn down. At least two burned to the ground.
Metzger’s today is patronized more for its expanded menu than for drinks (and it closes at 8 p.m.). The bar at Rookie’s remains lively, but Wolf’s sits empty. Algonquins years ago added a much-praised pizza, and more, to keep people coming by.
But you can’t light up a smoke there anymore.
