Thursday, February 5, 2009
inside the pocket of a clown
after reading the Gregoire piece the other day, i was struck by how much a love and adore the idea of taverns like the ones she writes about... at one point in time these taverns/bars/hotels were the central place in the neighborhood. They were where everyone would meet after work, where those who didn't work had a place to spend their afternoons digging themselves deeper into the 'pocket'. They in a sense, gave the community a place to congregate and thrive...But as it happens, all good things must fall and these once beautiful and cherished pieces of our community were left by the wayside...progress opened the door for further development and the older buildings were occupied by those that could not afford to go anywhere else, which in turn lowered the standard of living within them...i still remember the Cecil right on Jasper ave, about 15 years ago you could walk down that block and have 10 to 15 people ask you if you wanted to buy drugs...they would just open their hand and be holding a bunch of hash...it's almost as though it was accepted like it is in downtown Vancouver...it was more or less a crack house right on Jasper ave, fit only for the mice...i also think the smoking ban, as much as i accept it, has taken away from the authenticity of being in a bar like that...now instead of the scotch, smokes, and urinal puck stench of the commercial, it reaks like puke and booze...without the haze of tobacco, the aura is gone...
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Although the Cecil was near the centre of downtown, I honestly thought it was a memory that belonged solely to me. The dinginess, the smell, the occasional presence of puke and/or urine, I thought these were little mementos that only I was privileged to. Unfortunately, after reading Gregoire's piece and this blog, I was obviously mistaken. I am in no way trying to glorify the Cecil, but I was shocked at my own ignorance.
ReplyDeleteI too love the little taverns and hotel bars Gregoire mentions. On 104th street there is a tiny bar/tavern called "The Blind Duck", and it is the chosen rendezvous for some old friends and I when they return to Edmonton. A few of them attended Nait, and when it was 'game night' we would all bustle down to 'the Duck' to watch attentively [I on the other hand would feign interest until the post-season arrived]. Unfortunately, 'the Duck' is slowly withering away as more and more of the local student population migrate toward a far-off Brewsters. Slowly 'the Duck' is sinking further into obscurity, and it will not be long until its endurance fades in the face of Brewsters and "faux Irish pubs".