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I
was
never
a
regular
but
I did have some good times
at the Buckaroo over
the last 6th of its 72 year existence. From what I saw, I'd say
they saved the best for last. The whole neighborhood was there, asses
to elbows inside, spilling over the sidewalk, even camped out
tailgating across the street in back of minivan with guitar,
beercooler, and the hatchback for an umbrella. I started a timelapse
video inside at 2 pm then went back and forth the two blocks home over
the course of the final voyage. Late in the evening I settled in a
corner where many mostly full beers had been abandoned. The bar was
deep with thirsty people and it was hard to move in any direction so I
made do tipping bottles and pint glasses alike with democratic
acceptance. The PCC
posse was in effect and Philadelphia
represented. People pocketed billiard balls for souvenirs, there was
dancing on the bar, and when it came time for last call the bartenders'
pleas fell on deaf ears. It must have been what bars were like in the
days before our present near total conformity and obedience--a
little wild and only slightly dangerous. People were smoking
indoors (normal 7 years ago, utter taboo today) even before the
motorcycles starting burning rubber in the bar. Most people immediately
fled, but some sat serenely puffing cigarettes in the haze of something
like mustard gas. The
Buck
died
slow,
an unkillable dragon.
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