It Ain't There No More
Back in another time and era, pre-October 4, 2008, that is, many of us who had formerly lived on the Upper West Side would regularly make pilgrimages to our dearly beloved Yogi's. Its closing by the real estate sharks made numerous headlines, and far beyond the confines of New York, judging alone by the responses I have personally received about our coverage of its demise.
On the night of its closing, numerous writers, journalists, and photographers showed up both to record this sad event, and also to have one last beer or shot, since at least some of them had puked there more than once.
While trying to navigate through the human sea of beer-worshippers who had gathered there that night, I started talking to this fellow who said he was there covering the closing for VanityFair.com. He said his name was George Gurley, and we talked.
His story, with the politically potent title of "Another Dive Bar Dies in Bloomberg's Manhattan", indeed captured the flavor, sounds, and scent of this bar, from the customers to the music to the bartenders to the bathrooms.
The story included a quote from me that I had wanted to celebrate my 60th birthday at Yogi's. That joyous day was Sunday, March 22, 2009. I had a cold all week, so I postponed any celebratory drinking until my aging body said "beer and vodka" to me instead of "soup and tea."
But I was in the neighborhood to have dinner and shop, so I wandered a few blocks to the intersection of 76th Street and Broadway, and sat down on a wooden bench in the area which separates Broadway. I had passed by the site a few times when it was all boarded up, and had also seen it recently now that the entire building has been ripped down, destroyed, incinerated, obliterated from our lives.
Now I have a photo of it, albeit an unintentionally misty one because I took it late at night with a phone camera, and not a real one.
I think the seeming haze adds a surreal quality to the photo, since all it took to destroy such a vibrant mini-community and oasis of controlled debauchery was the unquenched zeal and greed of a tiny handful of real estate, banking, and political pirates.
I'll be back drinking again very soon, now in my 60th year. I hope to see y'all in the barrooms – unless, of course, you're one of those types of bastards who go around looting and stealing from people like us. Our day is coming, and we'll bury you at the foot of the big beer can mountain. You can count on that, boys.
On the night of its closing, numerous writers, journalists, and photographers showed up both to record this sad event, and also to have one last beer or shot, since at least some of them had puked there more than once.
While trying to navigate through the human sea of beer-worshippers who had gathered there that night, I started talking to this fellow who said he was there covering the closing for VanityFair.com. He said his name was George Gurley, and we talked.
His story, with the politically potent title of "Another Dive Bar Dies in Bloomberg's Manhattan", indeed captured the flavor, sounds, and scent of this bar, from the customers to the music to the bartenders to the bathrooms.
The story included a quote from me that I had wanted to celebrate my 60th birthday at Yogi's. That joyous day was Sunday, March 22, 2009. I had a cold all week, so I postponed any celebratory drinking until my aging body said "beer and vodka" to me instead of "soup and tea."
But I was in the neighborhood to have dinner and shop, so I wandered a few blocks to the intersection of 76th Street and Broadway, and sat down on a wooden bench in the area which separates Broadway. I had passed by the site a few times when it was all boarded up, and had also seen it recently now that the entire building has been ripped down, destroyed, incinerated, obliterated from our lives.
Now I have a photo of it, albeit an unintentionally misty one because I took it late at night with a phone camera, and not a real one.
I think the seeming haze adds a surreal quality to the photo, since all it took to destroy such a vibrant mini-community and oasis of controlled debauchery was the unquenched zeal and greed of a tiny handful of real estate, banking, and political pirates.
I'll be back drinking again very soon, now in my 60th year. I hope to see y'all in the barrooms – unless, of course, you're one of those types of bastards who go around looting and stealing from people like us. Our day is coming, and we'll bury you at the foot of the big beer can mountain. You can count on that, boys.
Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, upper west side, Yogi's
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