New York City Bartenders & Patrons - nycbp.com

Requiem for the Village Idiot

Story by Eddie Goldman

Photos by Paul Katcher

Published Aug. 5, 2004

[LAST CALL AT THE IDIOT] I wrote the following in the early dawn hours of Sunday morning, August 1, while on my way home on the subway from the last night's bacchanalia at the now-closed Village Idiot. After arriving home, I polished it up a bit on my computer. Since this was originally posted on the message boards of the New York City Bartenders and Patrons web page, it refers to some of this bar's well-known chararacters without identifying them, including the rotund owner Tommy McNeill (who also owns Yogi's and The Patriot, similar operations in Manhattan), the statuesque bartender and actress Stephanie, and the wild and unpredictable bartender Lily.

It may not be the perfect requiem for this happily imperfect country and western dive bar, but I felt obliged to include it on this site, and the last call goes like this here:

At just about the stroke of 4 AM Saturday night/Sunday morning, the jukebox at the Village Idiot got around to playing David Allan Coe's "You Never Even Called Me By My Name." Whether by coincidence or divine intervention by the gods of country and western music who sit atop Mount Hank, singing along with this song would be the last collective act by the sweaty, smelly, drunken patrons of this now-closed bar. And it was the perfect country and western song to start to wind down the debauchery at this perfect country and western New York City bar.

I had arrived at the Idiot for its last night celebration at about 2 AM. There was still a line to get into this dump, ironic in that this bar was the antithesis of those snobby-ass, overpriced joints which try to make you wait out on the street as long as possible and demean you before taking their seven dollars for a bottle of warm beer. So I waited until all those on the line were admitted, and then wandered in without even having to show my ID like was demanded of me a few days earlier (then I showed my AARP card).

It was packed solid this night, and there even was a line for the toilet. It took forever to order a beer, so I finally ordered three of them because I knew I'd have downed them all by the time I could get some more. Inexplicably Tommy wasn't there, but there was a large bin to place mailing list forms which promised to announce what's next, although they still don't have a web site of their drunken own.

This was a pretty hardcore crowd for the Village Idiot's last night. There were plenty of regulars and bartenders, along with the usual assortment of winners, losers, chain-smokers and boozers.

Jenn and some of the other bartenders leapt upon the bar and began distributing the remainder of the ten years' worth of unwashed bras to the delighted, mostly male clientele. Some put them on over their shirts.

But after David Allan Coe and this group singalong, no more beer was served. The lights started going on too, never a welcome sign.

At about 4:18 AM, with the lights brightened even more, the remaining patrons groaned, "No!" A guy behind me commented to his friend, "It's over." His pal concurred: "It's over."

Before everyone was kicked out, however, Stephanie stood up on the bar and asked everyone to be quiet, which took several minutes. "Thank you," she said. "This is the last night." We all knew this, but still had trouble accepting it. Lily joined her on the bar, and said that the bar will be reopening in the fall, but added, "We don't know where yet." We were all encouraged to continue drinking at Yogi's and The Patriot, which some of us, but not all, have learned to do already. Some of the VI girls will be getting shifts at these places, but some are also apparently getting bumped as there just are not enough shifts to go around for everyone.

People didn't want to leave, but it was clear that there was little choice. So I took my last piss in this legendary bathroom, which no doubt helped cleanse it at least a little. More bras were passed out, and somehow I ended up with this tan one with the label indicating its size long since faded.

[LAST CALL AT THE IDIOT]At about 4:30 AM, the final customers were kicked out, all given stacks of free drink cards for The Patriot Saloon.

People hung out for a few minutes outside, but then began to scatter. I was stuck with this bra, and, as I started across 14th Street back to the subway, I ever so graciously offered it to some passersby, a few of whom I observed might have still been working. But even the hookers wouldn't take this thing, even after I explained that it was a one-hundred percent, genuine Village Idiot bra.

I entered the subway and began my ride home. I didn't see any fellow VI patrons in my car. I kept the bra beside me, but decided it was best just to leave it on the seat when I got off, which is what I did. By now either some skinny transit worker has it, or it has been deposited in the same type of place that the rest of VI's innards will soon inhabit when this yuppie comedy club opens up on its now-former site.

See y'all in Yogi's and The Patriot. And if you're one of those fabulous females who gets drunk at these places, make sure to wear some bras which you can spare to leave there.

Eddie Goldman hosts the Internet show "Knockout Radio" and is a columnist on MaxBoxing.com, and is Wrestling Editor at Grappling magazine and the ADCC News (news.adcombat.com).

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