Tag Archives: hideout

Pacifica Pier: versions & evidence of me, evolving

During my “missing years” or the “healing ramble” or whatever, there was sort of a circuit of safe houses, hideouts and caches i rotated through which included Pacifica, California.

“Im just a constant headache.” is how I felt for a long long time (although I did not paint this myself on the pier)

A couple dear friends there looked out for me as I received of medical treatment there – some planned and some ummmm unintended.

As it goes, while looking for something else, I kept coming across mah ole face on four separate visits and right away could see the change as dealt with so much well, change and loss… “Losing everything” / my health, my erstwhile career, my energy, my mind, myself, my parents, and so much more.

the pier takes and “L” shape / you could often hear circle language is spoken, sometimes kids selling something, crab pots, fishing lines, a few dingy sinks for gutting your catch

The pier would be usually occupied by a scattered assortment of fishers and crab catchers, and others like me, just watching the waves rolling, fog twitching, the occasional hearty surfer, and every once in a while a humpback whale.

As usual, there’s more to say about “all of this” (yes, there’s a pending medical – specific report in the slow moving “healing ramble” series) but for now, I present to you: me & Pacifica pier which was a safe refuge for me as could walk back-and-forth – at the foot is a coffee shop serving clam chowder in a bread bowl and a Matcha latte, the street has so many cute little funky beach ‘shacks’ (any of them cost in million+ now) that, due to zoning regulations & shoreline protection mandates, couldn’t really be changed… so the area of town was sort of stuck in a past decade and showed it’s working class roots and rum running/bootlegging history.

Minor annotations included with the photos. Remarkable to me anyhow & a reminder of what “we” are capable of, I mean if I am able to tough it out, evolve and change with it all, you certainly can.

2014 / not happy with how I found myself in life as it was
2015 / it turns out the “unknown“ was a lot more dangerous than expected / and yes, it was much worse than this suggests
2016 / trying really trying to intrepidly step in to the unknown
2016 / an unexpected and unfortunate trip has no picture of my face but this is the coffee shop at the start of the pier
2018 / came to deposit my mother’s ashes off the end of the pier and took a moment to think about the changes my life would take in the months to come
2017/ Pacifica on a scrapbook and a Lomo rolling with me through Thailand

I Hell<3 Pacifica. Grateful.

wandering, wandering, being grateful and dreaming about the future
and oh how we rambled!

Mysterious Speakeasy in Greenwich Village

I am headed to NYC next month for a biz-ness trip (staying a fancy mid-town hotel shockingly enough) and my amigo out there pointed me to the private stash of all bars boasting a history of runaway slaves, literary heroes, illicit alcohol and haunting poltergeists. I am totally going.

Heck, I even made google map to the secret libation locale (though i’ll probably still have to find the stealthy entrance in the alley).

The bar is up for sale (3.75 million USD in case you are wondering) and the place doesn’t necessarily have a name. ‘Chumley’s‘ or ’86 Bedford’ seem to be the parlance of choice.

Anyhow, here is a snippet from the article 86 Bedford Street in NY Resident magazine by Rachel B. Doyle filling in the pieces of the stories,

Despite the building going on the block, Chumley’s isn’t going anywhere since its lease isn’t up until 2085. Touted as “the oldest speakeasy in the country to retain its original ambiance,” Chumley’s has been around since 1926 —when it was purchased by Leland Stanford Chumley, who remodeled the front of the former blacksmith’s shop with innocuous garage-like doors.

Behind this obscure facade, lay the favorite illicit watering hole of literary luminaries such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner, Jack Kerouac, Norman Mailer, Anaïs Nin, Simone de Beauvoir and J.D. Salinger (before he became a recluse). The original incarnation contained kitchen entrances disguised as bookshelves, two trapdoors to conceal spirits, and a trick staircase designed to foil the police.

“It’s supposed to give the illusion that we’re in a basement, when in reality we’re on street level. It allowed the bartenders some time to clear away alcohol during Prohibition,” said John Lefebvre, a waiter at Chumley’s.

The entrance remains the same as it was in the ‘20s: unmarked and only accessible by a clandestine rear passageway leading from Barrow Street. And Chumley’s will likely never have a sign, as landmark designation restricts anything having to do with physical changes.

A little known fact about 86 Bedford St. is that its seditious reputation actually precedes Prohibition. According to legend, the building was also a refuge for runaway slaves – due in part to it’s proximity to Gay Street, which had a large pre-Civil War era free black community.

“In the floor of the bar there is a trapdoor that lifts up. These same tunnels that may have been used to transport slaves were later used to transport the alcohol into the restaurant during Prohibition,” said Lefebvre, who also just completed a documentary about Chumley’s. “I’m looking right at it.”

While some reviews speak disparagingly about the Chumley’s micro brews (flat and lifeless) and the meat heads (read fratboys) who have found the enclave (to high five in) while others mention the proximity to a firehall which suffered major casualties during the WTC incident or the discussion if this is where the term “getting 86’ed” originated and yet one more talks about the dog patrons – (geez i though it was just Oly’s Eastside Club which allowed dogs) – in a post What’s up with the dogs at Chumley’s?

chumleysfront.jpg

Here’s the door – is there a secret knock?

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