There are moments when you miss
the ‘good old days.’ Well, maybe just pieces of the ‘good old days.’
We live in times with so many
important issues to talk about. So many challenges to meet. We have access to torrents
of information.
Yet there is never time to really
talk; never enough time to sort what is authentic and what is superficial.
Social media connects more of us
more often but it also has distanced us from our traditional interpersonal
communication. So many information exchanges and conversations are the digital
banter of abbreviations, snippets, Emoticons and other shortcuts that save time
but dilute context.
One part of the ‘good old days’
that I miss, TBH, is the beer parlour. Yes, to be honest, I miss the beer
parlours, or hotel beverage rooms.
Beer parlours were abundant in every
settled Canadian landscape. Any place there was a factory, mill, mine or timber
operation, there was a beverage room nearby. They were working class social
meeting places where the news, information and opinions of the day were shared
F2F.
In Ontario they popped up like
mushrooms in 1934, six years after Prohibition ended. Ontario allowed them
in hotels, where they quickly became the most popular places for men to drink.
After the Second World War, women were allowed into beverage rooms, but they
were restricted to separate rooms marked ‘Ladies and Escorts.’
Beer parlours were simple places
in simpler times. In their original form they were rooms with tables and chairs
and seven-ounce glasses of draft beer on round trays delivered by waiters.
You had to be sitting to be
served. There were no stand-up bars like in the western movies. And, you needed
a government card to drink and the government kept an interdicted list of
persons forbidden from being served.
There was no entertainment, no
food, no gambling. No distractions, unless a fight broke out. Just beer, cigarettes
and conversation – face to face with friends and colleagues, usually after work.
There was context in those
conversations because you could read the faces and body language of the people
sitting across from you.
My introduction to beer parlours
was in Sault Ste. Marie, which being a steel plant town had by my fuzzy memory
close to two dozen beverage rooms. The most popular were the Roosevelt (The
Rosie), The New American (The New A), The Beaver Hotel, The Nicolet, The Algoma,
The Lock City, The Royal, The New Ontario, The New Toronto and The Empire. And,
of course, The Victoria House (The Vic).
The beer parlours attracted all
kinds of characters, and some of the most interesting were the owners and the
servers.
The Sault’s Victoria House was
owned by a Chinese family – the Chows. Charlie Chow established the place and
his five sons took it over in 1951 after he died.
Each of the Chow brothers – John,
King, Joe, Albert and James – had a distinct role in running the beer parlour. But any one of them could be seen pouring beer
behind the bar or delivering it to the tables.
The trademark of the Chow brothers
was their uncanny knack of knowing the favourite beer of each of their
customers. The regulars arrived at The Vic, took a seat and were served their
favourite without ordering.
The memories of the Chow brothers
were remarkable. I returned to the Sault for a visit after a two-year absence.
I went The Vic to see if any of my former colleagues were still about.
I took a seat at an empty table
and saw Jimmy Chow place a bottle of beer on a tray and head in my direction. One
hand covered the bottle label as he approached my table. The other held a
bottle opener.
“Ole We-enia, Jim,” he said in his
sing-song accent.
I hated Old Vienna beer and always
drank Crystal lager. I threw up my hands in protest. “No, no Jimmy. Wrong one!”
Jimmy snapped the cap on the beer and
placed it on the table, turning the label toward me. It was a Crystal Lager. He
went back to the bar, giggling all the way.
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