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| Saturday, 01 March 2008 07:01 |
The Hardened Soul of Philadelphiaby Charles BellingerIt’s a strange thing this place called Philadelphia. I’ve been gone for far too long but at least I’ll be back soon enough. It’s not a pretty place. Well, let me say that there are the classier more high-end parts…the gleaming skyscrapers and posh boutiques downtown. Then there’s City Hall and all those colonial buildings, so maybe it’s all that history that I adore. You can’t really look around that town and not see it, but it’s too damn bad that much of that history is broken. When industry left it never came back. Fishtown to Northern Liberties and most of the south part of town…the abandoned factories and warehouses; all of them the skeletal remains of a dying town. At least it should be dying but it’s not. That’s what makes it so damn good. In spite of everything - the high taxes, the shrinking populations, the post-industrial wastelands - it still thrives. Every night there are shows with bands and art exhibits and theater, and a stroll down Broad shows a town populated with investigatory journalists smartly dressed in stingy fedoras, trench coats, and three-piece suits. The old glamour is still there, too, warts and scars and all. For cold drinks on a modest budget, you can go into Bob and Barbara’s on 16th on any weekend where the elder statesmen of Philly’s jazz scene will be holding court. For the better part of three decades The Crowd Pleasers have charmed and enamored everyone from twenty-something hipsters to sixty year old retired investment bankers. On Sundays, the part time bartender and doorman, Lucky, makes sure that everyone can enjoy a proper soul food buffet. Then there’s McGlynchey’s, the last of the old guard and end all be all of taverns. Located amid the glass coated skyscrapers and tech sector complexes this old stone fronted tavern comtinues to allow patrons to smoke indoors, drink for next to nothing, and listen to Etta James on the juke. It’s not a pretty place, but most of the best things left aren’t. One would be hard pressed to find some sort of runway model standing by the curb waiting for some elusive taxi, but you’d see an off duty cop, a hardscrabble journalist or maybe that cute artist girl whose band played on the same bill as yours five years ago. Odds are if you came in a week later you’d see those same people, or someone that reminds you of them. During a brief stop back in town over the Christmas holiday I did just that. Saddling into the bar stool and packing a half-priced box of Lucky Strikes, a pint and a shot slid across the bar and ended up squarely in front. It was my usual and the Pete Townsend look-alike that ran the taps and poured the drinks gave me a firm tongue-lashing for having skipped town , vanishing like I did so many other times before. Then he told me it was on the house. So yes, there are a lot of problems - sky high murder rates and over taxation are just a few of them - but for every blemish and flaw, there are five more girls looking to go out and dance to James Brown, or an old fashioned reporter doffing his cap at the girl behind the bar, waiting for his pint and just trying to find a warm body to go home with. It’s been a while since I left but when I return it’ll be just the same…warts and all. Truthfully, I wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. Now if only I could remember where I put my cigarettes because it may be time for me to step out back, take a drag and think of that broken, dirty, and wonderful city. |
