Scott called me this afternoon. Im sure hes on a train, and he is. On the other end of the line I can hear the diesel engines. Scott is yelling at me.
“I’m going to be in Jack London Square tonight! Meet me at Heinhold’s First and Last Chance Saloon.”
Sweet! I haven’t been to Jack London Square in probably 10 years. And I was so drunk I dont remember the place at all. I’ve never been to Mr. London’s favorite bar, so I accepted Scott’s invitation. I don’t know what the bar looks like, or where exactly it is, but I know I’m going.
At 9pm I pulled into the empty football-field-sized parking lot at JLS. Its very dark out, being the night-time, and the area is very unfamiliar to me. I can hear a buoys bell ringing in the distance. Its slightly foggy. Through the mist I see the neon glow of the lights outside a little shack that signals “This is the place.”
The bar is an old, small, square building.–very small, in fact. Not exactly what you’d expect in a National Historic “Spot”. The outside is covered in dark, aged timber that makes it look like those old shanties you see in ghost towns. The front door looks like it’s going to fall off. A sign above the entrance reads, “1883”.
When you walk in, you step down. The first half of the bar slants downward at a 10 degree angle. The bar counter top is to your right, and just as crooked. In 1906 a huge earthquake slammed San Francisco and the Bay Area (maybe youve heard of it?). The earthquake wreaked havoc on the little bar, and they never fixed it.
Hanging over the bar are working gas lamps, and Jimmy the bartender tells me that THIS is the only bar in California that still has them. The walls are covered in that old-bar memoribilia stuff that you see in old bars: business cards, hats, bras, dollar bills, old pictures… all the usual crap, and all covered in 6 inches of dust and 121 years of bar crud. Not an inch of real estate on the walls or ceiling is clear.
Jimmy points to the corner and says, “That’s where Jack London sat and listened to all the old salty sea dogs tell their tales. That’s where he got his inspiration for his books. That’s where he sat, next to the wood burning stove, and hastily scribbled notes for his novels.”
As I sip my beer I look behind the counter and see a sign that reads, Full chicken dinners, 5 cents. I wonder what it must have been like to be a sailor on shoreleave, eating meat for the first time in months. What must have it had been like to live back then? And what about this bar? How many people have sat where I am now sitting? How many people have died in this bar? How many have fallen in love?
I ponder this over a Silver Bullet, as I sit next to my buddy Scott and enjoy his company in such a cool place.