Barfly’s opened in 2001 in tribute to director Barbet Schroeder’s 1987 film, Barfly, starring Mickey Rourke and Faye Dunaway. That’s exactly what I thought it was when I heard about the Midtown bar, around the turn of the millennium, and why I never stepped foot inside until a couple weeks ago.
The name is a lot of smoke to blow: Barfly was famously written by Charles Bukowski (1920-1994), whose literary canon is devoted to suffering and meagerness and booze. Like the movie, Bukowski never romanticized the drinking life; he only demonstrated endurance for it. After 25 years, I figured Barfly’s might have found its footing.
There’s nothing reminiscent of the movie in the second-story space, which augurs well because this isn’t Los Angeles in the 1970s. The cave-dark room is long and lean with brick walls and hardwood floors. Two pool tables and a battered jukebox sit up front; walk past the five-seat bar and the vintage Pac-Man arcade console to find a back room with pool and foosball.
The bartender has worked there for more than 20 years, which is a hearty endorsement for a neighborhood bar. I gave him my last seven dollars and he gave me a beer, a generous shot of whisky, and a history lesson.
The space was once the Saddle Club honky-tonk and then, until the start of the 21st century, a notorious dive called Charlie’s Attic, remembered now for its peanuts and cockroaches. The small back room used to be something of a hideout for the owner of a steak-house formerly located downstairs (now the Golden Horn; the name is another nod to Barfly). Such history brings proper perspective to Barfly’s; the walls certainly hold some interesting tales, if only they’d talk.
On this average evening in January, billiard balls clacked in the background as two guys in their 30s discussed politics, society, the self. One of them correctly used the word “detritus”. A young stud ordered a “Seven and Seven,” which is a cocktail from my parents’ generation of Seagram’s Seven Crown whiskey and 7 Up. Meanwhile, I leaned on the bar and talked with a gentleman who collects coins from around the world, specializing in money with nudity. I learned that, from antiquity to the modern age, it’s never been that hard to find penises and boobs on minted currency.
Pulp Fiction played (muted) on the screen above the bar while the jukebox chipped in with “Heroine” by the Velvet Underground. The bartender said the jukebox doesn’t get updated often. “It’s part of the fabric of the place,” he said. “The music fits.” (In this day of TouchTunes and everything-on-demand, wiser words haven’t seldom been spoken.)
More people arrived, but it didn’t get crowded. Later, an older couple came in, saying, “We went to the store and thought, ‘Why not take a shot?’” They stayed for an hour, convincing me to do the same because “Where else is going to make the night that much better?”
I don’t know what it was like its first 25 years, but Barfly’s features no karaoke, no live music, no food. It has no agenda except to open each day for its customers. That’s endurance. Bukowski would approve.
5420-B Airport Blvd. Open Monday through Friday 5 p.m. to 2 a.m.; Saturday and Sunday 7 p.m. to 2 a.m.
The Deep End regularly spotlights Austin’s legacy bars. Anthony Head wrote the bestselling Texas Dives: Enduring Neighborhood Bars of the Lone Star State and has been documenting friendly hangouts in Texas for over 17 years. His show Texas Dives Radio is heard Tuesdays 2 – 3 p.m. on KZSM.org.
Great Job Anthony Head & the Team @ Austin Monthly Magazine Source link for sharing this story.
