A great article on the preppy bar scene in Georgetown in the 1980s. Brings back some great memories.
Tom Buchanan
That was a great read. Thank you for posting the article. I especially enjoyed following the links to the original newspaper articles.
I feel like I missed out, going to college not long after the drinking age was raised to 21 just about everywhere.
Anyway getting back to the article, it sent me down the google rabbit hole and found this enjoyable account by a former DC intern:
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"Let's see if we can get an internship in Washington this summer" my fratty brother WHS said to me one day. After about thirty seconds of deep thought….you know….measuring pros and cons and all the other stuff that a beer soaked college junior would engage to make such a decision I said…"ok". One of the real motivators of WHS's suggestion that he and I apply for an internship was that I had a really good relationship with this old fella-a legendary alumnus who had connections in Washington.
"Call EFM and see if he'll help us" …and again I said…"ok". Now you gotta realize that EFM by this time was like about a hundred and fifty eight years old. Great southern drawl and could entertain you with stories all day long. But at a hundred and fifty eight-he could be crotchety. I don't mind admitting that I was nervous as shit dialing his home phone number and like all these situations-my well rehearsed lines clotted and clabbered as soon as I heard his voice. I eked out the statement that WHS and I would like to go to Washington for the summer and all EFM said was "you will go" and hung up.
A week or so later WHS and I both got a packet from the Senate Judiciary Committee of which the guy we would work for was a member. We were told when and where to show up and that we had to wear coats and ties every day. We were on our way to being flunkies for a few months. WHS drove a Duster and we packed it with a few navy blazers-poplin suits-starched button downs-Weejuns and some walking around money. These jobs don't pay too much you know.
Housing was another issue. The coordinators of these Intern programs suggest options for where to live but you are on your own regarding securing such billeting. No worries-we just asked others who had already done the summer Intern thing and they put us on a place in Alexandria called the Presidential Gardens Apartments. Pre-internet and pre any kind of worldly savvy; we sent our deposits to the landlords at this posh place after they mailed us a pamphlet showing "artists renditions" of what the buildings and interiors looked like. Lesson learned.
We roll in on a hot Friday afternoon and as well pull into the Presidential Gardens parking lot to greet the landlord and get our keys I'm thinkin' that this ain't good. It's dumpier than the fraternity house. Trust me when I say that the photo that I found on google a moment ago is one of recent vintage-reflecting a massive renovation. Our deposit has been paid and we've no other options so making the best of a bad situation is our option. Then the cloud of despair lifted. Two gals rounded the corner-they were all cotton-all madras-espadrilles and drinking beers. They were from Alabama. They had just moved in an hour earlier. That's when I knew everything was going to be all right. Bottom line was that this dump was THE place for Interns from all over the country to live during their summer jaunt. Nirvana-with poorly working window unit air conditioners. I drove by there one day recently with LFG and told her that I used to live there and she just said…eeeeew.
The Blue line of the Metro system didn't extend out to where we lived that summer so we took the bus every morning. Some cute gal from Agnes Scott College took me by the hand the first morning and showed me where to get on the bus and how to navigate to the Senate. She'd already been there for a week. I had a crush on her the entire summer. This would be me about the time that said Agnes Scott cutie walked me to the bus stop.
We get situated and then connect with said girls who knew other people in the apartment complex and before long we are amongst a pile of madras and Weejuns. Then someone announces that it's about time to go to the Chinese Disco. Now understand me when I say that I would have gone anywhere with this fun crowd but the Disco scene was never mine and I had never been around Asians in my life. Some of these folks-the guys especially, were intimidatingly cool and so if they declared that some Asian social club was the happening place to go then WHS and I were right behind them. I wasn't going to enjoy it if indeed it ended up that we would be making fun of hard working Chinese doing culturally specific dances that were dear to their homeland.
Funny. The Day Lily a Chinese restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue was transformed every Friday and/or Saturday night. By nine o'clock it became The Chinese Disco and it was anything but. To this day folks-I've never had any more fun in my entire life. I would like to tell you that being an errand boy in the Senate was riveting but frankly-I didn't give a shit.
What I craved after that first weekend at the Chinese Disco was another night just like that first one there. And I had those nights-every time the doors opened-every weekend-all summer long. We were the first in line and I was one of the last to be thrown out every time.
You walked in oxford starched-madras swathed and Weejun shod. You staggered out soaked with Washington D.C. summer sweat and beer.
I feel like I missed out, going to college not long after the drinking age was raised to 21 just about everywhere.
Anyway getting back to the article, it sent me down the google rabbit hole and found this enjoyable account by a former DC intern:
"Let's see if we can get an internship in Washington this summer" my fratty brother WHS said to me one day. After about thirty seconds of deep thought….you know….measuring pros and cons and all the other stuff that a beer soaked college junior would engage to make such a decision I said…"ok". One of the real motivators of WHS's suggestion that he and I apply for an internship was that I had a really good relationship with this old fella-a legendary alumnus who had connections in Washington.
"Call EFM and see if he'll help us" …and again I said…"ok". Now you gotta realize that EFM by this time was like about a hundred and fifty eight years old. Great southern drawl and could entertain you with stories all day long. But at a hundred and fifty eight-he could be crotchety. I don't mind admitting that I was nervous as shit dialing his home phone number and like all these situations-my well rehearsed lines clotted and clabbered as soon as I heard his voice. I eked out the statement that WHS and I would like to go to Washington for the summer and all EFM said was "you will go" and hung up.
A week or so later WHS and I both got a packet from the Senate Judiciary Committee of which the guy we would work for was a member. We were told when and where to show up and that we had to wear coats and ties every day. We were on our way to being flunkies for a few months. WHS drove a Duster and we packed it with a few navy blazers-poplin suits-starched button downs-Weejuns and some walking around money. These jobs don't pay too much you know.
Housing was another issue. The coordinators of these Intern programs suggest options for where to live but you are on your own regarding securing such billeting. No worries-we just asked others who had already done the summer Intern thing and they put us on a place in Alexandria called the Presidential Gardens Apartments. Pre-internet and pre any kind of worldly savvy; we sent our deposits to the landlords at this posh place after they mailed us a pamphlet showing "artists renditions" of what the buildings and interiors looked like. Lesson learned.
We roll in on a hot Friday afternoon and as well pull into the Presidential Gardens parking lot to greet the landlord and get our keys I'm thinkin' that this ain't good. It's dumpier than the fraternity house. Trust me when I say that the photo that I found on google a moment ago is one of recent vintage-reflecting a massive renovation. Our deposit has been paid and we've no other options so making the best of a bad situation is our option. Then the cloud of despair lifted. Two gals rounded the corner-they were all cotton-all madras-espadrilles and drinking beers. They were from Alabama. They had just moved in an hour earlier. That's when I knew everything was going to be all right. Bottom line was that this dump was THE place for Interns from all over the country to live during their summer jaunt. Nirvana-with poorly working window unit air conditioners. I drove by there one day recently with LFG and told her that I used to live there and she just said…eeeeew.
The Blue line of the Metro system didn't extend out to where we lived that summer so we took the bus every morning. Some cute gal from Agnes Scott College took me by the hand the first morning and showed me where to get on the bus and how to navigate to the Senate. She'd already been there for a week. I had a crush on her the entire summer. This would be me about the time that said Agnes Scott cutie walked me to the bus stop.
We get situated and then connect with said girls who knew other people in the apartment complex and before long we are amongst a pile of madras and Weejuns. Then someone announces that it's about time to go to the Chinese Disco. Now understand me when I say that I would have gone anywhere with this fun crowd but the Disco scene was never mine and I had never been around Asians in my life. Some of these folks-the guys especially, were intimidatingly cool and so if they declared that some Asian social club was the happening place to go then WHS and I were right behind them. I wasn't going to enjoy it if indeed it ended up that we would be making fun of hard working Chinese doing culturally specific dances that were dear to their homeland.
Funny. The Day Lily a Chinese restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue was transformed every Friday and/or Saturday night. By nine o'clock it became The Chinese Disco and it was anything but. To this day folks-I've never had any more fun in my entire life. I would like to tell you that being an errand boy in the Senate was riveting but frankly-I didn't give a shit.
What I craved after that first weekend at the Chinese Disco was another night just like that first one there. And I had those nights-every time the doors opened-every weekend-all summer long. We were the first in line and I was one of the last to be thrown out every time.
You walked in oxford starched-madras swathed and Weejun shod. You staggered out soaked with Washington D.C. summer sweat and beer.
My preferred haunt in the mid-1960s was Arnold's Hofbrau, nursing a glass boot of Lowenbrau and feeding the tip jar of the wonderful woman who played the piano while keeping her cigarette going and swigging from time to time on what appeared to be a Scotch highball.
Yes, they definitely left off the Tombs and Nathans and a few others. The Tombs gets a good mention here though
https://www.insidehook.com/article/...on-the-enduring-excellence-of-j-g-melon-and-the-old-school-preppy-bar-the-tombs
https://www.insidehook.com/article/...on-the-enduring-excellence-of-j-g-melon-and-the-old-school-preppy-bar-the-tombs
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