Rochester Institute of Technology - Techmila / Ramikin Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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“I dunno . . . But its coming back. Hey. Wow, didja see that! “ ‘That’ refers to the band on stage. The lead singer, who looks like David Bowie after six years on macrobiotic foods and electroshock therapy is shrieking the lyrics to the old Arthur Brown tune “Fire . Just then a sheet of flame leaps up in front of the stage. Oh boy. a show. “Wow .. ' marvels Cindy. What do you do. Cindy? Do you attend school in Rochester, do you work? Cindy flashes an Gltrabrite smile. I’m a bum,” Oh. Anyway, the bar is dealing a brisk business in liquors to assorted bums and punks. One fellow sports a jacket which reads across the back, “Carl’s Heating RH Jr. Hockey.” He spots Cindy and leers. Courage bolstered by alcohol, our hockey the Orange Monkey You walk into the Orange Monkey and immediately notice the sophisticated decor. Leatherette chairs, wall to wall carpeting, handsomely framed mirrors . . . and then you start to wonder. What are all these punks doing here? Apparently shaking it to a group of musical punks on the stage in the front of the bar. Seems it’s very chic to look like a punk in 1976. And a lot of them like the Monkey. They’re accepted here. Take Cindy, eighteen years of age. She’s here with her girlfriends, and she’ll tell you “I used to come here every weekend, but it started dyin out.” Why? player connects, scores, and heads for the dance floor, bum in tow. My friend Elvina gives me a quizzical look. “I never saw people act like this in a bar. she says. We find a table in the back of the room. I inform her that I’m going up to the bar for drinks. As I walk away I leave her with some advice. “Try not to get picked up. I suggest. At the bar 1 get involved with talking to three guys from the islands of Greece. They can barely speak English, but they assure me they love the Monkey. I wonder if they will smash their glasses down here; a traditional Greek gesture if one is having a good time. What do you guys do in Greece? 29

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Bars the Orange Monkey Elliott’s Nest the California Brew Haus the Red Creek Inn the Cellar by p. silver Some strange story assignments have come from editors of all sorts of publications I have worked for in the past, but when Mark asked “How would you like to write up the RIT-Rochester area bar scenes for Techmila? I was slightly nonplussed. Editors are a kinky breed with all sorts of odd behavioral quirks, but they don't usually make jokes, so I considered the offer carefully. “What,” I wondered, “do the bars in this town share in common?” Then it dawned on me and my next move was clean “Do I get a cash advance?” I inquired. “Uh sure you do ..mumbled Mark, So i set out to research the story. There arose many interesting scenes and some revelations which I intend to share with you. not the least of which are that our local saloons can cost you mucho bucks, and: be wary of editors. They are a slick bunch. No more story assignments until I get out of debt .. . and my hangover clears. 28 hamper

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School? Work? The most articulate of the three looks at the pen in my hand, Tm a bum . , , write it down,” he says. Tm still reeling from that one when I get back to Elvina at our table. Well, whaddayaknow? Some guy has her pinned, arm across her chair, blocking any escape attempts. .She spots me and looks a bit panicky. The guy looks up, takes a hint, and leaves. “How’d that happen?” I ask. He just came right over,” she explains, “and said. ‘First of all. I’m drunk.1 Then he sat down and said ‘Secondly, I’m not trying to pick you up.’ ' We laugh, Well,” I say, Here’s your drink.” What shall we drink to?” asks Elvina. I raise my glass. Here’s to the bums,” EHiotf s Nest “Hi whazyemame wannadance?” The line rolls off his tongue like a foreign language as he strikes a who cares-anyway stance in front of one of five young ladies seated around a table. This is Elliott’s Nest. With a oh-well-I-have-nothing-else-to-do-for-the-next- three-minutes shrug she gets up and they walk to the dance floor. They face each other for about five seconds, and maybe their eyes meet, and then they are dancing, but apparently dancing with anyone who chances to get in front of them. Boy meets girl. Elliott’s Nest is veiy popular with some RIT guys. The reason is simple. Women go there. My pal Kim and I have watched the entire encounter. He is a good one to have along. He’s taught anthropology at RIT. We discuss how dark the place is. Like a stone age cave perhaps . , , “It’s not exactly a swinging singles bar,” muses Kim. “The way this place is lit,” he continues you can’t see who your opposition is. You don’t really get your first good look at her until you get to the exit lights.” I am forced to agree. We’re sitting in a raised gazebo placed in the center of the room. From its tent cover top hang two Tiffany lamps, providing the barest minimum of illumination. I can almost make out the features of the people at the next table. I give up and, like everyone else there tonight, 1 feign some interest in the band. They are really quite good, so it’s relatively painless. Behind the bar 1 notice Tom, the bartender is pacing back and forth like an anxious bobcat. I go 30