With San Francisco's resident population of immaculate assholes ever hungry for microhood coverage, SF Chronicle columnist Carl Nolte took a page out of The Hold Phallic's microhood-drizzled playbook and explored the dainty enclave of La Lengua. While most of the news is neither news nor particularly interesting (they have a parklet!), his look back at the neighborhood shitheads of a generation past is worth the read alone:
It was a tough part of town in the 1970s. “Blue collar,” said Richard Perri, who used to own Cavanaugh's, a 29th and Mission landmark bar.
“We had a customer named Ice Pick Larry who had a big scar on his face,” he recalled. “We had Gorilla Doug, who would come in and say, 'I can lick anybody in the house.' And he could, too. We had Lyle the Swamper, who would clean up the joint after hours in exchange for drinks. Real Damon Runyon stuff.”How long ago was that? “We had a grand opening and served 86 proof whiskey, 35 cents a shot, three drinks for a dollar,” Perri said. “Long time ago.”
But Cavanaugh's wasn't tough all the time. “We had poetry readings once in a while,” he said.
The .35¢ whiskey sounds pretty clutch, but I suppose I'm all set with getting slobbered on by Gorilla Doug (even if it is La Lengua). I guess this is what they call progress.