June 21, 2025
Reminiscences
So it's a complete rainout today, and neither of us is going much of anywhere. Rachael will make it over to LA Fitness later in the day, but until we head out for dinner I go no further than to the nearest coffee shop. And since I don't walk any further than I have to until I get some new knees and it's too wet to bike, the weather gives me a second nudge out of my morning rut and I finally check out Ovation, the coffee and tea house I pass multiple times a day because it's on the first floor of our building, just a few steps down from the front door.
And I'm surprised to find what a terrific venue it is. A Morrocan place that serves up Morrocan drip coffee and some enticing pastries and breakfast sandwiches, it makes an excellent spot to sit for a few hours, working on the news, wondering if DJT will really bomb Iran, and staring out the window at the rain coming down and the umbrellas pass by.
And to reminisce, of a formative time in my past that's been on my mind for the last few days because of a comment that was submitted on that photo of Bruce and me at Clinton Street Coffeehouse a few days back:
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The comment was supplied by CJ Horn, who some of you know or may have guessed was my first spouse and who surprisingly enough has recently started following the blog. I've really appreciated her input and a chance to reconnect after all these years.
Those of you who were around forty or fifty years ago and either lived in or visited Seattle back then may remember The Last Exit on Brooklyn. Opened on July 30th, 1967 by its founder Irv Cisski and named after the Hubert Selby novel published the previous year, The Last Exit to Brooklyn, it was one of the first and best known of the bohemian, countercultural coffeehouses in the country.
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I worked there as a shift manager for about a year at a transformational time of my life. I was on the verge of flunking out of college because I'd essentially dropped out, spending most of my days honing my pool hustling skills at the HUB. It surprises me now to see that the Exit opened its door in midsummer 1967, because 18 months later I was drafted into the army and that phase of my life came to an abrupt end. I must have been one of Irv's first employees there.
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So many memories flood back when I think of that place and so many visual images are still sharp and fresh in my mind. So many pots of exotic teas I served up - matte, lapsong suchong, oolong, jasmine. So many bratwurst sandwiches with Dijon mustard I served up for myself on my break, accompanied by a pot of matte while I sat with my back leaning against a brick wall reading, writing, and observing the scene. So many Darcey Specials I served up - embarrassingly thick peanut butter and jelly sandwiches dripping off the bread on all four sides, named for the heavy-set man with the white, curly long hair who was a regular - he was in every day for one, and I don't doubt that it was one of the staples of his low-income diet. Irv, a really exceptional soul, viewed it as a loss leader and part of his contribution to a community he loved.
One of the Exit's more renowned dimensions was as an important meeting place for chess and go players. There were always games on, especially at the long central table where a tall, lantern-jawed man held court with a crowd of kibitzers surrounding him as he destroyed one opponent after another: Victors Pupols, a Latvian immigrant and regarded as probably the best chess player in the city at the time. There was even a chess opening named after him, the Latvian Gambit. And he was known as the best in town until a few years after I left the scene and a young Syrian immigrant showed up and started learning the game at the age of 12: Yasser Seirawan. It wouldn't be long before Victors struggled to hold his own against this young prodigy, who soon left him and all others in the dust. At the age of thirteen Yasser won the Washington State Junior Championship, and at the age of 19 he won the world junior championship. After that he went on to become a grand master, train in Switzerland with world champion Victor Korchnoi, win the U.S. national championship four times, and rank as the highest rated chess player in the country for twenty years straight.
I was no chess prodigy, that's
for sure. But I did love the game and started taking it seriously at the Exit, and it's where I first became a go player. It's also the place where I first met another formative figure in my life, Mikal Hoover.
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And, there was a third formative figure from that time while I was working or hanging out at the Exit: I met, fell in love with and eventually married a young English lit student who began hanging out there also, sitting on a bench by the wall like myself, reading, writing, and observing the scene. We got married the next summer with Mike serving as my best man, and for the next half year she and I shivered in the attic apartment of a slum house north of Greek Row, nearly freezing in the winter because the heat didn't work and our aged immigrant landlord, Mr. Kneifel, refused to help because "I cannot becoming a plumber". I can still hear his nasal, high pitched tinny voice in my head, pronouncing the last word with an hard B. And just before Christmas my induction notice arrived and we said goodbye to all that.
In between though, there was another venue that became nearly as important to me as the Exit: the Blue Moon Tavern, a famous/notorious watering hole, live music venue and countercultural hangout probably as well known at the time as the Exit was. The Moon is another place that comes back to me in a fire hose of memories - of me sitting there having a beer with Mike, where I probably enjoyed my first legal beer with him and his close friend Denton. Of going into the bathroom and being stunned by walls densely covered with doodles, artwork, graffiti, signatures, and original poetry. It was really an eccentric, unique place. Theodore Roerhke was a regular there, though I didn't know it or even of him at the time. Tom Robbins tried to call Pablo Picasso from there one night and got through, although the great man reportedly refused to take the call.
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But I did see The rocky horror Picture Show several times at the Neptune.
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I remember spending many evenings here, having a beer with Mike and then retreating to his house where his wife of the time Darlene was there, still awake and often sharing a pot of tea with Denton. Michael and I would play chess late into the night and then I'd finally go back to our attic around four in the morning and then a few hours later Carol and I would argue once more over the same sore subject. She didn't understand why I couldn't come home at a sensible hour, I couldn't understand why she even cared since she was asleep anyway.
Looking back now, other than for the fear, anxiety and stress of my failing college studies, the impending doom of the army hanging over me, and the fact that Carol and I were generally pretty impoverished, it was one of the best years of my life. I'm grateful to all three figures for being a part of my story, and saddened to see that Irv passed on so many years ago and I can't thank him in person now that I look back and realize what an important figure he was to me.
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And that's pretty much the day. Later Rachael and I will head out for dinner to Serrato, chosen because it's on the street car line so we won't get wet and I wont have to walk the mile to get there. I'm wrong though, because one street car is just pulling away as we step out the door and the next one isn't due for nearly twenty minutes. It's barely misting now and doesn't make sense to just sit there so we start walking, me calculating out loud how much we're saving with each block I limp along. If I make it the whole way (as I eventually do) we'll save the two dollars it will cost us using our Honored Citizen Hop Cards which lets old farts board for a buck. There's another $0.25 saved, I'll periodically announce. It's enough savings that I feel justified in ordering a cherry crostata with vanilla ice cream after we've polished off the chiabatta bread, scallops, pasta, and a nonalcoholic Mexican Copper Ale that's become our standard order here.
An excellent day for a rest day, but we 'll both be glad to see the sun return tomorrow. Thanks for listening, and for being part of our story too.
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