If I Were A Horse, They'd Shoot Me

Gerald "Phil" Rhodes was a mystery figure to most people who frequented Second Story as he seldom ventured upstairs. When he did, he usually blended in as just another drunk asshole because the customers had likely never seen him before. But ask anyone downstairs in Bullwinkle's about Phil and you could easily compile an anthology of anecdotes. Everyone had a Phil story. I don't think anyone can understand the contin… Continue

Some of my best-defined memories of events early in my tenure as resident drink slinger at Bullwinkle's and Second Story involve puke. Rightly so, I suppose: in my years on the floor and behind the bar, I saw such quantities of alcohol go down the respective hatches of you people, I'm frankly surprised there are so many of you alive today. Although the career I have ultimately chosen for myself will carry me blissfully to the end of this life, I have to say that getting you people drunk was prob… Continue

Many people have been writing about the parties and the wonderful combinations of roommates in their respective houses during the 80’s and 90s. I was never much of a partier and was somewhat of an outsider to most social circles, mainly because I was raising a kid and I worked two jobs for a long while and didn’t really have the opportunity to go out and socialize. The few people who hung out with me know about my very strange house on West 8th Street, just across the street from what is now Gir… Continue

Fifteen years ago today I was roller-blading down Sixth Street on my way to set up Second Story for the night. As I passed Jackson Street, Noah came running after me and invited me back to meet some friends of his who had just moved in. There was talk of a band starting and god knows what else. I wasn't paying attention to much of anything except the tall, quiet guy drinking a beer on the porch. He showed up at Second Story that night and we talked superficially about music and fluff. By the end… Continue