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Debra Dylan: We are what we are

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DIVE BARS: 101

The Knoxville520.com webmisstress had a great idea for a story about dive bars. I quickly and enthusiastically volunteered to research dive bars in East and North Knoxville. I even consulted with construction dude about town and Preservation Pub Beer God, Paul Voght (a/k/a Big Paul, Paul Bunyan). He suggested particular bars and advised me on how to behave. The last time I saw Paul, he said, “Debra, you’ll need to dress down when you do this, or they’ll think you’re a narc.” Of course, I disregarded everything he told me.

Due to illness and injury, my research was delayed by several weeks, so one night after a business meeting adjourned early I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to stop at Hugh’s Tavern, which is approximately one block from the Corner Lounge, on N. Central. There is parking available behind Hugh’s and entering through the back door will give you an incredible view of what a dive the place is. Lots of abandoned kitchen appliances, cans of food, bags of chips, old stuffed animals, a Red Skelton photo, NASCAR stuff, and many unidentifiable objects and odors. When I reached the bar, one patron shouted, “It’s a lawyer and she’s shutting the place down.” (Note to self: don’t wear a suit to a dive bar. See quote above.) Once I was finally able to settle on a beer selection (They don’t have PBR. I’ve since been told that only kitschy bars pretending to be dives serve PBR.), I was asked to join a table of folks sitting in a booth in front of Hugh’s window.

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There I met Bill, Linda Morgan, Leslie and Brenda, a/k/a “Blondie,” a former tavern owner and bartender. The women in the booth and at the bar were suspicious of me. The owner’s daughter was present, but she wouldn’t tell me her name. Bill thought I was cute and told me next time I’m at Hugh’s I should come as myself. He clutched his jacket and with a fake Irish accent said, “Don’t come back in here all ‘top ‘o the mornin’ to ya.” He told me when the new person (how could he tell?!?) comes into a place like Hugh’s, she’ll be standing at the bar hoping people are going to like her. He likened this awkward moment to being in a Vincent Price movie, but told me, in reality, it’s really like a good story. Like Nancy Drew. He reassured me that “we are what we are” and “if you are lonely and can’t handle it, don’t go home with it [loneliness], come here instead.” He also informed me that while he was distracting me, someone was out back stealing my car. Har-har.

When I ventured out that evening, I didn’t know I was going to begin my research that night, and not only was I wearing a tweed suit, I didn’t have my ace reporter’s notebook with me; instead, all I had was an issue of “Bird Talk” magazine. A woman at the bar asked me what I was writing on. (Note to self: they don’t like seeing you write anything.) I showed her the cover and the centerfold and pointed out the kind of birds I have. She had parakeets at one time in her life. She stopped glaring at me so much.

When I finally had a chance to saunter over to the jukebox, I discovered a treasure trove of vintage country compact discs. I’m talking lots of George Jones and the Louvin Brothers. There was also a nice collection of vintage rock and rhythm and blues, and a few modern pop selections, like Stevie Nicks and Sheryl Crowe.

Linda Morgan, who was sitting in the booth next to Bill, said her CD was #02 on the jukebox. She told me she has been singing for 12 years and that she recorded the CD three years ago at Karaoke Café and it has been in the Hugh’s jukebox since. I went back and took a look. Sure enough, nestled between Con Hunley and Alan Jackson, was Linda Morgan’s compact disc. She covers Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, Kitty Wells and a few other classic country female singers. Linda played her version of “Coal Miner’s Daughter” for me. She and the other ladies in the booth began singing along. Seriously, this was a very charming moment and I appreciated Ms. Morgan’s sincere love of music and singing.

The place was starting to get a little more crowded by now. A mangy dog named Scruffy was resting in the next booth, and a Rotweiller-mix, Trish, was walking around. After I finished my second beer (Bud Lite has more depth than Miller Lite), I felt lonesome for the Downtown Grill & Brewery. When I returned to my car, several of Hugh’s patrons were standing around it. (Note to self: coming here alone wasn’t smart.) I don’t know what they wanted, if anything, and I was able to drive away without incident. My tweed suit reeked of cigarette smoke and something rancid. When I reached Gay Street, I walked in the cold in hopes of airing out my clothing.

The next time I see my astute dive bar advisor, he scolds me while puffing on a clove cigarette, and he offers to take me on a tour, via KAT bus, to dive bar hop between Tennessee Tavern, Dixon’s, Marie’s and any other dive in between. Hmmm. This sounds like a good story with lots of dimensions. Kind of like Nancy Drew. Stay tuned….

Hugh’s Tavern
904 N. Central Avenue
Phone: (865) 633-8200
9:00 a.m. – 10 p.m.

For more commentary on dive bars, visit Modern Drunkard.

See how much of a poser you are by taking the PBR quiz!


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