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The
Z Bar |
The Zanzibar was a bar/club in Louisville that was in business from 1938 until the 1980's. Known far and wide as the Z Bar, or simply the Z, it was my hangout for eight or ten years. It closed in the 80's, operated under another name for years and reopened in 2008 as the Zanzabar, with an "a." So to make matters clear, the Z Bar I hung out in had no affiliation to the current one as far as I know.
The front bar had pinball machines and booths, while the back room featured tables, a jukebox and a dance floor. We played a lot of pinball and liar's poker in there and argued a lot of sports. It was our home base.
The Z was a neighborhood bar and they couldn't open until 1 pm on Sundays in those days. Often there would be three or four of us sitting on the front stoop, waiting for it to open, much to the chagrin of some of the more pious locals who would throw us their most scornful looks as they passed by.
I told my buddy Norm that we lived a lot like cowboys, in that we would hit the place on payday, buy drinks for everyone and have a high old time spending all of our money. Then the rest of the week we subsisted on drinks bought by others until the next payday rolled around.
The Z Bar was where I was known as "Cowboy" and "The Jockey" by the bartenders due to my horrific tale of a horseback riding experience, until I earned a new and well earned sobriquet, "The Mad Bomber." This was due to a number of unnerving explosions that occurred in the back room from time to time, which brought out a few screams and the house lights at full wattage for a while, until the smoke cleared. They knew it was me, but could never prove a thing.
We had a pretty humorous incident one evening when we were playing pinball and there was this guy hanging around that we had never seen before. He was joining in our conversations and joking with us and when someone said, "Hey, are you guys hungry, let's get something to eat."
This guy pipes up, "Okay, I'll drive."
We figured, "Okay, let's go."
So Norm, Eddie and Max piled into the backseat of the guy's car and I got stuck with shotgun, usually a coveted position, but not on this night. I immediately noticed that the guy was seated on three cushions in the driver's seat. He wasn't short, so his head brushed the headliner. I couldn't help but wonder what that was all about.
So we go to a little restaurant close to downtown where we are seated and order food. The new guy goes to the restroom. The waitress brings our food and we start to eat. Eddie takes a big bite out of his burger and says, "What the Hell is this. I didn't order this."
Somebody says, "I guess she got the orders mixed up."
Eddie says, "Yeah, what's that guy got?" And grabs the new guy's plate.
He then remarks, "Yeah, that's more like it. This is what I ordered."
And he puts the plate down for the new guy, missing a bite. When the guy comes back from an extended stay in the restroom, he sits down and picks up his sandwich.
"Hey," he exclaims, "What's going on here?"
And he holds up his burger with a big bite taken out of it. Without missing a beat, Eddie tells him, "The waitress did that. She asked where you were and then said, 'I'm sure he won't mind,' and took a big bite out of your burger."
The guy was astounded and every time the waitress got near our table, he would clasp his burger and hold it away from her. We could hardly contain our glee and I think he might have been suspicious. He became more incommunicative as the evening wore on. When he dropped us off back at the Z, he left and we saw him no more.
One year the Z Bar made a big deal out of the Grand Reopening of the beer garden. It had not been in use for several years and they were proud to resurrect this outstanding feature of the new, neighborhood friendly Zanzibar.
We couldn't wait. The Z had started to attract some U of Louisville students to the fold and what better way to welcome them than the beer garden. So they opened it up on a warm Friday night. The garden was crowded and we encountered some U of L coeds and started ordering pitchers of beer and yada, yada, they closed the beer garden for good the following day, never to reopen. The mad bomber was even silent that night. I think it was the neighbors again. I wish I could say that it was fun while it lasted, but it didn't last long enough.
There was a man of undetermined age who rode a big tricycle up and down the sidewalk on the other side of the street, and he waved at the bus drivers as they passed by. We could see his routine through the big front window. One night, Max, the philosopher, says, "Look at that guy out there. People in here think they are so cool and they laugh at him. But just look at him. He's happier than everybody in this place."
I think he was probably right.