Month: May 2024

Posted on

5am

5 AM

by Franklin Marion

Another morning, sun trying to come up, a mist settled over the sea,

Another day, another time, I know what’s right by me.

The street sweeper coming down the street, keeping the city clean,

The Miata’s there, and here I go, for morning coffee with Dean.

I knock on the window, and he walks down, to open up the door, 

I take a seat, and listen to him, with tales of tallying receipts.

‘It was a night we had’, he says and frowns at the Mr Coffee machine,

‘I need a newer faster one’ he growls, that’s morning coffee with Dean.

The sun’s up now, the mist is clearing, the day is looking good, “

And here comes TJ , right on time, we knew, of course, he would.

The Tribune has been scoured through, sports section with eyes so keen,

Conversation, healthy debate, and morning coffee with Dean.

Times have changed, and places too, mony a weary fit I’ve roamed,

From the desert bare, where my house did stare, at western skies and stone,

To the mighty redwood coast, and look back on those mornings, good times that have been,

With friends while day was breaking, and morning coffee with Dean.

Posted on

What’s in a Name

Cheswick’s West was named for the character Charles Cheswick from the movie “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest”.

The movie was fittingly about an Insane Asylum where the patients rebel against a domineering tyrant by the name of Nurse Ratched.

Many years later patrons produced and starred in the play “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” at the OB Women’s Club, directed by Antonio Johnson.

The first Cheswick’s logo was a cartoon of a bird cage with an open door, outside sat a bewildered bird.

It was given the name by Linda Small, the wife of the first owner of the bar, John Small who was also the owner of the Sunshine Company Saloon.

Both John and Linda were from the East Coast, that is why West was added to the name.

Cheswick’s opened in 1983 and only sold beer and wine.
 
A few months after it opened the bar was sold to Dean Hall.
 
Before it was Cheswick’s, the bar was named The Cavern. The owner was rumored to have made a fortune by inventing plastic sunglasses that fit over regular glasses.
 
It was said that Charger players like quarterback Dan Fonts would frequent The Cavern because it was a great place to hide from fans.
 
Posted on

Animal House II

𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟯.
 
I arrived late to the festivities, fresh from a political rally at Sea World for the San Diego Mayor’s race. The place was already packed with regulars from the Sunshine Company Saloon, all there to support John Small, the owner of the “Shine” and now the proprietor of the new Cheswick’s West.
 
At first glance, the non-descript beer and wine bar didn’t impress me much.
 
Fast forward to 1984, I attended the first (and only) Cheswick’s picnic on Mission Bay. It was here that I was drawn into the eclectic mix of Cheswick’s regulars, a crew reminiscent of the Delta Tau Chi fraternity from the movie 𝘈𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦. Even the iconic John Belushi character, Bluto, seemed to have a counterpart in a Cheswick’s regular named Conray, a barrel-chested giant with a mischievous smile and a wild glint in his eye.
 
I watched from the sidelines as Conray chased off some uninvited, preppy Omega Theta Pi types, nearly coming to blows in the parking lot while his Cheswick’s comrades stood ready to back him up.
In 𝘈𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭 𝘏𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, they had Dean Wormer. Cheswick’s had Dean Hall, who became the new owner of this hole in the wall watering hole in 1984.
 
This was when I pledged allegiance to Cheswick’s happy hour.
To be part of the gang, you had to share willingly. The ritual centered around a five-foot round table, known as “The Black Hole.” Anything placed on “The Black Hole”—a pitcher of Budweiser, a pack of Marlboro Lights—became communal property, quickly disappearing into the hands of the assembled regulars. During the three-hour happy hour, mass quantities of beer and smokes were consumed.
 
This male-dominated crew met nightly to watch Larry Bird’s Celtics or Tony Gwynn’s Padres. Passersby mistakenly thought a new gay bar had opened in O.B., given the overwhelming testosterone inside.
Much like the Delta Tau Chi fraternity, the Cheswick’s gang had their nicknames: Sauceman, Hammer, Monster, and less creative ones like Big Donnie, Little Pete, Big Steve, Middle Steve, and Little Steve. I didn’t get my nickname, Pancho, until years later, thanks to Conray. The story behind it involves a road trip to Tijuana, but of course, “What happens in TJ, stays in TJ.” (Vegas stole that line from us!)
 
The responsibility of managing this tribe of degenerates fell to a group of capable bartenders from Massachusetts which included the girls from Nantucket, Mary Jo, and Michelle (yes, the most recent owner Michelle), along with Celtic fanatic Jimmy McCormick, who had Guinness flowing through his veins. The Nantucket beauties were always welcoming but could transform into fearless she-wolves when needed, subduing any troublemaker in an instant. There are stories of Michelle hurdling over the bar to confront a hooligan, who quickly retreated into the street.
 
This frat-house phase marked the first era of Cheswick’s legacy. Thankfully, in the next chapter, a brave new world emerged where unintimidated women felt comfortable enough to enter this man cave, undeterred by the lame pickup lines from the likes of Sauceman.
——
Mike “Pancho” James