THIS WEEK WE SEEK AN HONEST MAN AT
The question comes from the bar stool to my left. "Hey,
hey," goes the voice. "Have you ever killed a man?"
Good God. That's my favorite question. Two quick hits on
my G&T later, I muster up my patented weak smile for
a cracked old fart with the look of a life spent painting
houses in the sun. I nod over at him, neither yes nor no.
"Do you know who I am?" goes my new friend. I certainly
do not.
"I'm the drunkest man in Portland."
I am damn glad to make his acquaintance.
My path to the Drunkest Man In Portland started earlier
on Interstate, where I romanced the video poker at the Nighthawk
to the tune of 30 bucks (stick with Keno, I keep telling
myself). Humiliated, I set off looking for something new
out Alberta way. I had heard the drinks were stiff at the
Paragon. After slouching through the front door, I found
myself in a foyer, stalled by a black metal gate. Drinkers
moved slowly beyond. Vainly, I tried the locked knob before
I spotted the button for a buzzer. So I buzzed.
It took three beats for the bartender to make me and then
buzz back. I stepped into a scene of cheap wood paneling
in low and unhealthy orange light. A quick scan revealed
what looked like a cast reunion for Hill Street Blues
perps. Let's be careful out there, I thought. This place
looks cool.
Right when all this sunshine was starting to get me down,
I stumble into a bar with buzzer. How illicit. Those few
seconds spent waiting for the speakeasy buzz were deliciously
seamy and criminal. But like many things this tidy little
city, that buzzer is pure pretense. The Paragon's rear entry
has no such security measures, no suggestive molestation
at all. The front-gate buzzer is just a deterrent to panhandlers
and sorry castoffs waiting for the bus outside the door.
According to one bored bartender, the thing's been there
forever. An anachronism. One of Portland's rare blessings.
Like the Drunkest Man In Portland.
"Doctor said he can't even believe I'm still working,"
he continues.
I nod, noting the over-the-bar availability of cigarettes,
chips and Visine. The DMIP just wants to talk. I don't have
much of anything to say.
"Seventy goddamn hours a week. A week. Look, I drink. Tuesday
I'll have $2,300. You know what I'll have on Friday? Nothing.
Credit here, though. The people here are the salt of the
earth. I know the owners."
This totally cracked individual holds his double-limed
bucket of alcohol and ice against my left ear for emphasis.
"This shit is expensive."
This week we seek an honest man at:
The Paragon Club
815 N Killingsworth St., 289-0888
COOL TRAX:
Soul Stew
'60s and '70s soul classics with DJ
Aquaman, Ohm
31 NW 1st Ave.,
223-9919
9 pm Wednesdays
Cover.
HOT GIGGLE!
Bill Kurshenbauer
Harvey's Comedy Club
436 NW 6th Ave.,
241-0338
8 pm Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday,
8 and 10:30 pm Friday, 6:30, 9 and 11:30 pm Saturday,
July 26-30
$8-$10
Rob Osborne
The leading product of Vancouver, Wash.'s cutthroat
comedy scene.
Bradford's Down Under Comedy Club
2752 NE Hogan Road, Gresham, 492-0434
8:30 pm Friday,
Aug. 4
$5
ComedySportz
Improv so competitive, it could split your mind!
1963 NW Kearney St., 236-8888
9 pm Friday, 7:30
and 9:30 pm Saturday, Aug. 4-5
$10, $9 with a can
of food for the Oregon Food
Bank
Todd Heimark
Presented by Original Comedy Acts.
How funny is that?
Jimmy Mak's
300 NW 10th Ave.,
295-6542
9 pm Monday,
Aug. 7
$3
52nd Avenue Sports Bar
5201 NE Sandy Blvd., 288-0313
9 pm Tuesday, Aug. 8
$3
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