Free-Floating Hostility

Friday, April 07, 2006


Farewell West End

My favorite West End memory happened freshman year, on the night the Yankees clinched the 1998 World Series. It was a Wednesday, not our usual Monday, but the West End actually ran its $4 pitcher schedule for three days early in the week. A few of us (I think it was me, Ryan and Form, although that part of the story is pretty hazy) sat in the back, eating wings and wincing every time the gong went off to signal another Yankee run. We ordered our usual Black Star pitcher only to learn they had run out of it. We looked at each other uncertainly. Then the waiter went to fetch the manager. I thought we (obviously) underage drinkers were busted. But instead the manager apologized and called us "sirs." To make it right, he gave us pitchers of Pete's Wicked Ale for the price of Black Star. This is, of course, like paying Taco Bell prices for a 20-ounce steak.

But there are other memories, like the first half of my bachelor party. I remember Erin picking up Buffalo Bill there. I remember the way our table sent Anna and Erin to the bar to get pitchers after the kitchen closed, because there was no way the bartenders would card them. I just remember sitting there Monday night after Monday night and talking about everything. I remember the surprise appearance by Big Daddy Backstreet, well after he was banished from the rolls of the active students.

I also remember visiting the campus in 1996 with Fritz, during his 30th reunion. This was the closest I ever came to Days on Campus, staying in Carman and hanging out on the Low steps. We ate at the West End multiple times that weekend as well, long meandering meals when Fritz and his old college buddies talked forever about the good old days. To some extent it was the old codger version of what we did all those Mondays. That weekend was the first time that I actually pictured myself as a Columbia student. To that point going to CU was Fritz's goal for me that I indulged. But during one of those afternoons, as I read on the steps someone tapped me and asked where Schermerhorn Hall was. This was a building I actually knew because reunion registration had been in that direction. And I felt as though I belonged on the campus. Who knows what would have happened if they had asked me where Mudd was? All of these memories and landmarks take on greater meaning for me as I get further away from them. And I know that without the West End (whose food I certainly won't miss) Morningside Heights will feel a little less like home to me.

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