NYCBP Blog

Tommy with Megan at The Patriot.

Could Tommy McNeill have us drinking again at 457 West 17th Street, the former home of Red Rock West? Our “reliable sources” tell us that Tommy, the fleshy proprietor of The Patriot and The Duck, is about to take over the old Red Rock, which closed amid lawsuits, acrimony and much bad karma in May 2008 after a 13-year run.

This is good news for dive bar fans, as it comes on the heels of word that Tommy is busy with carpenters and electricians to ready his third bar—so far unnamed—on East 92nd and Second Avenue (which coincidently, also held the defunct Red Rock Roadhouse, which shuttered two years ago).

Tommy has been the pied piper of dive bars in Manhattan for 20 years. Without him, there would be none of the early 1990s dives that exist today: Coyote Ugly (he gave founder Liliana Lovell her start in the bar game), Hogs ‘n’ Heifers (he was the brains of the original operation) nor Doc Holliday’s (Tommy was an original investor and co-owner, and came up with the name). When he closed the original Village Idiot on First Avenue and 9th Street in 1994, and moved across town to 14th and Tenth, we rejoiced. That place closed in 2004 and his Upper West Side operation, Yogi’s, closed in October 2008. He has been running The Patriot (Chambers and Church) for five years and The Duck (West 112th and Second Ave) for less than six months. With Tommy, it is cheap beer and Johnny Cash tunes at all times. He has done more for the bottom line of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Jack Daniels in New York than any other person.

Could he pull this off in the shadow of the High Line? Of course. We saw him mobilize the bartenders from The Patriot and Yogi’s and move into The Duck in a matter of hours. He has been hiring new girls like crazy for the past several weeks. As soon as the Upper East Side bar opens—which could be in a matter of weeks—he will have his hands full getting the old Red Rock West in shape to open.

Could we see Dara of The Patriot/The Duck at the old Red Rock? We hope so!

What can we expect? When Red Rock West folded, the staff of about a dozen bartenders scattered to the four corners of the city. A couple found spots at Coyote Ugly (where they had to tone down their antics, sad to say). Others moved to the outer boroughs. In the world of Tommy, he will staff the bar with the same girls that work for him at The Patriot and The Duck. Could it open by Memorial Day for Fleet Week? We hope so.

One big change that separates Tommy’s bars from the now-defunct Red Rock is that he never needs hulking bouncers or doormen, who stood around and intimidated the customers. Tommy hires bartenders that run the bars, do the stocking, and handle all the chores at the bar. So we do not think he will even think about re-hiring any of the bouncers or support staff that worked at Red Rock (and this includes the poor soul who had to guard the motorcycles). I can think of only one male face I want to see Tommy bring back: BOB. That dude was the BBQ master, and his hog roasts were legendary. If Bob is grilling, it will be happy days on West 17th Street again.

Tommy is a smart businessman, and savvy where he picks his bars: his new Second Avenue bar is in a prime spot for the Second Avenue Subway when it opens in six years, and even better, when the High Line park opens, his new bar will be in it’s shadow. It looks like 2009 is going to be a great year for dive bar patrons!

Labels: bars, bartenders, chelsea, coyote ugly, dive bars, Doc Holliday’s, news, Patriot Saloon, red rock west, The Duck, Tommy McNeil, upper east side, Yogi’s

The Bear is back.

After hibernating for less than four months (real bears don’t hibernate that long), the iconic bear from Yogi’s has moved to his new home on Second Avenue. When Yogi’s famously closed on Oct. 5, owner Tommy McNeil refused to part with the 8-foot tall carved mascot. He stashed it in storage, and now he has a place to put it: Yogi’s 2.

The new bar, located at 1754 2nd Avenue (between 91st and 92nd), is in the former Red Rock Roadhouse space, which went tits up more than a year ago. All that is left of the former bar is the “USE” on the signage. The talk is that Tommy is in the process of getting his liquor license, and the bar could be open in time for St. Patrick’s Day.

This will be Tommy’s third bar in his empire, he of course also owns The Patriot (110 Chambers St) and The Duck (2171 Second Avenue, between 111th & 112th St.). This gives Tommy two bars that are exactly 20 blocks apart; but as any regular of his bars knows, there is no way in hell to stumble 20 blocks in a straight line from one of his establishments. However, there is a nice city bus line that goes between the two…

When opening night draws closer, we’ll have more news about the newest dive bar on the Upper East Side. It is only one block south of The Big Easy, which will make for a nice one-two punch.

Labels: news, Patriot Saloon, The Duck, Tommy McNeil, Yogi’s

Yogi's has been closed since October, the football was over, and my main computer is still being repaired, so I tried to go to sleep early Sunday night. When I awoke, I saw the following text message from our good buddy, Paul Katcher:

This is BREAKING NEWS for nycbp.com. I just spotted the huge bear from inside Yogi's in the former Red Rock Roadhouse in the Upper East Side.

There have been rumors for some time that Tommy and Chardee will be moving into this location. Now there seems to be credible evidence that such a move may happen soon.

I just hope opening weekend is not the one I plan to go visit Amarillo, Texas! 10-4.

Labels: Eddie Goldman, Paul Katcher, Yogi’s

It has been two week, so why not revisit the Yogi's end-of-the-world one more time? I never did link to Paul's great post, or his photo album, from the last week there. I believe he was there 8 straight days or something. He writes:

It was where I drank with a porn star, a dishwasher, and a trust-fund millionaire. And I don't mean like over the years. I mean at one time. It was where I met tourists from countless countries, got flashed by bartenders as incentive to not leave (it worked), belted out the words to redneck country tunes, and drank way too much on a too-regular basis with suits, skanks, hippies, degenerates, alkies, perverts, Columbia students, mothers, and the occasional dumb shit who'd order wine.

He also has great photos from the end too. Thanks, Paul!

Can you believe it has been two weeks already? Is it time to get over it?

Labels: bartenders, patrons, Paul Katcher, photos, Tommy McNeil, upper east side, Yogi’s

It took the last night of Yogi's being in business for a journalist affiliated with a decent national magazine to show up and do it justice. Hats off to George Gurley of VanityFair.com for a great piece from the fray of the last night. He got all the regulars in the piece, including Gator and Eddie. He goes to town:

The vibe is frenzied and desperate. There are huge piles of empty cans and broken bottles everywhere and it's only 9:30 p.m. Inside the bathroom there's a hole where the toilet used to be, and now it's overflowing, creeping outside the bathroom. It's coming closer, a terrible swirling sea of beer, urine, and solid matter. People are standing, wading around in it and laughing. Nobody seems to care. Nobody wants to admit what seems pretty obvious: it's the end of the world!

Nice! And this is from a magazine that usually cares more about Brad Pitt than dive bars... One thing that struck me about the piece: He is talking about Elizabeth here. I don't know where she went either. Did anyone call her Beth?

It is an excellent piece, so read it. It makes me miss the place even more.

Labels: Tommy McNeil, upper west side, Yogi’s

This Tuesday night, Oct. 7, my nephew was in town, so we went out for dinner at Artie's on Broadway near 83rd Street. I had taken him to Yogi's a time or two, and normally we would have stopped in to see the luscious Theresa, the queen of Tuesday nights for about the last seven or eight years.

Before heading to the restaurant, I passed by Yogi's to see if somehow my recollection that it had closed this past Saturday night was just a hallucination implanted by alien kidnappers from a hostile galaxy, or maybe some falsehood claimed in a campaign attack ad. Maybe I had dreamt it all, and now that the beer from the previous week had worn off (except on my dirty laundry awaiting cleaning), I would discover that it was all some big misunderstanding.

And maybe I would also get a text from Halle Berry saying that her hotel key was under the doormat of room 1410.

The place was dark and locked. It was night when I arrived and hard to see inside, but it looked like any ordinary, boring, spiritless bar. The big labels on the beer taps appeared to have been removed. There were some things littered about, although the liquor bottles still seemed to sit there. And outside, the bear was gone, gone for the first time in about 25 or so years. It was as if its heart and soul had been ripped out.

I only stayed outside the bar a couple of minutes, but in that brief time I heard several passersby commenting on the countdown clock and saying, "They held out as long as they could." If such decisions were left up to the community, and not some faceless real estate bandits, I might be drinking there right now instead of posting this.

My nephew and I both decided to split after dinner instead of getting beers somewhere else. He has a very busy schedule while here, and I just didn't feel like suddenly looking for a new bar home on the Upper West Side after first having gone there, when it was still McGowan's, at some time I now wish I had recorded, in the mid or late 1970's.

That is what Yogi's was to so many of us, a place for our drinking family and a place for our real family. I had taken countless people there from all around the world, and mostly made ready converts of them, even on the slowest of nights.

First what made Yogi's special was the people. While every place has its share of assholes, the people plus the setting made most folks quite friendly, and friendlier than any bar I have frequented either regularly or even a few times.

The music played a large role in that. The main message of the rockin', outlaw country music which filled its semi-functional jukebox was that life and individual happiness should be celebrated. There is a true passion for freedom in these tunes, freedom in the individual and social sense and not just meaning formal freedom like voting, etc. You could celebrate you right there, while drinking your beer, singing and yee-hawing along with the songs, and then trying to wade through the soggy men's room when it was time to unload.

The gorgeous women behind the bar also, of course, made Yogi's special. Most of them, especially the veterans, made you feel right at home. Many of us guys in there couldn't pass as metrosexuals if it meant getting a chunk of that bailout loot. It usually didn't matter quite what you looked like, and especially what you were wearing - so long as you tipped nicely, thank you.

And the cheap, cold beer, that elixir of the common man and woman, was the cornerstone of this perfect quartet which made so many of us fall in love with this filthy, little place.

The people, the music, the women, and the beer - all guarded by the bear, which has since gone missing.

Now we are orphans again, left to search for a new bar home either farther away or with a different vibe. Hopefully The Duck, which opens Thursday, will do well, and there are always gems like Doc Holliday's remaining, but East Harlem and the East Village may be too far to travel for those who liked to get smashed while listening to Merle and Willie on the Upper West Side.

At the behest of drinking buddy Joe, I hung around as long as they would let me to be the last paying customer to exit Yogi's, forever, at this location anyway. He said it was only fitting, since I probably had been going to this bar the longest of anyone there that night, and certainly among the longest.

A crowd hung around outside for some time afterwards, just as it started to rain, as if David Allan Coe went to pick up his mom again. The raindrops hastened everyone's retreat, the countdown clock with all those zeros told the story, and it was over.

The NYCBP.com message boards have some great recaps of the last night there by many of my rowdy friends. I am not posting my fuzzy pictures taken with my camera phone, as there were many folks there with real, fancy, digital jobs who have promised to flood us with these memories. But I still have my pics to save.

The last song played on that ole jukebox was Sawyer Brown's "Some Girls Do." Its line of "I ain't first class, but I ain't white trash" describes a lot of us who walked in the door past that bear. And for those who loved Yogi's, whether or not they were white anything, the line, "Some girls don’t like boys like me, but some girls do", summed up a lot of our experiences, both there and elsewhere.

There is no hiding the sadness so many of us are feeling now that Yogi's is gone. It was surreal knowing what the countdown clock said, and it will take some time and frustrations like I experienced Tuesday night for it to sink in. A lot of us put in some extra tours of drinking duty during this last week at Yogi's, so we may not be all that ready or eager to whoop it up this soon. But the emptiness will hit you, sooner, probably, than later.

Labels: beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Sawyer Brown, Some Girls Do, upper west side, Yogi’s

It was a surreal Monday night at Yogi’s. Mondays have been one of the liveliest nights at this bar over the years, and Monday, Sept. 29, was just that, with girls dancing on the bar, outlaw country music blaring from the jukebox, and the gorgeously frenetic bartender Patience looking as radiant as ever.


But this one was different, as it was the final Monday before Yogi’s closes for good on Saturday, October 4. For those who hadn’t heard or believed the news yet, there were signs posted outside and inside the bar:


There was a countdown clock facing the street:


Even the legendary sewer of a bathroom had graffiti with the news:

It will all be over Saturday. Hopefully, however, it will all resume Thursday, October 9, at The Duck and, we wish, at a new Yogi’s near the present one sometime in the future when the economy, finance, and the real estate markets, i.e., the “big money” which is closing down this Yogi’s, allow.

(All photos by Eddie Goldman, thank you.)

Labels: bars, bartenders, beer, dive bars, Eddie Goldman, New York, Patience, upper west side, Yogi’s

It is doubtful that Yogi Berra ever set foot in any of the incarnations of the bar which currently shares his nickname. It is even less likely that he will be there to help close it, as he did last week with Yankee Stadium. But if he wanted to, he would have his chance next week.

I just got off the phone with journalist and drinker Paul Katcher. He had sent me a text message shortly before 11 PM Thursday night, from Yogi’s, with the dreaded news: the last night for this bar will be Saturday, October 4.

He said he had spoken with bartenders Patience and Brie, and that they had been told earlier today that the closing of Yogi’s will be sooner than expected, on October 4. I may head down there myself a bit later to find out more, and, of course, have a few beers.

Clear your schedules, friends, because Saturday, October 4, will clearly mark the end of an era in our rapidly devolving New York.

Labels: bars, beer, Eddie Goldman, Paul Katcher, Yogi’s

Labels: bars, beer, Eddie Goldman, Fubar, Lauren, manhattan, New York, Patriot Saloon, Yogi’s

So all these weatherpeople from the liberal/communist/capitalist/conservative media (just ignore whichever epithets you disagree with) are telling us that there is this big storm coming to these parts Saturday. Well, that didn’t stop a bunch of regulars, rednecks, yuppies, and hippies from descending on that den of debauchery Friday night, the one and only Yogi’s (so far).

Part of the reason, of course, was that on Friday nights, the superstar Patience keeps slinging the beers. If she weren’t such a sweetie, she could start bloody civil wars over her.



Also helping the clientele lose their senses was the lovely Danielle. Just a smile from her could get the Taliban to buy a beer for Toby Keith.



So you stayed home to watch 20-year-old Robin Byrd reruns, did you?



For you unfortunate few who failed to show this Friday, Patience works Friday nights at Yogi’s and Wednesday days at The Patriot Saloon, and Danielle works Wednesday nights at The Patriot Saloon, Monday days at Yogi’s, and scattered weekends where needed.

Of course, you did get a partial pass if you stayed home to watch boxing. There were three lives cards on Friday night, and HBO has a potentially great battle in Juan Diaz vs. Michael Katsidis Saturday night. Also, if you’re really Internet savvy, you could watch numerous other fights from around the world Saturday.

And don’t worry if you are more redneck than hippie, or vice versa. Gretchen Wilson’s new album, due out this fall, has a tune called “Hippies and Rednecks” that attempts to bridge the gap between these sometimes warring subcultures. No doubt this healing process includes a lot of beer.

PS – I know my pictures aren’t exactly the best. I just use my camera phone, which is all I have. I’m a journalist, not a photographer, so all you fellers who do have these 2009 model digital jobs are invited to put your beers down for a second and point, shoot, and e-mail.

Labels: bars, beer, Danielle, Eddie Goldman, Gretchen Wilson, New York, Patience, Yogi’s

Labels: bars, beer, country music, Lisa Marie, Patriot, Yogi’s

This past Thursday night at Yogi’s did find an assortment of sweet young thangs there, although most of them looked like extras from “Sex And The City”, with their fancy handbags and shoes. But for the few hours I was there, none of them danced on the bar or even acted much rowdier than a bunch of yuppie-ettes at a sale at Bloomingdale's. Even usually surefire anthems from Gretchen Wilson and Dolly Parton did not elevate any of these young ladies off the floor (although I was told that a few had danced on the bar before I had arrived).

The two lovely bartenders that night, newcomer Emma and regular Brie, of course, kept us wolves satisfied, of course.



But the most fun the menfolk seemed to have was when the finicky jukebox played “Dueling Banjos”, and we all started banging away on the bar.



Crowded as it was, the atmosphere was so slow that the white-haired, late-night regular Bobby (“Yeah, baby!”) actually made sense and got a few laughs when he suggested that something should be done for the “horny old men” amongst us.

Brie and Emma did what they could, of course within the confines of the law. Brie liked this photo I took of her, commenting, “My boobs look huge!”

Yes, even cameras in cell phones capture that image.

I don’t know if it is a summer thing, but dancing on the bar at Yogi’s has been a rarity in these hot months. Maybe the redneck women are on vacation, or broke, or can’t risk violating their parole.

In any case, one place the outlaw women seem to be is in the new video celebrating them, from country group Jackson Taylor. Here it is:

Labels: bars, beer, Brie, Eddie Goldman, Emma, Jackson Taylor, outlaw women, Yogi’s

I hereby apologize to all my barfriends and bartenders: Because of work (I’ve been called the hardest-working person in my biz) and family issues, I was unable to fulfill my obligations this weekend to go out drinking.

Labels: bars, beer, drinking, Eddie Goldman, Janet, New York, Yogi’s