Bar at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, According to Girl

Bar at the Fifth Avenue Hotel according to Girl: Like a page from the historical novels of David McCullough, this little bit of history had been there for years before we graced New York, and will continue to thrive in the educational and wealthy widow community long after we are gone.

Plush, brick colored tapestries covered the walls; heavy drapery softened and quieted the street noises, covered with an elegant Fleur de leis design and braided gold ropes that pulled the outer drapery from the soft cream colored sheers on the fourteen foot windows. The floors were hardwood, dark, a Jacobean color, matching the edge of the bar and the wood parts of the leather stools, pulled up much like soldiers in formation, waiting for the next command.

A brass rail circled the empty bar.
We had been in Mike’s room much of the day, and by late afternoon, he suggested we go down to the bar for a drink.

Cheryl (a best friend of our daughter Meredith) lived in a house across from a cemetery. Down the street from her was a lonely house. We always thought that someone lived there; but we never knew for certain. At night the faint glow of lights shined through drawn curtains, and then they would be switched off at 9 p.m. But that was it. The rest of the time the house appeared to be uninhabited—the grass was never cut, the snow was never shoveled. Cheryl’s comment about the spooky house was, "Nobody ever goes in, and nobody ever comes out."

This, I must say, was the perfect description of the tiny bar next to the front desk there at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. It was empty, all the time. I really could not say that from personal experience, but I heard, from my sources that it was never frequented.

So, we slipped into street clothes, headed downstairs, and found a stool. It looked clean, the bottles were dusted, the glasses sparkled, the counter glistened, and the bartender looked at us like we were from another planet. We had interrupted his Wall Street Journal reading. As he sized us up from over the top of his tortoise shell reading glasses, he looked past us, into the beyond as he asked for our order. Now, I was not sure what to order, however I had just read The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. In his story, the bad boy hero smokes and drinks his way around New York. So, I just came up with Rye on the Rocks. It sounded sophisticated and upper class; just sort of rolling off my tongue. Obviously, I had no clue what I was doing.

Well, it was nasty, I choked a bit down. Coughed and sputtered like a baby. We left a ten on the bar for both drinks and the tip, and decided to find something else to do on that fine afternoon.