The Clinton Street Pub

by Sam Soule for pdxguide.com
December 2005

Twelve years ago I was a known face in the two bars that then serviced the quiet residential intersection of 26th and SE Clinton. I was known to get faced. I would start off drinking at the fledgling hipersteria Dot's — a business whose presence would eventually ignite a commercial revitalization of the entire neighborhood. And the nights my vain attempts at appearing cool resulted in greater failure than others, I sometimes found myself across the street at the Clinton Street Pub.

The two bars complimented each other nicely. Dot's was a unique and kitchy refuge for the indie-rock mindset while the Clinton Street lingered as a dreary way-stop for blue collar heroes — guys I like to imagine having griped about the arrival of the kids in nerd glasses eating veggie burgers across the street. Those lunchbox Joe types couldn't know it, but their days were numbered. At the time the bars of 26th and SE Clinton comprised a Yin Yang affair. Now it is just Yin.

Me? I'm just wiser.

See, there was that night when I leaned across the red linoleum bar top of the Clinton Street Pub, drunk, perhaps feeling further compromised by the psychological pressure exerted by the bar's incredibly low ceiling, and asked the bartender if I could be set up with a running tab. Something I could pay off in a day or so.

I was broke. I thought it was a good idea. It wasn't.

Thankfully, the bartender was in more of a permissive mood than I would have been in her situation (and as a working bartender today, I have been in her situation). She did not cut-off me off or 86 my ass. I was a young recognizable face and the bartender simply explained, perhaps with a faint trace of anxiety in her voice (who knows what state I was in, what I looked like) that for something like that I would need to speak to the owner, and the owner was not around. The owner, she assured me, was never around.

I now know better than to do anything quite as pathetic as to ask for credit at a bar, one hour shy of last call no less. The Clinton Street is wiser these days as well. In an act of cultural gentrification, the sweater kids and tatooed service industry workers have taken over the Clinton Street.

My blue collar grumblers are gone.

It would be easy to moan about how the old, despairing Clinton Street Pub was a cooler place. But, whatever — that would be the cry of the alternative nation attempting to sound seasoned. Forced jading. Fact is, the old Clinton Street was never any fun and the one pinball machine in the back never worked. The new Clinton Street is stacked with friendly people on both sides of the bar and the pinball machines (four!) rock. The room is like a low-rent Dot's geared to stragglers and small parties not up for the more staid scene across the street. The vibe is looser. The ceiling is higher.

Changes have gone into effect at the Clinton Street since new owners took over in the past year, lifting the lid on the room and opening up the space with mauve paint and a half dozen TV's. A full bar has been added, as well as an expanded, but modest, food menu.

The red bar top remains, across which I have passively witnessed many a tiring discussion regarding the merits of Modest Mouse versus Built to Spill (the bartenders play whatever they want on the house PA, and what they want is generally a Wes Anderson soundtrack); and I have actively participated in debates regarding the proud stand of four pinball machines against the far wall. There's a certain neighborhood girl who has caught my eye. I've been hanging out a lot.

Unlike the old Clinton Street, the owner is always around. However, I won't take that as some secret signal that now is the time (FINALLY) for me to ask for that bar tab.

I've learned my lesson. And so has the Clinton Street Pub.

The opinions expressed within are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of pdxguide.com or The Columbian Publishing Co.