The Goodfoot
Hippy stronghold or not, the place has great pinball

by Sam Soule, for pdxguide.com

It had always been my impression that the Goodfoot on SE Stark was a serious step in the wrong direction.

The Goodfoot's reputation as a hippy stronghold could not be more off-putting. Its regular entertainment calendar is one of the most unimaginative in town, all retro-dance parties, world beat nonsense and Grateful Dead revivialsm, not to mention bad, showy jazz.

Stack that up under the bar's name, an unforgivable rip from the work of James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, and as far as I was concerned, the Goodfoot was just plain lame. What path could I take that would ever lead me there?

A pinball path, as the case turned out to be.

Recent events found your favorite pdxguide freelancer fast on the trail of a notorious gang of pinball toughs, the Crazy Flipper Fingers (another story, for another day). Sources had indicated the CCF often haunted the pinball machines stashed in the Goodfoot. For this reason I was off to the heart of white dude mediocrity. I never found the Fingers, but my visits were not without discovery.

Truth be told, the Goodfoot gets a few things right. Split into a walk-up tavern and basement level nightclub, its easy to interpret this tavern complex as quite a bit of Heaven and a little bit of Hell.

First, the Hell, an uncomfortably laid out cellar-dwelling nightclub with lounge, dance floor and pool. If anything really unenjoyable is going to happen in the Goodfoot, it's going to happen here. The ceiling is too low -- take that as you may. Better yet, take the higher path, and get out. There is saving grace above.

Heaven in the Goodfoot would be a school gymnasium-sized bar space that doubles as art gallery and pool hall. Red felt pool tables are surrounded by a variety of intriguing art showings. Pockets of high-backed, blonde wood booths line the walls. And a diverse jukebox fills the air with earthy-hits and indie-wonders with Jerry and the boys making comfortable room for Palace and Prince.

Then there's the small point of texture. The modest bar at the front of the is topped with a marbled and rubbery brick-colored surface. It feels like something peeled off the floor of a 1970's kitchen -- or the inside of a deflated basketball. It was upon this discovery, I really started warming up to the Goodfoot.

Certainly the people, on either side of the bar, were not off-putting.

The hippy stigma of the Goodfoot -- upstairs, in any case -- is largely false. Most people I saw drinking from the micro-heavy bottle-and-tap selection at this tavern were pleasantly well-scrubbed and generally attractive; albeit, in a southeast Portland, short pants wearing kind of way. Perhaps all the hippy-folk hang out at the Lucky Labrador.

But there is some questionable-to-unfortunate hippy-ness going on, though. For one, I don't understand organic microbrews -- why not just eat raw hops? And the kitchen fare -- typical bar food with salad and pastas -- is prepared with all the all the care of well-intentioned commune kitchen. You never know quite what you're getting, though chances are it will be overdone, bizarrely spiced, and if cheese is involved, globby.

That said, the Goodfoot is a great place to play pinball, three proud games against the far wall. This, of course, was really why I came in the first place. Glad I did, too. Rare is it that all three major requirements for a good game of pinball come into alignment: well-maintained machines, ample elbow room to play, lighting that does not obscure the playfield with glare or reflections. No wonder the Crazy Flipper Fingers were known patrons of the Goodfoot.

Though the CFF never made an appearance during my visits to the Goodfoot, the bartender knew who I was talking about about when I made a hushed over inquiry.

I decided to leave a message.

"Tell those CFF punks that the Deaf, Dumb and Blind Kids have got their number."

The tender almost lost his pork pie hat.

"That's right," I said. "We're taking over."

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