Thursday, September 22, 2011
When I was growing up at the Corner, this place was called The Brass Rail. I always thought it was a cool name. Dad never had anything good to say about the joint other than "be careful, this place is trouble". When walking by it, I always thought I saw 'pained faces' staring out of the darkness. I even had bad dreams about it. Now, Santos, the other bar and grille there, was another story. Dad and I often went in and sat at a rear booth waiting for a large pepperoni pizza for the family. The juke box blared the Everly Brothers, neon lights were everywhere and friendly chatter came from all directions. There was, as I remember, such a strong blend of cigarettes and stale beer that I almost was forced to hold my breath til I reached the door. It seemed like a happy, safe place compared to The Rail. Hey Bartender!