Copyright American Press
(Editor’s Note: Jim Beam has a tendon problem on his right hand and will publish some columns from the past until it heals). Sept. 26, 1982 Only the memories remain. The news cut deeply. A large chunk of my social life had been wiped out in a matter of hours. I didn’t want to believe Bobby when he called at 7 a.m. Tuesday morning with the terrible news. It’s still difficult to accept. Once at work, however, I had to come to grips with reality. The proof was in a grim photograph — Papania’s had really been destroyed by fire early Tuesday morning. For the uninitiated, I must explain that Papania’s was a popular night spot at 2601 East Broad Street. And now it’s gone — only a fond memory for those of us who found it unequalled as a place to unwind after stressful hours in the newsroom. We had been going there for so many years, we felt like family. Just open the front door to the lounge and Eddie would have your brand of beer on the bar before you bellied up. Eddie is a real professional. It didn’t take him long to figure out why Scooter always managed to walk through that front door slightly after Jim Beam arrived. It was a sure-fire way to get the first one on someone else. And he noticed that Scooter and his beer seldom parted company — not even for a trip to the men’s room, Yes, when it comes to bartenders, I’ll put Eddie up against the best anywhere. Once your thirst was quenched at Papania’s, your thoughts would often turn to food. And Neva, Vivian, Greg, Merrick or Michelle wasted no time seeing that you got preferential treatment and a first-class meal. When it came to that unique brand of music, you could always count on Jimmy and Phil. I’m particularly going to miss “I Did It My Way,” which Jimmy always dedicated to the American Press crew. I suppose you could say that Papania’s was a neutral zone where even your severest critics respected your right to put your work behind you for a few hours of relaxation. And you returned that respect in the same manner. Take Johnnie “Popcorn” Caldarera, for example. He and I haven’t seen eye-to-eye in recent months. But we’ve managed to keep a line of communication open and Caldarera still does most of the talking. I wouldn’t want you to think there haven’t been some tense moments at Papania’s. I’ll never forget one night a few years back following the Jupiter labor violence. Eddie said it was fortunate for me that the labor leader’s wife cooled down. He told me about the night she had broken her arm while whacking another foe over the head. While Papania’s was not what you’d call “a place where the elite meet” on a regular basis, the who’s who of the social scene eventually put in an appearance. I guess we’ve seen everybody who’s anybody in recent years. And I’ve gotten more news tips than I can count. It’s amazing how a few drinks can open people up sometimes. And politics! The air at Papania’s was filled with it. I’ve seen many winners toast their victories and almost as many losers drown their sorrows. It was a kind of place you felt you had to check out before going home — whatever the hour or whatever the day. My wife said she wondered if my car could ever make it home without a trip out East Broad Street. While inside, you shut out the rest of the world. One night there was an attempted kidnapping and shootout in the parking lot and we didn’t know about it until reading the next day’s newspaper. Well, it’s all over now and my heart is heavy. Like Scooter, I haven’t had the courage to drive by the destruction. I guess that’s because seeing the burned out shell would make it all seem so final. Will they rebuild? Only Frankie Papania can answer that question. But I doubt the place will ever hold the same charm and fascination its patrons have experienced over the past 27 years. Life goes on, though, and we must adapt. Buddy has his feelers out, but no one knows for sure where our tensed-up bodies will unwind next. We will, I’m sure, find another home. But, oh, those memories.
