Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, January 3, 1995 TAG: 9501040048
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: kathleen wilson
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Matt ought to know. I.N. ``Nick'' Bullington, his great-grandfather, opened the place during the Depression.
I rode 1994 out and rang 1995 in by spending 12 hours at the joint that we all know can seat 1,000 people. Ten at a time.
There were no harder-working and better-natured guys in the world than those who manned the counter that night: Matt, Dan Siler, Danny Fralin, Bobby Conner, Tim Goff, Scott James and Jimmy Wills.
On any given night here, there are plenty of characters. On New Year's Eve, the cast was particularly, well, colorful.
Thanks to off-duty Roanoke police officer and Texas Tavern security presence Levert ``Action'' Jackson, things didn't get too colorful.
``I'm not a bum ...''
4:18 p.m.
``The Coke in the little bottles is the best part,'' says Matt Haga, 9. He and his brother Joe, 7, are downing cheeseburgers and bowls of chili. They always stop here before their grandfather makes his annual trip to Florida.
``We went to see `Dumb and Dumber,''' Matt says.
How was it?
``Dumb,'' giggles Joe.
4:31 p.m.
``You need windshield wipers, don't you, fella?'' Dan says from behind the counter to a seventy-something man wearing foggy, rain-flecked spectacles.
``Can I get you anything?'' Dan asks.
The little man shakes his head, but he never takes a seat.
5:02 p.m.
``I hear there's going to be a hayride,'' says Danny, looking out at the rain-slick street.
``Anyone going on a hayride in weather like this ought to be seeing a psychiatrist,'' Dan comments.
For the first time, the little old man perks up.
``I just came from the psychiatrist,'' he says. ``Over at the VA. I have to go see one every once in a while.''
He's offered a cup of coffee.
``I'm not a bum,'' he says, pulling a $5 bill out of his pocket.
5:39 p.m.
A man heads for the door. He stumbles and grabs my arm.
``She made me so [expletive] mad,'' he slurs, mustard and onions frothing from his mouth. His breath smells of whiskey.
He lowers his hand to about two feet from the floor.
``My little girl,'' he says. His face clouds over and he shakes a tight fist. ``She made me so [expletive] mad.''
I shake off his arm and he stumbles off into the night.
Whenever...
11:29 p.m.
``Hot damn!'' crows Terry, after paying less than ten bucks for five hot dogs and a quart of chili. ``I've got enough left over to buy a case of beer!''
12 a.m.
Tim's frying up burgers. Jim's washing dishes. Matt's changing the receipt tape in the cash register.
It's 1995.
All 10 stools are empty. Full bowls of chili sit abandoned by those who ran off to watch the fireworks.
12:21 a.m.
What are Paul, Danny and Eric doing out at this hour?
``He's 16,'' boasts Paul, 14, pointing to Danny, whose face almost bursts with a proud smile.
Danny and Eric, also 14, are sharing a bowl of chili.
What time do you guys have to be home?
``Whenever,'' the three say.
Whenever?!
``Yep, whenever,'' Danny says.
Just then a man sticks his head in the door and says to Eric, ``What are you doing?''
``Go away,'' barks Eric.
Who was that?
``Just my dad.''
Meatballs in the trunk
1:18 a.m.
``We had such a hard time getting a limo,'' says Marshall, his arm around Tim Caudill of Martinsville.
Tim, who works for Carnivale Limousine, agreed to drive Marshall's group around Roanoke without charging them for the drive back and forth from Martinsville.
Marshall was really grateful.
``He usually does all the driving,'' says Carla, wearing a glitzy white dress and tossing back her brown hair.
``I'm so tired of being responsible,'' Marshall admits.
1:34 a.m.
Kathy and Steve drop by to pick up food before heading up to the star on Mill Mountain.
``It's co...co...co,'' she stutters about her sparkly dress.
``Too damn tight!'' interjects Steve.
``It is not!'' she exclaims. ``It's cobalt!''
Kathy puts her arms around a woman with dreadlocks sitting at the counter.
``Would y'all like some meatballs?'' she asks us. ``I've got meatballs out in the trunk.''
2:21 a.m.
Jennifer and Justin - Justin is a girl - have lost their designated driver. ``She's drunker than we are,'' they explain.
They went to three nightspots before stopping by Macado's to see if Frank could give them a ride home.
But Frank recently crashed his car, so he was without wheels.
Could someone call them a cab?
``They told us the last time we called there was a two-hour wait,'' Scott answers.
The night life
3:13 a.m.
I sit down next to two guys at the end of the counter.
One's finger is bandaged, all 10 cuticles blood-caked.
He looks me in the eye. His cheek, too, is smeared with blood.
``I hit a guy in the face with a beer mug,'' he says softly. ``Then he turned around and looked at me and I had to do it again.''
``You should have seen it,'' his companion cackles with a scary grin. ``The back of my shirt was covered with blood.'' He's high on this information. Thrilled. Juiced.
The guy with the bloodstained fingers tells me the white shirt he'd worn to the bar was bright red from the cuff to the elbow. They had cleaned up before coming here.
My stomach starts turning. I'm shaking.
``Look, I'm not proud of what I did,'' he says, pulling out a set of bloodstained keys.
Is there any way he can find out how badly the other guy is hurt?
``But I don't want to go to jail.''
Scott is serious for the first time in seven hours as his eyes meet mine from behind the counter.
``Welcome to the night life.''
by CNB