The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

The South End has never had a tavern or a bar, at least not a legal one. You might think the Temperance Union was strong down here, righteous keg-busting zealots opposed to strong drink, hoping to keep Beelzebub at arms length across the Camano bridge since the north end didn’t have a tavern or a bar either. Nowadays real estate contracts would require that fact listed on disclosure forms. No Alcohol Within X Miles. For us South Enders, that might be as much as 20 miles. Probably more on the inebriated drive back from Stanwoodopolis or La Conner, missed turns and all.

I suppose Utah has those kind of long distance dry stretches and I’ve been in contiguous counties down in the Deep South that ban sales of spritis. Moonshine thrives in those arid regions. That, or religion. We islanders — at least us bibulous ones — could purchase beer and wine at the original Plaza Grocery and the four other mom and pops, Tyee, Huntington, Elger Bay and Utsalady Stores. Pricey, but factor in the gas expense to get off island, we complained quietly.

The Nestor Brothers brought in the first actual bar around 1990, a restaurant about a mile on the mainline once you crossed the bridge, aptly called the Shipwreck. Which in no time flat became the Hot Spot for diners and drinkers, dancers and drunks, plus cops and DUI’s. The sheriff’s deputies could wait down the road for Last Call, just pick em off one by one. Course back then they had to haul their catch to Coupeville, book em in and drive clear back. You learned to let a few others leave first before exiting that juke joint. Or, like myself, avoid the place at all costs. I’m sure the cops are swell fellows but we don’t need to be on a first name basis.

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