Here we encounter the first philosophical dilemma concerning what does and doesn’t constitute Columbus proper. The rule of thumb I eventually decided upon is that if a suburb at least touches the 270 outerbelt, then it’s still part of the city in my book. Therefore Hilliard and Dublin are fair game, say, while I wouldn’t really say the same about Pickerington, or Canal Winchester. In this spirit then Gahanna makes the cut, which means we can discuss the Alumni Club in our little historical canon.
For a spot this far removed from our typical stomping grounds, it’s safe to say we have collectively visited the Alumni Club far more than any other destination this distant. Located at the absolute northeast edge of town, at 395 Stoneridge Lane, there’s nothing all that remarkable about this establishment, and the location itself is just your average humdrum strip mall. Still they have managed to craft a charming enterprise here, one which always entertains for a variety of reasons.
For many years, the always entertaining cover song specialist AJ Angelo held court here, and he was a steady draw, as he is everywhere, not to mention that he’s great with the fans and in general seems like a genuinely cool dude. Aside from that, unique for a place like this, they also hosted an open stage acoustic jam night. Not only that, but patrons were encouraged to and often did run on stage with cash, which they would hand to, throw at, or stuff into the pockets of performing musicians. I’ve actually never seen this anywhere else.
The possibilities here begin clicking into place on a blustery Tuesday night, in mid December.
AJ Angelo is running his Tuesday night acoustic/karaoke extravaganza up here, and as it’s been about a year since we’ve visited, it seems that the timing is right. His sleek, curly black hair tucked into a ponytail, well dressed as always in a business casual kind of way and smiling basically non-stop, our entertainer for the evening knows how to charm the pants off a crowd, but he also appears to genuinely love what he does, tipping the scales away from cheesy huckster status. His stage banter, ease at working the crowd when strolling about the room, and really just general aura, all of it adds up to a guy who knows what he’s doing in and is having a blast doing so.
As this is something of a classy, upscale club, what this means is AJ here still substitutes actual song lyrics with some ribald phrases of his own, but nothing too filthy. He could probably get away with a little bit more than usual tonight, however, for it would seem that even as far removed as they are from OSU or any other major college, this place is experiencing a bit of a holiday downturn as well. Though tucked out here in this innocuous strip mall, the Alumni Club normally boasts a strong crowd regardless of the day or the week, but not now. Our initial visit, for example, the doorman hassled everyone in our party endlessly before permitting entry, though we all possessed valid IDs, and yet tonight we just breeze on in, have a seat at the enormous, gleaming wooden bar.
A friendly, thirty-something lady serving drinks immediately takes our orders, depositing beers in front of us in no time. Otherwise, there’s nobody anywhere near us except for a couple other drunk yet – naturally – well-dressed middle aged guys a handful of seats down, in the direction of the stage. These two strike up a conversation with us, as it turns out they are brothers and, as chance would have it, one is named Frank. The other is Larry, and, oh yeah, they just happen to own this place.
“Either one of you guys play?” the more talkative – Frank of course – of the duo asks us, as AJ is strumming and singing the latest tune alone onstage.
“Yeah, I play a little,” Damon tells them, then nods at me and adds, “and he plays keyboard.”
Frank turns his attention to me for a split second, before focusing on Damon once more. This is perfectly understandable as there’s no keyboard here and, well, I’m not all that good. Damon’s being overly modest, on the other hand, and it’s possible these guys picked up on that vibe instantaneously.
“You have to get up and play!” Frank slurs, and, when Damon demurs, insists, “come on! Play for us!”
He still isn’t sure, though, and it’s not just false modesty leading him to decline. Despite his talents and his experience on stage, an ability to come across as outspoken and extroverted in certain situations, others such as this have him dragging his feet.
“Play for us!” he continues, then, to the barmaid, Karen, says, as he flails an arm to indicate us, “get these boys something to drink! Whaddaya want?”
Damon and I grin at one another and order another beer, deposited in our mitts again basically the instant we have killed our first. Larry and Frank pull him into their midst for a little pow-wow, the effect of which they’re gradually winning Damon over in their efforts to lure him onto the stage. I’m not complaining either, however, for if the free drink weren’t enough, Karen is just hanging out for an audience of no one but myself, leaning against her side of the bar in front of me as we watch the action.
“I like Tuesdays much better than the weekends,” she says.
“Oh really? Why’s that?”
“Well,” Karen sighed, “the guys in here on the weekend are all after the same thing”
Now that they’ve gotten Damon cajoled into gracing the stage, there’s nothing for him to do but anxiously await the metaphorical green light announcing his set has arrived. “Man, I wish I brought my harmonica. I don’t know why but I hate getting up and playing acoustic without it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it just kind of makes me feel funny. I don’t know why that is, I like to hide behind that harmonica.”
Once his moment finally arrives, AJ departs the stage. Though he strums his acoustic along with whatever song anyone else wants to sing, and fills up the blank spaces on his lonesome, Damon’s solo performance without Angelo is the only of its kind, at least while we’re here. Tonight’s crowd is skewing older than expected, certainly much more than our other visit, so his choice of song is perfect as he slides into that dimly lit chair – just a pair of Neil Young songs, Harvest Moon and Hey Hey, My My, sung in his soft, slight drawl, as he strums along beautifully. The crowd goes absolutely bananas, roaring with ear splitting applause after each tune, and some folks even rush the stage to throw money at him.
“I need this to buy beer,” Damon jokes into the mic, as he stuffs cash into his pockets. The crowd chuckles heartily and then he exits the stage.
As we’re all telling him he did a great job, and even AJ is gracious enough to drift past with some effusive praise – not at all common in his line of work, for sure – this Frank guy is nearly apoplectic, he’s so wound up.
“That was incredible!” he says, continues, “listen. I own a few bars around this area, and I’m looking at putting something together like this on Mondays at one just down the road.”
“Really?” Damon replies. He appears more polite than all that interested, yet this doesn’t deter his would be benefactor here.
“Yeah. If you’re interested, you know, I’d pay you real well and all, you know. Here,” Frank fumbles around and secures a pen, some paper, scrawls his digits down and hands the slip to Damon, “give me a call tomorrow if you’re interested, and, you know, like I said, we’ll talk about it. I’ll pay you real well.”
By now we’ve somehow tired of all this hoopla and just want to get out the door. Having seen him play countless times, I know he’s good, but like anything else, after a while you just start to take this for granted and maybe even tune it out to some extent. Still, I think even Damon would agree the reaction here was a bit bizarre, more extreme than anyone could have anticipated.
“If you guys aren’t here next week, I’m kicking your ass!” Frank calls out, in jest we hope, as the two of us are headed for the door.
“Whew,” Damon says, as the cold hits us in the face and we trudge toward his truck, “I certainly didn’t expect anything like that!”
“Ah, you sounded good, man,” I confirm.
“I don’t know if I wanna run his jam night or not,” he ponders, as we cruise west now along Morse, “I guess it all depends on how much money he means by I’ll pay you real well.”
We drive on in silence for a minute and then Damon suggests, “I think the reason I went over so good is that it’s a mostly older crowd, same people every week, you know, all regulars, and here this kid comes in, it’s a new face, you know.”
“Well, yeah,” I counter, “but you did sound good.”
“Okay, well, yeah, it’s probably a combination of those things. You know what I’m saying, though – you’d have to agree it at least had something to do with it.”
I’m actually not sure if Damon ever bothered calling Frank. At any rate, he never took him up on the offer of running a jam night. We didn’t show up again for quite some time after it, to some extent even sort of forgetting about the place. But finally, a few years later, during a stretch where I’d rented an apartment just off of Morse and Damon eventually wound up being my roommate there, yet again, the Alumni Club enters our repertoire again, in earnest, as we will visit it more now than at any other time in our lives.
This place would appear to have a better reputation than you might expect for a place that doesn’t exactly advertise everywhere, nor cater to the younger, OSU campus laden clientele. For example somehow Damon and I once met a pair of strippers up in Mansfield who decided to drive down the next weekend to hang out with us. Barely of a legal drinking age themselves – and even that might have been suspect – these two nonetheless suggest the Alumni Club for some reason, before they even made the drive down. We’re not sure how or why they chose this hangout, when a million others would have seemed better suited to their demographic, but what can you say, the Alumni Club has always been a happening spot, and the best Gahanna has to offer.
The four of us hung out there all night…well, at least up until the point they followed us back to our place, got pulled over by the cops somewhere around Morse and Cleveland, before b.s.ing their way through it somehow and finally arriving intact.
At the time, it seemed kind of weird and cheesy to be lurking around snapping these photos. I mean, who walked around in the late ’90s taking pictures of buildings, with a camera that used actual film? My girlfriend during this era even went as far as to say this was, and I believe this is an exact quote, “fucking stupid.” But now, I definitely wish I had taken a whole lot more of them. As it stands, I only have a handful.
Anyway, I decided to help you out with some quick links here, to jump to various sections of this epic street. Click below to transport there, intrepid traveler. By the way, if viewing this (and most other pages, really) on a mobile device, you might want to flip your phone sideways to view it in landscape mode. Things should then make much more sense to you:
Yet another Chipotle knockoff, although this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. They do offer a few unique twists as far as toppings are concerned, chief among them a slew of unique sauces. Recently I went with a taco meat burrito topped with jalapeno ranch and found it a pretty amazing combination. I still can’t stop thinking about this meal. Yes it is a chain, albeit one founded in the not-so-distant city of Kettering. And there are just a couple Columbus locations thus far, plus one each in Grove City and Hilliard.
8275 N. High Street – once upon a crime it was CheckFree headquarters. Also Worthington Industries (Jan 2000) which is awarded a 100% tax abatement in 2000. CheckFree itself got an abatement of some sort in ‘93. Now there is nothing here, so, yeah, that whole concept doesn’t really seem to have worked out.
8231 N. High Street – Formerly belongs to The Wine Bistro. Now permanently closed.
7625 N. High Street – A deceptive amount of stuff is going on at this address. The Pontifical College Josephinum, including the St. Turibius Chapel, is the most prominent of these. But there’s also the Jessing Center (conference space), Bosc + Brie (a caterer), and A.T. Wehrle Memorial Library.
7925 N. High Street – ZipZone Outdoor Adventures.
6550 N. High Street – Worthington’s municipal building and city manager’s office are located here, among other entities. At one point the Worthington Arts Council would host some showings here, although I’m not sure if that’s still true.
A few blocks beyond here, the addresses get a little confusing. Somewhere around the Worthington-Galena Rd intersection, Worthington drops the “north” part but retains the High Street bit, while starting the numbering sequence over. Continue further south still to approximately the Howard Avenue intersection, and the “north” returns, the Columbus city numbering resumes as well.
5601 N. High Street – The Light Of Seven Matchsticks. Or is that the dimness of seven martoonis? Actually this subterranean dive seems to specialize in bizarre concoctions of its own creation, which I’m sure you could guess from the name.
5295 N. High Street – currently Iron Grill BBQ & Diner. As of September ’06, though, it was a place called Pig Iron. I don’t know if these two businesses are linked, but am guessing they are in some fashion. Pig Iron was a rib joint, though also featuring a noteworthy fish sandwich and something called spiky greens. Plus plenty of other pork offerings.
5596 N. High Street – Over The Counter Restaurant. A low-key throwback diner with a bar. The name apparently refers to Nicklaus Pharmacy, which used to call this address home and was owned by the famous golfer’s dad.
5220 N. High Street: The Ohio State School for the Blind. Originally built downtown, it was the first such school in the country, before moving to its current location in the 1950s. Among its famous alumni is jazz performer Rahsaan Roland Kirk.
5090 N. High Street – First Merchants Bank. Formerly one of two local locations for The Melting Pot.
5052 N. High Street
longstanding location for Pro Percussion, now known as Columbus Percussion. Known employee roll call: Larz Raymond, Jim Rupp.
this was perhaps the most iconic location of Tee Jaye’s Country Place, ever. Currently a Chik-Fil-A, which has at least attempted to retain somewhat of the iconic look outside.
-Clintonville-
4675 N. High Street – Nowadays this address belongs to RiteRug Home Remodel. But it was Scottie Macbean Café and Roastery as of at least Mar ’06. Breakfast thru dinner every day, a small food menu. Outdoor seating.
Clintonville Woman’s Club basement lounge area.
3951 N. High Street – Clintonville Woman’s Club. Site of my friend Maria’s wedding reception in March 2014. ‘Twas either a really sweet occasion, or, um, not such a pretty sight, depending upon what you’re talking about. For the stated purpose of toasting these newlyweds: yes, awesome. For those of us roped into pounding coffee flavored tequila by the bride’s maniacal brother Tommy: hmm, maybe not so much.
Clintonville Woman’s Club Gallery
3923 N. High Street – Park of Roses. I used to hit this in my 1997 bicycling odysseys, to catch the trail that would take me up to Bethel Road. Otherwise all I’ve really ever seen of this place is in passing, when I would come to the Whetstone Library.
3909 N. High Street – Whetstone Branch of the library. Would hit this every so often when living on or around campus, because it seemed like the most convenient one at the time. Fun fact: site of, to date, the last time I ever locked my keys in my car. This used to happen quite a bit but I’ve gotten a lot better about it (fingers crossed).
3805 N. High Street – Re/Max has been peddling real estate from here since at least the early 2000s. A litany of other businesses call this nondescript (it kind of resembles a high school from an 80s movie or something) Capital Centre office building home, with mixed results.
3535 N. High Street – This address belongs to three different but possibly connected entities: Global Gallery Coffee Shop, Ramble Coffee, and Clintonville Farmers’ Market.
3309 N. High Street – was once MPX Gallery. Currently the FUZZ Nail Studio.
3301 N. High Street – Rag-O-Rama. In my head I was thinking of this as a “funky clothing store” but it turns out this is exactly how they are listed in Google Maps, too, the first three words in the description. They’ve been here for who knows how long. Best Clintonville Shopping per Alive in 2000. The gimmick here is that this is a “curated” second hand clothing store, so the offerings should be a little bit better. Jewelry and other related stuff is available as well.
3269 N. High Street – currently sits empty, but it was once home of the awesome Clintonville Cobblery, owned and operated by Mike Leach and Soph Bolton. It’s sad this is no longer around.
But it’s possible this is somewhat of a doomed location. Before that, Eclecqtiques Antique Mall was here, and Portia’s Diner, and Whole World Pizza and Bakery (as of Mar 2000). That last one featured whole wheat pizzas, made their own salad dressings (Asian sesame, Garlic Herb). Mostly if not all vegetarian – veggie burgers, soups, etc
3179 N. High Street – Pace High Carry Out. Yes indeedy! Always a great beer selection, and it’s cool to see they’re still around.
3133 N. High Street – Is REWASH Refillery at present, though formerly the wildly popular Nancy’s Home Cooking. I only ate there once and, though everyone raved about the place, wasn’t really all that impressed. It could be that I just picked a bad day, because they only had two daily entries – so you were at the mercy of whatever they happened to be serving that day.
3131 N. High Street – currently Lucky 13 Salon Collective. A slight rebranding from years past, as for example in 2006 it was instead Lucky 13 Hair Salon. At that time, they were advertising men’s cuts for $17, Women’s for $21, coloring for a mere 45 smackers. Most intriguingly, they don’t accept reservations, only walk-ins.
3127 N. High Street – Spiritus Tattoo at the moment, though formerly North Oak Gallery.
3095 N. High Street – longtime home of a McDonald’s. They create quite a stir in the summer of 2000 by painting the entire exterior white, with just a little bit of red and yellow trim. It’s more of a tasteful grey these days.
3009 N. High Street – Pattycake Bakery. Classic sweet tooth offerings with occasional tie-ins to local events.
2977 N. High Street – Condado Tacos now. Was Talita’s (as of July 2000). A Tex-Mex type establishment, none too expensive but well regarded nonetheless.
2973 N. High Street – Blunch, a light, fluffy, a.m. and early afternoon eatery. According to their ads, they feature “creative morning cocktails,” too.
2971 N. High Street – Lineage Brewing. Though one recent ad mentioned that they were filling crowlers, I assume they meant growlers – and if not then I seriously need to check this place out, just to see what this is. Of course, it’s equally likely that their marketing guru is sampling too much product.
2931 N. High Street – Clintonville location for Aladdin’s, a popular Lebanese eatery. Fresh fruit shakes an unexpected surprise. I once applied to work for these guys (different location) but they apparently weren’t impressed by my resume.
2887 N. High Street – The Magical Druid, a “metaphysical supply store.” Was once a Bike Source location, one of four around town. As of April 2000, this was listed as their newest location.
2885 N. High Street – former location for Mozart’s up to at least October 2001. Now it is Harvest Bar + Kitchen Clintonville.
2711 N. High Street – I was sad to see this is just a barren plot of land now. In a previous life it was Patrick J’s, into the early 2000s at least. I came here a handful of times. It seems like someone once drove a car through the wall, but I’d have to research when this was. And could this be related to why the building was demolished? Rated Best Neighborhood Bar of Clintonville by Alive in 2000. Patio dining. They’re also raving in ads circa 2000 about having 5 TVs.
4784 N. High Street – Mozart’s Bakery and Event Space, the funky looking building with the pinkish exterior, kind of like the color of some good salmon dip. Paul Weiss is house pianist here.
4258 N. High Street – The Laughing Ogre comic book shop has been here for an eternity. The Soldiery Games & Cards also occupies part of the first floor, too, so there apparently must be an upstairs part in use as well.
3522 N. High Street – GIVE Yoga. Pearls Of Wisdom was here, however, circa January 2000.
3520 N. High Street – formerly an “eclectic art gallery,” called Civilization. Is now GIVE Yoga too along with Columbus Pelvic Floor Physical Therapy.
3296 N. High Street – now: Cornerstone Deli & Cafe
previously: (as of July 2000, anyway) Mill Street Bagels & Deli. Rated a “Best of Clinvintonville” pick by Columbus Alive in 2000, for their coffee. The atmosphere surely plays a part, as local artwork covers the walls.
3192 N. High Street – there’s nothing here now, but many years ago (May 2000 for example) United Smokes Of America dispensed the cigs at this address. They bill themselves as “Your Neighborhood Tobacco Store” and have four locations, but only one in Columbus.
3028 N. High Street – Brew-Stirs, a dive bar about as tacky as its name might imply. I’ve only found occasion to stop in here once. Miles and I got on a weird kick one night and decided to bicycle around the city visiting people, popping into bars for a beer if thirsty. He had been here before on many occasions, but I had not. Oddly enough, ran into a guy I’d heard of but never met, someone my parents went to school with in Ontario. He was playing in some band around Columbus at the time – but not here. Here, he was glued to a barstool.
2800 N. High Street – It’s funny how certain buildings seem to have a track record of housing specific categories of restaurants, when you would think a wide variety might be able to use the space. This address has displayed a fondness for Chinese over the years. Back in the day, China Buffet featured a pretty decent lunch special, although the problem with these places is they tend to be a little generic (naming it China Buffet doesn’t exactly help) and you struggle to recall details, or really develop much of an attachment. Nowadays Lucky Dragon plies their wares here, and this is a little bit more upscale, featuring a tiki bar as well.
-North Campus-
North High Street At Night
2663 N. High Street
A bar called Ravari Room once occupied this space, at this corner of High and Dodridge. It was connected internally to Hounddog’s and a popular enough spot that I was surprised when they closed up shop. Nowadays it appears the bar is still in place but they just call the whole thing Hounddog’s Pizza.
2657 N. High Street
Hounddog’s Three Degree Pizza. My first ever experience with this establishment would have been New Year’s Day, 1998 (or actually the wee hours of January 2, if you want to be precise). It had only recently lit up our radar for the first time, as a late night option. This initial foray involves a trip there as, following a night out at the club, they’ve stopped delivering at the hour we’re calling.
Damon and I head up there in my car, leaving behind a small arsenal of females at our house. His girlfriend, Shannon, and this chick she’s trying to hook me up with, Jamie, whom I’ve met tonight for the first time, are watching VCR tapes in our third floor living room back at 1990 1/2 Summit Street. Meanwhile, Melissa and Jenny are passed out already in Alan’s bed – no Alan, just to set the record straight, only the girls, for we haven’t seen our third roommate this particular evening.
Our early reviews could be summarized as less than impressed. After standing at the counter for an eternity while three cooks dick around in plain sight, sort of making pizzas and sort of goofing off, we finally catch someone’s attention. This really intense dude with long black hair, who resembles a Renegade-era Lorenzo Lamas, saunters up to take our order, although for some reason he is highly suspicious of our every move the entirety of this visit. Amusingly enough, I will piece together much later, with what I would ballpark at 99.9% certainty, that this was Matt Miner from Teeth Of The Hydra fame. He and I will wind up working at the same Wild Oats for a number of years, during which time he mentions having formerly manned the counter at Hounddog’s. A great guy and knowledgeable music fanatic, as it turns out, but yes – definitely intense.
Anyway, none of this is initially apparent. All we know is that he’s eyeballing us unrelentingly, all slow nods and surreptitious glances, like a cop interviewing suspects down at the station house. Eventually, having jotted down our order – nothing fancier than a single large pizza – he hands the slip off to those other two cooks.
Damon and I meander around while we wait, checking out the other half of this establishment. Over here it’s mostly a restaurant style operation with booths, dim lighting, some strange yet colorful and expansive artwork painted on the walls. A juke box and a couple of pool tables in back, kids our age milling around in that vicinity. Suspicious counter help aside, I have a feeling, if the food is any good, that this is going to turn into a serious after-hours habit for us.
After a short spell, the pizza is ready, and our spirited tour guide here brings it out. The counter from that kitchen side extends over here into the restaurant portion, terminating in a cash register equipped station. We’ve already forked over the necessary cash to some sort of managerial figure floating around back there and anticipate a hasty exit.
“You guys pay for that already?” our friend asks, sliding the hot cardboard box onto this white counter top. I reply in the affirmative but he studies me for a second or two, then stomps back to ask his boss anyway before allowing us to leave with it.
All is forgotten, of course, by the 3am hour when we finally return home with the pizza, large enough to feed the four of us – and delicious enough that, as intuited, this place soon turns into our late-night savior. Especially once we memorize the particulars of their delivery curfew.
2619 N. High Street – Ace Of Cups. Trendy live music venue I hate to admit I’ve yet to visit. Therefore subsisting for now on vicarious tales from friends, and their photos, plus a couple I managed to snap of the exterior. And Ray Ray’s Hog Pit also calls this place home.
One look at this boxy block of a building, though, and you know it used to be a bank. This somewhat explains why a different bar with the somewhat stupid name of Counterfit Heist was here, as of least March 2000.
Fast forward to 2006 and it’s a different club called Miani’s instead. Shucking Bubba Live Acoustic played hereevery Thursday at that time.
2573 N. High Street – there’s nothing here now, but it was a bar called Garcia’s through at least October 2001.
Jack & Benny’s
2563 N. High Street: Jack & Benny’s sits behind a wedge of window at the corner of Hudson and High. Circa 1997, the other three corners were overrun with a fast food taco restaurant, a drive through hamburger stand, a gas station, one existing video rental megastore and another across the street from it under construction, all national chains, and it was easy to surmise that this unobtrusive mom and pop café might be hanging on for dear life. Yet here they still are. And oddly enough, Jack & Benny’s began life way down at the corner of Broad and High, way back in 1954. Apparently an employee bought the rights to the name at some point and moved it up here – exactly the kind of weird development I find fascinating in the arc of a big city’s timeline, and a major reason this blog exists. Serving breakfast and only breakfast all day long, in a dining room no larger than one of their pancakes, rumor links them to a spotty oeuvre but I can’t find anything to complain about.
Of course, I would say this. Not as though I’m challenging myself any, picking a safe, American diner from the luxury of options lining this avenue. Accept this perfectly traditional ham and cheese omelet, glass of orange juice rather than rolling the dice on some Middle Eastern fare from Taj Mahal, induced though the eye is at every pass, by car or hoof, to its ridiculously extravagant patio.
A waist high white brick wall surrounds this lavish terrace, as black iron spears join hands above, six inches apart, for the railing. Made from this same metal, chairs and tables, wrought in lace like patterns, are held captive on the other side. All quite the calling card, if offering no idea what to expect within. Glances full of mumbling, abject horror exchange between help as their ignorant guest grapples with the exotic menu, I imagine, and anyway, I’m the kind of guy who prefers a plate glass window front to gauge in advance what lies ahead. Between the patio and the ivory fortress proper, a dozen odd steps rise to meet a broad front porch teeming with potted vegetation, and this distance exceeds my valor’s limited grasp.
2465 N. High Street – Call it the district of meaningful stare-downs. Highly reminiscent of our first ever visit to Hounddog’s Pizza a couple of months earlier, itself also a 24 hour operation, Damon and I are hanging out bored late one night and decide to give North Campus Video a shot. After scouring their diverse selection, which features a high percentage of weird, offbeat selections, we somehow settle upon renting Brewster’s Millions. This is where we encounter the guy working the counter who, in keeping with the Hounddog’s experience, is giving us the kind of intense glares usually reserved for homicide detectives interviewing their favorite suspects.
As far as his appearance, this individual is shaved bald, with tons of piercings and tattoos, seems to be possibly early middle age yet is pulling off this hardcore look with admirable aplomb anyway. Or at least this is what I might be thinking, if he weren’t grilling us to death over the issuance of a freaking video card. Everything the man says, he follows it up with a meaningful glare, no matter how trivial the point. Even though last I checked we’re totally normal and borderline dorky 23 year old kids with no criminal record to speak of, holding down paying jobs and even managing – gasp – to rent an apartment without issue for over a year now here in this big scary city. Obtaining a permit to rent VCR tapes is a major step, sure, but I have a feeling we’ll emerge from this unscathed.
“Our policies are different than other video stores…”
Meaningful glare.
“You pay when you return the movie…”
Meaningful glare.
“And your card can be used by anyone who brings it in….”
Another meaningful glare.
“So don’t lose it…”
2439 N. High Street – Though I believe this is closed at present, Blue Danube once was and possibly will be again the proud owner of this address. I would characterize it as what happens when hippies attempt to open a 1950s type diner, albeit one with an enormous well-stocked wooden bar, running the length of the restaurant. Or something to that effect. Opened clear back in 1940, the fare at this restaurant is supposed to be Hungarian at its core, or at least was before mutating to a drastic, radioactive degree. This might explain the vaguely European looking giant mural of a bridge over some river which once lined the building’s exterior, on the side bordering West Blake. Blue lights line the exterior, meanwhile, idly luring the passing driver in a subliminal tie-in with the establishment’s name. There’s a bunch of weird stuff on the menu, not all of which can be explained away as Hungarian, but also plain offerings like burgers, fries, and bowls of spaghetti for the less adventurous, like me. We used to park behind North Campus Video, although I can’t remember if this was legit or you just kind of hoped you wouldn’t get towed.
The Dube Dip was a popular sandwich. Best Restaurant on Campus per Alive in 2000. Also best cheap eats in the entire town, Alive, 2000. They were open until 2am, which was surely part of the attraction.
Bonus fun fact: A few of us came here for dinner the night of my 30th birthday party, before festivities kicked off in earnest.
2417 N. High Street – Dick’s Den. Known primarily as a live jazz sanctuary, other genres will grace the stage here on occasion. Places like this make me wish I could drink as much as I used to – preferably with a pack of comrades who were of a like mind – and had all the time in the world for pub crawling. They did have a pool table near the back, not sure if it’s still there. Annual 5 mile marathon starts with shots here, the winner gets a pitcher of beer. Named best place for live jazz, Alive, 2000.
2361 N. High Street – New Taj Mahal (Indian restaurant) but also Halal Zaika somehow (Halal restaurant. A spot that’s truly been all over the globe, though, when you consider for example that Blue Nile (Ethiopian restaurant) was here as of March 2006. They had a lunch buffet, and plenty of vegetarian offerings too.
2333 N. High Street – Trillium Kitchen & Patio. Trendy though slight food piles artfully arranged on, like, a slate slab or something.
2247 N. High Street – nothing is here now, or if it is, it’s purely residential. Taj Mahal once operated at this spot, though, co-winner of Best Indian Restaurant (with Indian Oven) in Alive July 2000.
2195 N. High Street – Was once Lee’s Market, up through at least November of ’99. This was a Chinese grocery store known for having a decent sake selection. Then became The Little Bar, which lasted over two decades, though is either on its way out or has in fact been closed by now.
2169 N. High Street – site of the longest running pun of a business name on campus, The Library. Students have been coming here for decades to huddle over a table, perhaps, but those aren’t books they’re soaking up – more like endless mugs of suds.
I remember when The Library first appeared in earnest on my radar. With Woody’s going through one of their intermittent stretches where they’re acting weird about carding everyone, I am scratching my head as to where I might actually take Cary for a drink. Now that Campus Partners has begun swooping in and closing down the former litany of indifferent dives on the university’s south end, it’s becoming noticeably much more difficult to pull off what used to be mindless. One night, working with Bruce, who seems like precisely the kind of inveterate backpacking cretin that would know every inch of this university, I ask him about a good place for bringing underage girls.
“The Library,” he says without hesitation.
His quick response mostly confirms my hunch, and the results certify it. With its big orange sign hanging over High Street, I’ve passed The Library who knows how many times without ever setting foot inside. If walking past I would risk a quick look at their foggy front windows, and that’s about it. There’s just something about stepping through a strange place’s barroom doors for the first time, particularly alone, which is a huge hurdle to overcome, even though it winds up being nothing and evaporates a split second after you’re inside.
And so it goes with The Library, too, every bit of this process. With its interior so dingy there are surely lifers who don’t even bother leaving at night, and nobody notices, they clearly don’t give a fuck who’s ordering what so long as you do it on the down low. You just allow one of the battle scarred wooden booths or wooden benches to swallow you whole, or even drift outside to their tight, crusty, asphalted back patio, and though you will probably encounter a blast of serious middle aged toothless cigarette breath at some point, this is a worthwhile tradeoff.
2608 N. High Street – Ledo’s Lounge. At one point, in 2006, city council voted to strip their liquor license. It seems north campus was becoming a wee bit too rowdy after they removed all the bars from central campus and south campus. But no, somehow this place has persevered. Back when Hoo Doo Soul Band used to hold court at Oldfield’s every Sunday night, some of us would dip over here for variety while the group was on break. Otherwise I wouldn’t really make a point of it.
2598 N. High Street – Bossy Grrl’s Pin Up Joint has been here since at least 2014.
2590 N. High Street – Currently belongs to The Spacebar. Oldfield’s used to be here, though, and for about a solid year, a bunch of us came here most Sunday nights to watch Hoo Doo Soul Band play. This place was packed on those occasions, although I can’t recall visiting many other times.
2586 N. High Street – Dirty Dungarees. Though we used to frequent a much less cooler location on Morse Road, the concept remains the same at all of them: bar meets laundromat, to tremendous effect. This particular spot on High is a hipster’s dream, featuring live music, even.
2550 N. High Street – Only the north campus Goodwill store, because of course. It’s basically required you have one of these in the collegiate mix.
2446 N. High Street – On foot from the house I find Gold Mine Records, much further north on High Street near Blake, tucked away in a white building resembling at first glance a dentist’s office. Helped little by its complete lack of proprietary signage, unless the tiny logo dangling from the front door’s window counts. Though specializing in classic albums from the 60s and 70s, cramped aisles and a pitiful selection, as well as some hard to place pathetic aura, almost certainly spell disaster. Used Kids shares the same space and merchandising issues, but our shopping impulses are often indefinable, what works, what doesn’t, and why; the air here is stale, oppressive somehow, and I doubt the small, bearded sage behind the counter – who gives the impression he must own this place, is possibly its sole employee – has any idea how large the likelihood is his little operation here is doomed. Feeling as if his survival depends upon the remaining shards of my tip money, I hereby justify purchasing a used Pink Floyd LP, and some assorted posters. According to my records this place opened its doors in 1994 and lasted maybe a decade.
2404 N. High Street – once belonged to treasured campus live music institution Stache’s, which closed in May of ’97. Now apparently this is the address for Gumby’s, so they must have moved next door at some point – I wouldn’t know, as we never actually dined inside the place (see above).
2402 N. High Street – formerly housed Gumby’s Pizza. This used to be our go-to for late night pizza deliveries, as they would drive to your house I think as late as 4am. During normal hours, Ohio State Pizza was typically the preferred choice, but these guys definitely owned the late nights. At least until one of our friends told us to avoid the place – something to do with “roaches the size of pepperonis.” Right around the same time, we discovered Hounddog’s, anyway, who would also bring their pizza wagon to your crib at insane hours. So it’s likely that Gumby’s was on the way out regardless. Amusingly enough, an operation now known as Pizza Fresca occupies this location…which I believe translates as “fresh pizza.”
2346 N. High Street – Was the Indian Oven, now the Indian Kitchen. I’m not sure if this is a rebranded establishment or something altogether new. Some exterior visuals remain in place, though, such as its striped canopy, and the narrow stairwell jutting from a second floor corner like the line on a capital Q. During the Oven years they did offer an impressive, bargain priced lunch buffet. Indian Oven was named co-winner of Best Indian Restaurant by Alive in 2000 (alongside the nearby Taj Mahal). One aspect which set Indian Oven apart, however, was an all you can eat lunch.
Trepidation extending beyond unfamiliar eateries, however, to even a casual browse, for I can’t draw the nerve to enter, along this random stroll, Neo Tokyo, for instance, proudly billing itself as the Midwest’s first anime specialty store. Or an adorable organic grocery shop, squashed letter opener thin, in a block long potpourri of merchants beneath one uniform redbrick shroud. Regarding these in the same light as certain follicle trimming establishments, as though unworthiness is immediately apparent at the door, is met with curt inquiries and raised eyebrows, a qualifying exam.
2194 N. High Street – Home to the current campus Waterbeds ‘N’ Stuff (original was found further south).
2188 N. High Street – as of Nov ’06 this is listed as an apartment for rent next to the CVS on Lane “no parking or dogs,” for $450 a month with water included. Looks to still be a residential address now.
^ North Of Lane
-Campus-
Back in the 1800s, High Street probably earns its name for geographic reasons, as a major avenue riding up above the Olentangy River. These days its name might imply a more drug riddled connotation – particularly as it slices through campus – but that basic topography still stands. Then again I think that was also a British thing we imported to America, how they would refer to their main road through town as “the high street.” Which nowadays is much more likely to have survived in the north and east than elsewhere.
Regarding this section, though wrestling with this decision endlessly, I have bounced this stretch of High Street over to the OSU Campus page. I’m trying to avoid having the same information in two different places, and it seems kind of goofy to have this huge chunk in the middle of campus missing from the actual campus page. So for addresses along High in between Lane Avenue and 9th, please click on that link.
I will leave any maps in place, however, so here’s one of the south campus region along High:
-Short North-
The grey area in between south campus and the beginning of the Short North has no formal cutoff, it’s more about what these buildings “feel” like. Also, from about 5th Avenue down to roughly Skully’s, you will hear occasional mention about this being the “Garden District,” technically, and not the Short North. But whatever, here we go.
1357 N. High Street – Despite sitting at a highly visible spot, at the southwest corner of High and King, this charming little brick building has had a tough go of it. I’m not even sure if there’s anything in this space at the moment. Hippie Hut, a guitar shop (1359) sits at the absolute corner, so this would be the other half of the building. Just Cause, a clothing shop dedicated to helping women recover from trauma, appears to have been the most recent resident. But the last trace of this I can find is a listing for a 50% off closeout sale in August of 2018. Prior to that, Roots Records was here for a while, and in the early 2000s it was Lava Java – a “furniture cafe” with kitsch and retro offerings. And Atlantis, another once popular clothing store, was at 1359 through at least August 2000.
1355 N. High Street – Supreme Cutz is the current barber shop on these premises. Doo Wac was a similar operation here, opening somewhere around 1985-ish, and would make somewhat bizarre assurances that they would not slit your throat with the straight razor. I’m not sure if this is some sort of regional joke that I missed, or they were going for some mock gangster vibe, or what. Doo Wac lasted until at least February 2000, possibly longer.
1253 N. High Street – The Hashtag Comedy Co. at present. Used to be Columbus Polarity Center/Polarity Therapy Institute, through at least October 2001. They offered free polarity bodywork treatments every fourth Monday, at 6:30 and 7:30pm. Also Kundalina Yoga on Tuesdays, from 7-8:30pm.
1227 N. High Street – Currently this is Condado (as well as 2977 N. High). A build your own taco empire with at least 4 locations in town. This used to be High 5, a live music hotspot (late 90s-late 2008), and I’m sorry that it no longer is. In November of 2008, a few other bar magnates around town bought it, and the place was formally rebranded as Circus in early 2009. This too eventually went out of business, I believe in 2014.
In these maps to follow, I am going to point out the differences at various addresses, between the year 2000 and the year 2024. Click on the red dots for more info:
1172 N. High Street – not currently in use. Former site of Culture 7 Records, however, and who knows what else.
1088 N. High Street – Byzantium as of Oct ‘01. Jewelry, incense, ethnic art, textiles, gifts, and millions of BEADS! According to their ad. “You’ll have a devil of a good time,” it also declares, shows a picture of some creature with long braided hair and devil wings reading a book. a shop specializing in sterling silver jewelry, ethnic art, candles and incense. Through at least January of ’02. They were open noon-7pm except closing at 6 on Sundays, open until 10 on Gallery Hop nights. Sold jewelry, incense, candle, art, music instruments, unique boxes (?), spiritual items, rugs, beads, beads and more beads. “Not Your Run of the Mall Store!” ads say.
More recently this was a House of Cigar and must have done fairly brisk business at one point, considering they were open until midnight even on a Monday. It is closed now, however, and the building unoccupied.
1081 N. High Street – another address in the same building that currently houses Privé Lounge, Santos Restaurant & Bar, Luxe 23, and Terrace Bar (all 1079). Yoga On High was at 1081 through at least fall of ’01. They offered classes in both Ashtanga and Hatha yoga, among other disciplines. Nothing uses this at the moment, though.
1055 N. High Street – The Ibel Simeonov gallery was here, then some operation called Enterprise Works, also Rebecca Ibel Gallery at some point. And now I think nothing. Among the exhibits during its Ibel days would be Melissa Meyer’s Abstract Women in 1996, and Carl Palazzolo’s 14 Actors: A Personal History of Italian Film a couple of years later.
1037 N. High Street – was American Business Equipment
1015 N. High Street – CheckSmart as of May 2000. You know, these check cashing places got a bad rap, and I for one will not withstand such flagrant besmirching of their reputations. These places got many of us through some really ignorant times, in a pinch. I don’t know if I visited this one in particular, but believe I may have. Currently this address seems to be unoccupied.
879 N. High Street – formerly something called Bargain House. This address is not currently in use.
1042 N. High Street – former address of Mahan Gallery. Currently Short North Tattoo conducts business at these coordinates.
1040 N. High Street – empty at the moment. Once home to Dr. Danga Grimaldi Circus (performance art), in unit #9.
1038 N. High Street – Oddfellows Liquor Bar
1026 N. High Street – Pies & Pints. Along with an Easton location, they also have a 3rd outpost much further north on High, up Worthington way.
1024 N. High Street – Fireproof Records Center, who’ve been in business since 1906, have done the whole data protection thing at this location for who knows how long – at least two decades, probably longer (they seem to have locked up their own history in that ironclad vault, as I can’t find anything more on them). I have to admit it’s a bit surprising to find them humming along quite nicely still in this pricey neighborhood; then again, paradoxically enough, one of the best ways for a business to survive in a trendy district is to not offer what said trendy district is known for. Restaurants, art galleries, and clothing shops turn over at a record clip here in the Short North, but data protection is apparently slump proof.
972 N. High Street – currently unoccupied, though once housing Studio 972. An art gallery, why but of course.
970 N. High Street – Oats & Barley Market. Charming neighborhood grocery operation with local goods, organic groceries, hipster beer. Coffee, an ice cream counter, wine tastings and free wifi round out the ensemble.
952 N. High Street – These are now just a collection of condos, apparently, though something called Ohio Art League once gave this address as their HQ.
906 N. High Street – Ram, a little ol’ rooftop spot in the Short North.
Short North’s Arch City Tavern
850 N. High Street – office space for rent! An Edward Jones financial advisor business gave it a shot here, as did Short North Natural Foods.
775 N. High Street – Axis Nightclub, a gay bar. In this events calendar for 2018 they advertise an “all-star cast” for Pride Weekend, so it must be a pretty big deal. Opened May of ‘99 with a Wizard of Oz themed party. Until then Short North had not boasted a dance club for many a year. Well, it seems they were originally a gay bar (which I think most people always thought they were anyway) but were slowly overrun with mobs of straight people, and became just a regular if popular dance club. Voted best dance club in town, Alive, 2000. Circa ’06, Patrick Finn and Rob Engel are the house DJs. Male revue on Fridays, drag shows on Saturdays. Free parking nearby nightly after 8:30pm.
765 N. High Street – Formerly Da Lavee, now Eugene’s Canteen. This is a trendy pool hall featuring some sort of pop up kitchen concept.
749 N. High Street – was once Mac Worthington’s Sculpture & Design Studio. His specialty was “fine arts in metals.” One ad I have seen features a picture Mac and his son Brando, along with a couple of unattributed quotes. The first says, “the dynamism of the sculptures is irrepressible. Worthington’s sculptures activate space with brio. A major art force in the midwest,” while the second simply summarizes his work as “compelling. Unexpected.”
This actually isn’t a bad strategy if you were just quoting your friends or something – let people think the New York Times was perhaps gushing about your work instead.
Is presently an Insomnia Cookies outpost. Amazing stuff, though this is a national chain.
747 N. High Street – Coney Island used to be here, through at least February of ’02. About what you’d expect with a name like this, albeit with one unexpected twist: they are open for breakfast as well. I can say with complete sincerity that I’ve never craved a coney dog for breakfast, but hey, who am I to judge.
745 N. High Street – One Line Coffee, which opened in 2012 (and are also found at 41 S. High, in the Huntington Center building). Garnishing some rave reviews online, they use what is billed as “one of the rarest machines in the world” on their website, and feature dessert goodies from various top local businesses.
Prior to this, it was the Wallich Gallery, and I don’t know what else. Despite their somewhat misleading name, particularly for this region, Wallich was a framing business. They would frame things for you. While that might sound like a Portlandia sketch, no, this was a real live Cbus company, and one that was apparently able to afford Short North rent for a while. They offer custom framing, residential & commercial art prints, posters, vintage ads. At the time Corkwell, a caricature artist, operates out of here.
743 N. High Street – Emi Pet Salon & Boutique. Located in the really sweet and modern looking stretch of brick which includes One Line Coffee (see below) and others, with apartments above, even.
Was formerly Leaves Of Grass, a floral design studio which specialized in weddings. They were here through at least January of 2001. Rated best florist in town by Alive, 1999 and 2000, as they compare it more to a terrarium than your standard flower shop. ‘Twas a floral design studio run by Steven Sturdivant, specializing in wedding and event florals
741 N. High Street – Press Grill. They’ve been voted one of the best places in town for eating at the bar, and I would have to agree with that sentiment. Erin is still raving about this plate of cottage fries we had here, ages ago. Vintage crooner era lounge with sizeable martini menu. Not a huge food one, but what’s here is great. Club 185 Burger among their more popular offerings. Also offer Buffalo shrimp, calamari, other semi-adventurous fare.
731 N. High Street – Coffee Table (circa July 2000). Alive rates them the best place in town for a first date, in 2000. Mentions that they have entrances in front and back, as well as an outdoor patio (a joke that this gives you amble opportunity to ditch someone), but also the expected coffee & tea options, as well as a terrific dessert selection. Among the decorations are a gold lame couch. Were also non-smoking years before this became an ordinance. They also serve soups, scones, croissants, etc.
721 N. High Street – Specializing in pizza and brunch, Forno Kitchen & Bar has garnered a positive Zagat review and strong consumer ones, all at reasonable prices. Not to rip on a former tenant (about whom I know nothing, I should add), but I’m guessing Baskets By Bonnie failed to elicit quite the same level of hype. It’s amazing how much mental imagery can be conjured up by the mere names of these long gone businesses, though, and make you kind of wish you’d taken a week off work or something to do nothing but stroll around checking out every single one of them.
Baskets By Bonnie offered baby gifts, Ohio products, bath accessories, gift books, stationery, kosher and gourmet foods, domestic and imported wines. “Let us send your message,” one ad says.
719 N. High Street – Another location which bolsters the theory that certain buildings seem to attract certain categories of business for no apparent reason. Prudential Realtors were here before, then Columbus Metro Realtors, but I don’t think it was any kind of name change or takeover situation. Now comprises part of the space Forno Kitchen has claimed.
717 N. High Street – once belonged to Vieyra Gallery, an art gallery that also specialized in mid-century furniture. Not in use at present, as I think Forno Kitchen now covers the entire front end of this building, from 717-721.
693 N. High Street – Mac’s Café (as of July 2000). Scottish food meets pub grub. Also lots o’ beer imports.
But then this address (and/or possibly 691? Reports seem to conflict on this point) is Fabian’s Pizza from at least 2006 through its closing in 2019. Pat Malik is listed as the owner. I don’t remember where Jason Fabian’s restaurant was, also in Short North on High Street and named simply Fabian’s, but believe this must be an entirely different enterprise – at any rate, it’s completely different fare. This place specialized in Chicago style pizza offerings. They also have things like a sandwich named Italian Beef, which is basically a French Dip, or a Chicago Dog (beef weiner, poppy seed roll, celery salt, a sugary relish, tomatoes, hot peppers, cucumber.) Its Pasta Salad is also well regarded, bowtie pasta with a light dressing and parmesan, celery, onions, etc. Apparently this place just opened as of Nov ’06 and was formerly a coffee shop, then a deli, according to The Other Paper piece I’m reading.
691 N. High Street – Pinot’s Palette Short North, a painting studio, is here now in Suite 101. EXCEL Management Systems, Inc. also calls this home, suite unspecified.
Many years ago (2001 for example) Basso Bar called this address home.
689 N. High Street – Alexanders Jewelers at present. Was once this semi-bizarre gift shop called Great Things On High, who had some sort of gargoyle and angel theme. “See our fantastic display of angels! And gargoyles! And greeting cards! And thousands of other gift ideas!” says one ad. Has a little winged dragon looking creature logo. They were here through at least March of 2001, possibly longer.
685 N. High Street – ROOH, which bills itself as a “progressive Indian restaurant” is slated to open here in Summer 2019, though as of this writing it has yet to do so. Prior to this, it was Westies Tavern, and even earlier a rare Waterbeds N’ Stuff location which didn’t quite make it.
I’m not sure exactly when the Waterbeds N’ Stuff vacated these premises. They were swinging for the fences back in the day, though, with print ad coupons such as $50 off a $500 purchase, $20 off a $300, et cetera.
677 N. High Street – A popular spot for financial institutions. Chase Bank at present, though Bank One before that.
647 N. High Street – First Commonwealth Bank at present, but was Brian Boru’s (club) as of October 2001.
641 N. High Street – I’m actually not sure why they give all these businesses here the same address. At present here are the various operations listed for 641 N. High, some of which have separate sidewalk entrances. And this doesn’t even get into whatever’s going on above, in the really cool looking, turn-of-the-20th century brick stuff upstairs (sorry, architecture isn’t exactly my forte). The roll call: Hammond Harkins Galleries (art), Lemongrass Fusion Bistro (Columbus institution), The Pearl (oyster bar of some sort), um, Urban Office Furnishings, Hunegnaw Executive Search, and some apartments.
In early 2001, Lemongrass opened up this neat little piano court which featured Mary Daniels every Thursday and Friday at 7pm, Gary Matteney on Saturdays. I don’t believe they are still messing around with this concept, however. According to one old writeup in The Other Paper, they serve “Asian fusion cuisine in a Eurocentric atmosphere.”
In case you’re wondering, though, it was pretty much the same concept here otherwise, even 20 years ago. The late 90s found K2U Bar/Grill (a Rigsby’s enterprise, mostly Italian & American fare, closed Sundays) and Eleni Christina Bakery, among others, slotted in where these newer businesses now are, and a decorations/antiques business called Loot also hung out its shingle here.
K2U I know was here through at least February of ’02. This joint is known for its distinctly separate halves, one more of a bar and the other more classy. The classy side features paintings of famous people, with a frequently rotating menu.
Yukon Building (601-615 N. High Street) – kicking things off in the first shop on the left, just before the I-670 cap, is this really cool looking built in 1929. Star Jewelers, Winan’s Coffee + Chocolate, Braven Group, Akinlawon Rose, Shopping Shareables, Shred Nations, Value Real Estate, Marcella’s and a USPS drop box are the current tenants. Functional Furnishings was at 601 up through at least 2000. In more recent times, a Warby Parker had that same address, and a UPS store and Bishop’s beauty salon occupied other spots in the building. Down below is what it looked like many decades ago.
Yukon Building on North High
790 N. High Street – A restaurant called The Eagle Short North slings Southern themed baskets here now. While I’m not sure whether this is a straightforward or ironic hipster’s take on this cuisine, anytime you see red and white checkered wax paper underneath the food, you know it’s going to be an unpretentious atmosphere. And it doesn’t really matter anyway if the offerings are tasty enough.
2 Co’s Caberet, on the other hand, was apparently just saucy – I’m not sure about the taste. They were an offshoot of the Shadowbox theatre and opened on February 3, 2000, went bust in 2010. Before this it was Metropolis Motorcycle shop.
736 N. High Street – Business turnovers are plenty fascinating to this nerd, but when addresses are eradicated completely, these are a mystery I want to solve immediately. For now, though, the only clues I have are that it used to be called Reality Theatre, now it is apparently nothing.
692 N. High Street – All purpose building with a mixed bag of offices. Sevell (web design) Plastic Selection Group (name seems self-explanatory, but maybe not) and Bytemonkeys (not sure what this means, though presumably tech related) are among today’s tenants. Rigsby’s once had their company HQ here, but no longer.
688 N. High Street – Quinci Emporium opened here in March of 2016, a steadily broadening enterprise which now includes a commercial kitchen and pastry chef. They offer a little bit of everything here, from imported food treats to wine to cooking classes. Prior to this, though what I’m reading might be a typo, a company called Cookware Sorcer was here. It probably was/should have been spelled Cookware Sourcer, although I secretly hope it was actually called Cookware Sorcerer. If not, that business name is a goldmine primed for discovery.
686 N. High Street – Studios On High. According to the press release tidbit on their website, they’ve been around since 1986, which makes it the longest standing gallery of its kind: owned/operated by the artists involved.
682 N. High Street – Global Gifts plies its trade here, which is apparently in the sporting/outdoor category. Former home of the similarly named Global Gallery – I’m sure you can guess what probably happened there. They were here up through at least May of 2006.
680 N. High Street – Brassica is the current occupant, a Mediterranean brasserie which has garnered strong reviews on Zagat and elsewhere. I haven’t been, but would wager it’s an improvement over Ricky’s Galaxy, a previous lessee of this spot. It was a restaurant, too, and sounds impressive enough, though not quite as highbrow.
Betty’s (as of at least Feb ’06) was once here serving comfort food and drinks until 2am, every night of the week. Kitschy décor. Funky offerings such as Thanksgiving turkey wrap. They have a martini glass in their ads, but are known more for craft brews.
674 N. High Street – Short North Tavern. I’m a bit surprised to discover they at least used to offer – I’m not sure if this still applies – the occasional highbrow, touring musical act, like this chamber music trio I’m reading about in a piece from 1998. Otherwise, yeah, I think the name pretty much tells you what to expect: a fun dive bar stuffed with art district hipsters. Although then again Miles was always a huge fan of this place, and constantly trying to talk everyone into coming here. You need at least halfway decent pub grub to survive in this environment, it would seem, and they offer that as well. I’m a bit surprised by the food offerings here, in fact – not a place you’d expect to find a po’boy. John Allen is the owner during this period, the early 2000s. Free happy hour snacks, bands on weekends, chili.
672 N. High Street – Gag gift and novelty emporium Big Fun is plying its wares here now. They once had a shop further up High, on campus, which I used to visit quite a bit back in the day. That went belly-up in I think the late 90s, and they disappeared for many a year before resurfacing here.
Before this, Europia Gourmet Foods is one business which gave this address a go. I think maybe they were suffering a little bit from branding issues, if this ad I’m looking at is any indication. You wouldn’t necessarily guess from the name that this was actually a carry-out store – or so they say (The Carry-Out Of The Short North! is their proud slogan). But the offerings listed are a funky mix of over 300 wines (impressive, true), beer, cigars, bulk coffee, gourmet dips & appetizers, home made baklava, and gifts. Oh, plus milk and half & half, presumably for the coffee. The logo meanwhile is of what looks vaguely like a leopard spotted moon with a faint ring around it.
668 N. High Street – Was once a “home furnishings and fine art” place called Ethniciti. Now it’s the Macaron Bar Short North.
660 N. High Street – The Happy Greek, which has been consistently rated as one of the top restaurants of its type in town. Dagwoodz Diner was a popular institution at this address for quite some time, specializing in – as you might suppose – sandwiches, yes, but also drawing a decent breakfast crowd. They were here through at least 2000.
658 N. High Street – Empty at the moment, former home of Raffensberger Gallery, among others. Was Cookware Sorceror, for example, then Kloth (2000), a handmade clothing store.
650 N. High Street – Relentlessly modern looking building at the corner of E Russell was given a facelift recently – although the black & white images of moody female models continue to haunt the windows. Yes, it’s the Jacob Neal hair salon. Many moons ago, a fine art/furnishings consignment shop called Anew (had an accent mark over the e for some pretentious reason; I’m sure this isn’t why they went out of business or anything, but can’t imagine it helped, all the same) called this home. This space has a white facade now along its bottom half, but I believe it was entirely brick back then.
642 N. High Street – now Luxe Redux Bridal Boutique, was the home of Riley Hawk Galleries. Thus begins our lesson in the topsy-turvy world of selling enough art in an expensive, trendy district, so that you may afford your lease. At the time they did have other galleries in Cleveland and Seattle, however, so hopefully diversifying worked out for them. The March 2001 Gallery Hop finds them representing Masterworks in Contemporary Glass and Sculpture, to give you an idea of their selection.
However, as of 2007, it appears that this spot was empty. It’s the one with the white facade on the corner:
640 N. High Street – David’s European Skincare (circa July 2000). Says “@Stephen Colatruglio,” whatever that means. Also says it’s new as of this ad. Microdermabrasion, European Facials, Waxing, Tinting.
636 N. High Street – Muse Med Spa currently occupies this space. Before that, they were Wells Landing, a company selling building materials and kitchen equipment. This seems like a very tough neighborhood to pull off that type of business in, and indeed, in this grainy video still from June of 2007, you can see they are having a closing sale:
630 N. High Street – Union Station Video Café (club) as of March 2006. Co-winner (with Havana) of best GLB bar in town, Alive, 2000. Casual but electric diner type food. Ray Brown and Rajesh Lehoti own both, as well as Axis. Union Station had Will And Grace night on Tuesdays, were known more for food than Havana.
612 N. High Street – presently nothing, though former home of Utrecht Art Supply Center.
608 N. High Street – Collander Cleaners proudly advertised having been in business since 1906, and I can tell that they were here through at least 2014. Since that time something called The Beer Exchange apparently tried to set up shop here (just a hunch, but I’m guessing it was not quite as classy an operation, and lasted proportionally as long as one might suppose) and is now listed as a single family home that was built in 1920. I’m sure that’s technically true, but if so ’tis a funky home, with a giant shop window in front.
-Downtown-
We cross the retail cap over I-670 and, while I don’t know for certain this is where downtown “officially” begins, it seems as good a definition as any. You’ve passed underneath the last arch and this district does look a little different than other sights already crossed. If nothing else it certainly appears you are no longer in the Short North.
some notes I took on this area circa 2006. I still have no idea what to actually do with a lot of this information.
555 N. High Street – one of the most beautiful sights in town, that of the Annunciation Greek Orthodox Cathedral. Also ground zero for the yearly Greek Festival. As noted in my scattershot scribblings above, the exterior walls are a sandstone-ish color and the domes sea green, the building itself crazily angled in many spots.
505: is Zen Sushi & More as of Nov ’06. Ohio’s first sushi conveyor belt restaurant! I remember walking by the place many times when it opened, and you could see quite a bit of the inner workings inside, but I never ventured in to give it a shot. It doesn’t appear anyone is using this address at the moment, however.
475: Novak’s Tavern has claimed this address for eons.
467: Barley’s Brewing Company, also known of course for serving excellent food as well. They’ve featured live music in the past, which you might see mentioned in old events calendars as Barley’s Underground, but I don’t think they trifle with this at present. As far as this location is concerned, the sauerkraut sausage rolls appetizers were the highlight of one fondly recalled visit. Grilled mushroom sandwich (portabella, shiitake, oyster) is another standout. Their beers have won some awards in major competitions.
463: Bareburger. Though again this “boutique” word enters the press release, inducing shivers, the pictures I’ve seen and descriptions thereof make me want to check out this socially-conscious, artisanal burger stand. A second location exists a little further north, in Clintonville (4560 N. High).
Yankee Trader, a party supply store, was once based at this 463 address. At the time they billed themselves as “Central Ohio’s Single Largest Party Supply Headquarters.” They were here through at least January of ’01.
445: Mmelo. Boutique confections, they call these, in other words gourmet handcrafted sweets.
Martini Ristorante & Bar slung Italian fare and cocktails out of here for many a year. It was a lot pricier than you might expect, however, which could explain their eventual exit from this scene. They opened at some point in the middle of 2000 and were named “best cocktails in town” by Columbus Alive that year. Martini’s Martini is probably the obvious choice here, also perhaps the Buckeye Martini. I am a little confused, however, because they have an article at the time claiming that this place has been around for a few years as of 2000 – even though in March of the same year, there’s a listing for Carlile Club at this address.
As of (at least) October 2001, meanwhile, there was instead a pub called Cellar at this address.
As of Sep ’06 though the Carlile Club is still around, taking out huge ads in the weekly papers. They have Fresh Fridays which features “today’s best dance music” and $2 drink specials. Nino Anthony and David Farlow perform in the lounge, RobK and Bmass in the basement. Revolved Saturdays is late 80s/early 90s dance music, $3 drinks, with Quantum in the lounge and the same two characters stuck in the basement – spinning records, I’m guessing? This ad is a little confusing, though, and I’m not entirely certain what’s going on around here. Though it says DANCE DANCE DANCE (7 times total) scrolling down the left hand side, so you presumably know the drill. They also book the occasional national act, like there’s mention of Robin Thicke appearing soon. Also, in some other ads around this time, they’re mentioning Arlington Café as being their “sister club,” although I’m not sure what this means. As of May ’06 Carlile had Elektro Fridays, so it appears they soon switched these to Fresh Fridays instead.
185: Haveli Bistro. Indian food.
163 N. High Street – Now: a Subway franchise. Up to at least February 2002: Downtown New Orleans. A surprisingly cheap lunch destination, given the fare. Even some solid vegan options, like a Cajun peanut dish.
161 N. High Street – Elevator Brewery and Draught Haus. Way back when, it was known as Bott Bros. Billiards, who actually imported their bar from the 1893 World’s Fair. Following their efforts came the Clock Restaurant, before its current incarnation. This is therefore now known as the Clock Building.
In the late 90s, father/son team of Dick and Ryan Stevens set up a brewery here and created its current incarnation, which officially opened in March of 2000. At that time, among their signature dishes are Ryan’s Famous corn brats, IPA roasted chicken. The building is pretty impressive, featuring not just the original bar but also its stained glass front windows and floor made of mosaic tile. Other more modern touches like the chandeliers and so on blend in seamlessly with this retro look, and it’s even listed in a couple different registers of official historic places. Even so, while enjoying the atmosphere, I have to admit…I’ve been here, but was less than impressed with their house drafts.
They can surprise you with some occasionally adventurous food offerings, however, like a beef satay or spicy tuna tartare. At one point they proudly advertised this filet mignon served on a Tulukivi fire stone that would “sizzle cook” in front of you, served with salad, potato, dipping sauces, and three different sorbets. I’m not sure anything quite this ambitious is happening here now, but that does sound pretty damn tasty and makes me think about giving them another shot.
129 – Flatiron Bar & Diner as of Mar ’06. I feel like every major city is required by law to have some version of this concept. Upscale fare and I’m sure you can guess what the building looks like. As far as the theme, it’s vaguely Cajun/Southern, however, so that’s an unexpected twist.
7 N. High is Harvest Moon Café as of Apr ‘06
474 N. High Street – approximate address given to a statue of Arnold Schwarzenegger, parked in front of the convention center.
400: Columbus Convention Center. In ye olden days before this already quite large site was expanded and given a major facelift, predating of course the cap over 670, there was a ground level, open air parking lot accessible from East Goodale. I know this from first hand experience. Most of the events I’ve attended here were Amway conventions in the early 90s, amusingly enough. Even more oddly my girlfriend at the time, Heather, liked attending these things, to dress up and hang out listening to people’s life stories.
Speaking of stories, I made a nifty little slide show (AKA Google Web Story) about the Convention Center – heavy on the photos, light on the history. You can view that here.
Union Station, the local passenger train hub, sat here for almost a century. It was demolished in 1979, although I’m not quite sure about the exact address. Actually you can tell from the overhead arch that this would have been located on the other (west) side of the street. But you get the picture. As you can see from the photo below, the I-670 cap was designed in part to resemble this station:
Former Union Station along High Street, circa 1900.
404: Stories On High, a classy, tapas serving type bar located on the 28th floor of the Hilton – making it the city’s tallest such offering.
402: Somehow I just realized that Hilton Columbus Downtown has a higher address number than the Convention Center, even though this is the exact opposite of how they’re physically located: Convention Center is north of the Hilton. Or at least the main part of it, i.e. the part you’re more likely to refer to as the convention center. Hilton is nestled in between it and the catwalk you’d take over to shops such as Starbucks, Charleys Cheesesteaks, even the Heroes and Games comic book store, all of which have 400 addresses. Funky!
Circa 2006 at least, the Hilton has this ancient looking brick section housing an Italian restaurant of some sort. Connects to sky blue windows which act almost like caulk, binding to newer back section of hotel.
350: A slew of businesses have set up shop here. Most prominently, the Hyatt Regency, which is connected to the convention center (see below). Big Bar On 2, Market Street Cafe, and Outlaw Ink Custom Tattoos are among its other occupants.
170: Currently the US Bankruptcy Court Clerk. Up through at least October of ’01, though, it was Columbus Polarity Center.
144: Wall Street circa ’06. Mostly a lesbian bar, although they have boys’ nights on Wednesday. County-western Thursdays feature line dance lessons. Some nights they give out glo sticks to indicate your dating status. First Fridays are 21+ with free pizza, though otherwise they are oddly 19+. Closed Mon & Tue.
120: Barrel On High. In conjunction with a live music geared operation named Threes Above High (2203 N. High), these bars pride themselves on more of a down-n-dirty vibe. This downtown location focuses on food instead of music, and while the website itself has one of the lamest designs ever seen (no pictures, a plain black background), they do at least take online reservations, and post a full menu. These are actually both rare phenomenon even in these modern times. Threes, meanwhile, will send a bus out to pick you up, another great concept.
Prior to this incarnation, was once a place called Scarlet and Grey Cafe.
56 N. High Street: Was once a club called Brazenhead, as recent as (at least) October 2001. Is now a T-Mobile store.
30 N. High Street: Has been the Columbus HQ for the Church Of Scientology, since early 1998.
12-16 N. High Street
No longer in use. But from 1957-72, this was Benny Klein’s Charcoal Steak House. An offshoot of the Jack & Benny’s restaurant, which opened in ’54 and was located just around the corner, on High.
This one featured a rotating steak display in the streetside window where customers could select which cut they wanted. Also, perhaps more intriguingly, this steak house was connected to the other restaurant via tunnel. They also had this crazy sounding conveyor belt, connected and in use for both somehow for washing dishes. Also an artificial tree spanning two stories (take that, Andyman’s Treehouse!) and a 24 hour operation, at least initially.
Prior to this, the same location had different owners and was known as Nelson’s York Grill.
Panini’s Bar & Grill was another warmly recalled haunt, formerly located at the corner of High Street and West 10th Avenue on campus. We loved them because they not only served sandwiches late into the night, but didn’t even card at the door most nights. Sometimes you did have to endure a little smarminess from the help, but hey, that’s true almost anywhere in this town, particularly around campus.
“Why don’t you get a haircut consistent with the century you live in?” one clean cut, bespectacled wiseass of a bartender once challenged a friend of mine, during our first ever visit to the place, as soon as we sat down at the bar.
Still, Panini’s does grow on us. A moderately upscale joint near the southern tip of campus, it almost has the feel of a New York City deli – at least during the week. When the weekend comes all those tables in the center will find themselves jostled against the wall and a DJ’s bound to arrive, as this joint magically morphs into a dance club. One with pisspoor ventilation and even worse music, maybe, and yet this place works its way into our regular rotation just the same, regardless of the day.
We do have our favorites, but the OSU campus is generally too jampacked with entertainment to permit obsessing over just one place. Thus a number of months pass before we visit the establishment again, this time Alan and me transporting three girls we barely know, in my car on a weekend night. If not for the unrelenting monsoon, we surely would have walked, just like always, rather than attempt cramming into this not-so-spacious Ford Escort.
Parking in an alley on the building’s graffiti riddled posterior, we stride with purpose, with as much swiftness self-consciousness will allow, down to and along 10th. At the corner doorway, Alan and I crack up to discover that the blonde smartass with glasses, Matt, who famously dissed Damon’s haircut our only other visit here, is now stuck in a chair checking ID, only half sheltered from the rain.
So reserved in her living room and during the quick ride over, Deetra instantly reveals her true colors by disappearing into the modest, almost laughable, makeshift central floor, where tables are shoved aside to accommodate any booty shaking urges. The rest of us slide into a booth along the wall, with its bank of large, chest high windows swiveled open onto the sidewalk, level, suspended on flimsy arms. Stamped underage, Dawn sends Alan up to the bar with her money, to purchase them a shot of the unabashedly cinnamon Goldschlager, in addition to the beers we’re already cradling. Just a few moments pass and now she’s dispatching him off for another, though this time I accompany, nabbing no frills, though equally potent, shots of plain old vodka for Stephanie and myself.
I’m not sure precisely when this Panini’s bit the dust. Obviously, when Campus Partners breezed onto the scene, they knocked down every building on both sides of this block. I know Panini’s were around until at least 2000, however, as there’s this ad in Columbus Alive from January of that year. Apparently at this time, Revenge Entertainment Karaoke was setting up shop here every Saturday night. Though karaoke nights draw a fairly decent crowd, a shift from the dance club concept to this on Saturdays probably means that this place was already not quite as popular as it had been, during our heydays here just two or three years earlier.
Not to be confused with the national restaurant chain, the Ruby Tuesday at 1978 Summit Street is an OSU campus institution. A mellow dive, Ruby’s is basically your proper English pub, outfitted almost entirely with wood and a dark, smoky atmosphere that grows incrementally warmer the foggier it becomes. They opened their doors in August of 1973 and soon became a local favorite – all the more so, over the ensuing years, as virtually every other legendary campus tavern has bit the dust.
A creaky wooden beer stained floor and matching bar, matching tables and chairs and stage further accentuate this idyll, not to mention the mostly killer jukebox. Above it a chalkboard calendar charts the musical acts due up this month, horrendous though most of them are. Two pool tables near the front door and real darts, an elaborately stained glass window on the other half of the bar and the kind of chattering hippie clientele that unites the thread of conversation, on quiet nights like these, from one end of the building to the other.
When we first become aware of the joint, we’re living within stumbling distance at 1990 1/2 Summit Street, and are regular patrons soon enough. We walk two doors down to Ruby’s, where the rustic ambience blasts away our cabin fever. Here the sun slants through the stained glass of their elaborate front window, in warm shades reminiscent of a roaring campfire. More than anything, Ruby’s is a western saloon from the end of the 19th century, and if they’d only replace the jukebox with a beer soaked piano, the illusion would stand complete. Sometimes I imagine that I’ll glance through a pane of that multicolored window and feast my eyes upon a rutted dirt road with horse drawn carriages, a few stray tumbleweeds.
Were this the case, then our favorite Ruby’s regular would assuredly hold the post of town marshal. Unfailingly attired in cowboy boots and faded jeans, a thick salt and pepper mustache and button down shirt, he occasionally adopts a brown leather vest and ten gallon hat as well. Roaring down Summit Street in his enormous yellow 1970s auto, its muffler painfully ineffective, he parks in front of Ruby’s, breezes through the door arm in arm with his gloriously middle aged wife. Smiling in benign abstraction at everyone she encounters, the lady I peg as our mining boomtown’s lone seamstress, or perhaps the proprietor of its thriving whorehouse. A coy flapper girl perhaps, should she dress the part, were she twenty years younger.
As the sun sinks into purple twilight, this bluesy hillbilly outfit takes the stage. Pitchers of beer abound, and the air is alive with a dozen disparate conversations, audible alongside the band without drowning it out. On this side of the bar, they dim the lights down to accommodate a flickering candle atop each table, and we’re reclined here absorbing the group’s twangy wares. Though quite competent at what they do, this isn’t exactly our cup of tea, and we await the moment our quarters come up on one of the pool tables.
The band finishes its first set, yet this ungodly feedback fills the air, leaving the guitarist onstage to investigate its source YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and as Alan descends a flight of stairs to the basement restroom, the guitarist inspects his axe EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE he inspects his amplifier. He stands there literally scratching his head, but this voluminous, continuous squeal divides the atmosphere like a bandsaw EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and the din grinds down to absolute standstill, pin drop quiet if not for the banshee shriek. Miffed by this mysterious malfunction, the guitarist begins unplugging their equipment, walking off with a shrug.
It is only when our mustachioed town marshal spins around from his bar stool to face the crowd do we divine the genesis of this marathon wail. Drawing deep within his powerhouse lungs for one last triumphant hurrah, he concludes this raucous endorsement HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWW! and grins with obvious delight, knocking off the dregs of his beer mug. He stands and grabs a pool stick as the bar explodes with laughter, and the conversation eventually swells back to life.
“What the fuck was that?” Alan asks, returning from below.
“It was him!” I cheer, pointing at our friend.
“Christ that was loud,” Alan declares.
His wife showering smiles from her own barstool, our hillbilly friend rustles up a redneck partner and in tandem, they own the table. Our quarters come up and we meet them head on, but they eat up an hour draining our pockets, reigning triumphant. And yet within this window of fierce struggle, while the first band wraps up its show and a second nearly identical group begins, we manage just three games.
In shooting the breeze with his fellow patrons, pausing for giant gulps of draft beer, the average time elapsed between the arrival of his turn and that which he actually shoots approaches five minutes. With every female entering the saloon, regardless of age or appearance, our goodwill ambassador slings an eardrum puncturing whistle in her direction. He lines up to take a shot, then straightens, turns to somebody at the bar behind him in resurrecting a prior conversation.
“Anyway, as I was saying……”
Maddening, if not so hysterical.
In lieu of a good woman, or for that matter any woman at all, we turn to Ruby Tuesday instead. Drink, pool, music: not the least bit novel by way of escapism, but solace plenty in times such as these. She’s always here for us, welcoming us into her womb, no matter how varied and strange the occasion. Walking in one drowsy weeknight unawares, A Clockwork Orange is flickering on the giant screen behind the stage, and we laugh our asses off watching Damon squirm in his seat.
“What the fuck!?” he bellows, “I don’t get it!”
Super Bowl Sunday Alan and I wander in to watch the Packers trounce the Patriots upon the same rolled down backdrop, shocked at the enormous food buffet provided to patrons gratis. Pizzas and meatballs and wings of every imaginable variety, it’s a far cry from the bland, dry popcorn secreted by that machine in the corner, typically our only sustenance here. But they likely banked enough dough that night selling booze and beer to the massed throng of screaming savages to pay rent for a year, justifying the banquet’s expense.
Aside from bartender Randy’s scowl, our sole entertainment most evenings is the more familiar standby, live music. Yet even such a tried and true commodity is never formulaic, despite their apparent intent to book an endless succession of jam hearty hippie bands. Somehow, be it opening act or otherwise, wild cards slip through the ranks, chaotically diverse in style as well as quality. An enchanting neo-psychedelic band named Sugar Pill, for instance, with a lead singer in granny glasses and a paisley shirt, tall and white with a huge jet black afro. A bad by-the-numbers metal band called Chaos Theory. The worst band of all time, Weave, comprised of four overly earnest dorks playing generic college rock, a torturous affair redeemed only by their cover of Duran Duran’s Rio.
Far more typical is a jam band Damon and I catch here one night, four older gentlemen known as Men of Leisure. Arriving during the final notes of one set, we endure a forty five minute break before they take the stage again for their last – no band was ever more fittingly named. Though now nearly two in the morning, a point where most attendees have either left or no longer care, their first tune alone clocks in at eight minutes, and the rest stray not far from this mark.
From the outset, we’re convinced they suck mightily. The chops heavy quartet – drummer, guitarist, bass player, and saxophonist – proffer a loose vibe a la Local Color, but lack both the style and the grace of that band, playing the part of Southern rock and roll vagrant to the other group’s west coast acid hippie. Bored to the point of nearly weeping, we endure three such meandering epics, and are too lazy to relocate ourselves before they begin a fourth.
Yet this particular song begins with a captivating James Brown style groove, before flying off, halfway through, into a Neil Young-ian feedback tangent. This singular feat alone is enough to win us over, and we’re rooted to our chairs for the duration of their performance, which extends well beyond two thirty. Men of Leisure ultimately win a thumbs up, but for every one of them there are four or five Weave around town, a half dozen Chaos Theory. Ruby’s embodies this basic musical pie chart as well as any campus bar, and still we can’t refrain from coming here, drawn by the lopsided uncertainty of what we might find.
You might expect that with a live music palette this diverse, the clientele is by default hip to diverse jukebox tuneage as well. Yet there are apparently limits to this theory. I dare play the half hour Pink Floyd epic Echoes, which is fine and dandy until the music breaks away to that long section where there’s nothing but chirping seagulls or whatever for a solid two or three minutes. Randy preempts by storming over to the jukebox and skipping the rest of the song entirely, advancing to the next selection I’d picked with the press of a button. Applause breaks out in disparate corners of the bar, as three or four individuals clap their hands, shout their thanks to him.
An opening act now mounts the stage, Johnny Smoke. Hailing an hour west, from the eclectic rock and roll city of Dayton, Johnny Smoke hurl themselves into a breakneck set of punky pop. But while the songs are unfailingly catchy, not to mention a far sight better than the standard fare here, an air of mediocrity pervades the performance, the musicianship itself. Their lone ace lies in the hand of a lanky, disheveled lead singer, who, while not vocally gifted, is nonetheless a ham actor born to be hogging the stage somewhere.
“If it weren’t for beer and pot, I’d be dead,” he announces, straight faced, between songs.
They launch into a tune concerning old Def Leppard and ZZ Top shows witnessed at the Hare Arena back home, in a jaunty vein akin to all that’s come before. Yet their set soon draws to a close, and the bar is swelling with an odorous flock intent upon catching tonight’s headliners. Judging from the crowd, we speculate another hippie jam band awaits us, an assumption soon proven correct.
Mary Adam 12 is the moniker this outfit operates under, but they just as easily could call themselves Local Color II or Men of Leisure Lite, a watered down version of what we’ve already seen done better. Sure, with a half dozen musicians who clearly know their instruments backwards as well as forwards, and a short, chubby chick doing a credible job on lead vocals, they stop short of outright hackdom. But every song they crank out sounds identical to the one before, and each is at least two minutes too long, a frightening cocktail for any group. Not to mention one that sounds like half the other bands we’ve heard around town, considering themselves a modern day Dead and cultivating a mob of would-be flower children wherever they wander. The music, accordingly, is an unrelenting, unwavering hippie shuffle – chick, chick chick; chick, chick chick; chick, chick chick – tedious as hell three cuts into the set.
Adhering to this vibe, the crowd seems also a strip mall version of the Local Color following. The swirly, elbows bent hands raised dance prevails here, predictably, but the girls are generally less hairy and the guys more inclined to shower, with both sexes dressing sharper, as a rule, than their Not Al’s brethren. A number of the same individuals assuredly populate both crowds, true, and yet whatever their particulars neither party has a problem displaying its affection for the meandering kaleidoscope of sound. Maybe if Alan or I are on drugs, like everyone else appears to be, then we might enjoy this grand spectacle better. We aren’t, however, and we don’t.
As much as we frequent this place, however, it’s only natural that we begin recommending it to others. Among the first such beneficiaries of our kindness are Mandy, Melissa, and K.C., a trio down visiting from our hometown area of Mansfield. Mandy especially falls in love the instant she sets foot inside the place.
She gapes at the bare wooden floors, scuffed, unvarnished, she marvels at the modest unoccupied stage. K.C. digs our favorite neighborhood haunt, too, mostly because this is one of the last establishments around still featuring actual cork dartboards. Everywhere else we encounter computerized plastic monstrosities, which tally the score, though offering nothing for aesthetics, the weight and feel of an actual steel tipped dart in hand, the joyous jolt of a successful toss.
Beer pours heavy from tap into pitcher, as we coalesce around a thrown together table on the other half of the bar. Setting up camp between the dartboards and the stage, pushing together three small square tables into a larger conglomeration. In teams of two we wage war upon the cork, each game an attempt to dethrone the previous winners. Adamant but the notable exception of Damon, who’s half crocked before we leave the house and spends his time trying to worm down September’s pants.
In the tavern’s cobwebbed basement, dust gathers on the ghosts of a bygone era. Robust years where a second bar, buried underground, thrives in autonomous glory and the booths, now dry rotted, cater to capacity. I look at these stained cement walls, barely visible in the lone light hanging at the foot of these stairs, and think of decade old conversations that died and dried against them, buried in spots by the handwritten, magic marker graffiti. I like to believe that the redolent swirl of voices and smoke and throaty barfly laughter never dissipated, but gradually morphed, through some mysterious alchemic process, into the mildewy stench that saturates the air down here.
Gone beyond reclamation, the basement serves no purpose at present other than he and she restrooms that were never relocated. Upstairs beside the first pool table, a fist sized hole in the floor peers directly into the ladies’ facilities, but this piece of information amounts to no more than a useless, well known curiosity. Voices occasionally float skyward from below, and nothing else, for not even we are perverted or depraved enough to risk sneaking a peek. Collapsing face first in a crowded room, cheeks flush against the floorboard as eyeballs strain and rotate in their sockets for one meager illicit glance, yeah, this might ruffle more than a few feathers.
OSU campus bar Ruby Tuesday, up close
II.
Arriving home brings with it the kind of pleasant surprise often stumbled upon when, not only did you have no idea what somebody was up to, but it never occurred to you to wonder about it in the first place. Feeling completely drained already by the holidays, I’ve intended to just chill at home – even on a prime weekend night such as this – and yet here’s Alan, unexpectedly haunting these grounds.
“Leigh’s coming over, and a couple other people from work,” he says, “you up for heading over to Ruby’s with us?”
I can’t imagine what kind of twisted conversations must have befallen them, to make this sound like a reasonable option. Leigh’s obviously easing up on the schedule a bit to even make it out tonight, and beyond that I get the impression that slumming it here on campus is a cheap little lark, a low rent vacation. Ooh, let’s go see what those weirdos are up to down there! That will be a fun change of pace! Furthermore, owing to their tendency to schedule nothing but hippie jam bands basically every night of the week, coupled with our overindulgence in the place our first six months or so living here, Ruby’s has just about excised itself from our repertoire.
It will soon emerge that the ringleader behind this brilliant enterprise is a newcomer to our circle, a guy from the airport called Snoop. His given name is Kevin, but apparently nobody uses that. Alan warns me in advance that this dude is a little off in the head – in the best sense of the phrase, though, meaning a fearless party animal who, reminiscent of our former mentor Doug, is too out there to even recognize any boundaries.
Leigh is next to arrive, bringing with her some Rachel chick from the airport. Rachel is a sweet though slightly heavier blonde with a really pretty face. To paraphrase Damon, let’s just shorthand these attributes in a neat, simple phrase and call them trouble. Perhaps for the best, though, she’s also underage, a fact which is surely the impetus for this decision to drink on campus. No sooner have we set foot inside the door, too, does Snoop enter the fray with guns blazing, so to speak, affording an instant glimpse at his fabled shenanigans.
A pair of bartenders neither Alan nor I have ever seen before are slinging drinks tonight. Snoop saunters up to the bar and casually requests two pitchers. This duo, which seems to be issuing orders jointly, demands that if he wants pitchers, they’ll need to see the IDs for all parties involved. So now Snoop returns and, as the bar is packed and we’re kind of standing off in a remote corner, he hatches a plan that Alan and I should go up together, request the same quantity of pitchers. Surely these guys aren’t paying that much attention, it will appear as it’s just the two of us.
But of course this turns out to be a waste of time. Our buddies are nothing if not observant, and had seen the entirety of our small crew walk in together. If we want pitchers, then all five of us need to approach the counter with licenses in hand, now. Sheepishly, without much commentary, we do just that. The bartenders pour us the pitchers, though dispensing only four glasses – a move that doesn’t require any explanation – and telling us to sit within sight of the bar.
We stand around for a moment, at Snoop’s murmured insistence, before he tilts his head for us to follow him over to the bar’s dim other half, the side with the stage. Here we are able to cram into a table shielded from the bartenders’ view, courtesy of a thick central support beam. Yet both come running over within a minute’s time and neither barkeep seems to find this stunt very amusing.
“I told you guys to sit where we could see you!” one says.
“But she doesn’t even drink!” Snoop protests.
“Okay, but if I catch her with a beer in her hand, she’s outta here and so are you, since you bought the pitchers!” the more vocal bartender contends.
“Alright!” Snoop returns in a raised voice, and the one bartender leaves. The other, his silent buddy, sticks around and explains:
“Sorry, we don’t mean to be dicks, but the bar got hit for a thousand dollar fine last week ‘cause the cops came and caught someone underage drinking. So now we’re really paranoid…”
“Hey, that’s cool,” Alan says, responding a little more favorably to this guy’s approach.
“Yeah, that’s cool,” Snoop and I concur, murmuring our assent. Then this bartender, too, walks away.
The end result, however, is that Rachel’s too scared to drink anyway. We keep ourselves entertained nonetheless, first via an increasingly rare real dartboard with steel tipped projectiles, then in placing our quarters up and commandeering one of the pool tables. When the pitchers are drained, Alan and Snoop continue pounding bottled beer at a furious clip, Leigh and I in much more relaxed fashion. By the time two-thirty rolls around, ol’ Kevin here is pretty damn loopy – although I have to admit that, while subjected to heaping doses of his off-the-wall humor, he’s kept the antics to a minimum since those introductory stunts.
Flipping on the house lights, our drink slingers begin shouting for everyone to leave. They collect any vessels encountered, whether empty or otherwise, and usher patrons toward the door. Then for some reason there’s a guy in a full-blown Viking helmet, shouting in a proper Scandinavian accent for effect, standing on top of the bar.
“GO HOME!” he commands, “GO HOME BEFORE I HAVE TO CHASE YE DOWN THE STREETS AND BEAT YER SKULLS IN!”
III.
Below are some of my original notes on shows glimpsed inside Ruby Tuesday – and I should caution, particularly if you or a loved one has graced that creaky old stage, a few of these reviews are not for the faint of heart…
Heavy Weather:
Most of the acts gracing the stage at Ruby’s generally fall into the category of half-baked hippie jam bands. Terrible as a general rule, at least to anyone not blazed out of his mind on weed or psychedelics, but even so we can’t seem to stay away from Ruby’s entirely. Something to do with the warm atmosphere and its proximity to our home enables us to tolerate these nine piece cannabis laced outfits, even at their most droning monotonous extreme. For every Local Color, a tasteful, competent middle aged cover band specializing in cuts from the halcyon 60s, there’s a Heavy Weather plugging in and firing away here. It’s not so much that Heavy Weather’s bad – in fact they’re quite good at what they do – it’s that there are a hundred other bands around town proliferating thesame material, the same vibe, a musical equivalent of the peace sign.
Local Color: as of 2000 they are playing here every Monday…and are still at it, same night of the week, through at least 2006! An impressive run, any way you slice it.
Johnson Brothers:
Then again for every Heavy Weather there’s a dozen Johnson Brothers, groups even further down the food chain. A massive tribe of black guys who specialize in jittery funk, the Johnson Brothers command a sizable following wherever they go but to our overexposed ears nothing about them stands out as noteworthy. At first you’re enthralled with their musicality alongside everyone else, until three songs into the set when you realize whichever tune they play is going to sound exactly like all the others preceding it.
Lost Dog:
We manage the wherewithal to brave the elements and stroll a whopping two doors down to Ruby’s, to check out that Lost Dog band we spotted on the flier that night out with Cary. Chilling out at a dimly lit small table in the stage half of the bar, we feel like dupes when this band strolls onto the stage and there’s no blonde chick, or any chick for that matter, anywhere among their ranks. By appearances, she may have just been some random photo chosen as bait on their flyers.
“What the fuck!?” Damon curses, when the group launches into the first of many covers. A decent outfit doing passable takes of songs everyone has heard countless times on the radio, okay on a technical level but damn near tortuous to our ears. The other problem is, I would guarantee there’s a band calling themselves Lost Dog in each of this nation’s top 200 cities, and then some.
“Maybe she’ll come out a few songs into it,” I theorize.
We sit through two solid sets, though, with no sign of our lady. But then, as the band emerges from their latest break for a third, who should grace the stage with them but said blonde of our dreams, the girl we’ve absently drooled over from afar. Here she had been chilling out by the bar all along.
Short yet possessing one mighty fine body, she moves really well and has a good voice. And yet, still, the best thing going for her is that figure, and she knows it. Twice as many people, mostly guys, are gathered standing if not dancing in front of that stage the instant she claims it. Later still, mysteriously enough, Damon and I decide to troop up to Sugar Shack to really cap off this night, and pass her on the sidewalk beside Ruby’s.
“Great show,” we tell her, and aren’t exactly talking about the music.
“Thanks,” she replies with a smile. Somehow, I’m pretty sure she knows exactly what we mean. The whereabouts of that proverbial butter on her bread is no great mystery.
Thirteen O’Clock:
Not expecting much, Alan and I grab drinks and a pool table on the other side of the bar, as far away from the stage as we can arrange ourselves. Friday night means paying a cover charge, but damned if we’re going to listen to this stuff, at least in any capacity greater than incidental background music. Imagine our surprise, then, when Thirteen O’Clock graces the stage, a ragtag rockabilly combo who effortlessly manage to blow away our lessened, jaded expectations.
Thirteen O’ Clock, man are they ever the real deal. These cats are just it. The nimble fingered bass player employs only an upright, while the drummer spends their whole show standing, his energy and ebullient smile radiating enough warmth to flatten the entire room. Rounding out the threesome is a singer/guitarist who nails the whole thing perfectly, sneering and grinning as the moment demands, their sound reminiscent of the Stray Cats but only to a degree. With a style independent of anyone else we’ve seen around town, they’re far away the best band either of us have seen down here, even more so than Local Color. To compare the faceless mobs following those Johnson Brothers around against the relative obscurity Thirteen O’Clock toils in underscores the crapshoot nature of this music business, catering to a public that values hype over substance and likes their entertainment nothing if not spoonfed. For two hours, Thirteen O’ Clock sails full throttle through their frenzied set, and we’re held rapt in their sway.
Welfare Gypsys:
Later this same night, an odd collection of souls by the name of Welfare Gypsys inherits the stage, squashing all momentum their opening act has created. Sure, they’ve got their own unique sound, too, but not in a good way, not in any positive way at all. The word eclectic springs to mind although in its truest sense that term is used complimentary, which means that here it doesn’t apply.
They have some long hair Joe Satriani wannabe on lead guitar, a guy who looks and plays as though he’s bounced from one musical equipment store to the next for the past ten or fifteen years. This old hippie left over from a Vietnam protest in the sixties plays acoustic, while the lead vocals are handled by a soulful black chick with a deep, resonant voice far too powerful to be slumming amidst these hacks. Meanwhile, two clean cut kids straight out of some frathouse hold down the bass and rhythm guitar, respectively, with the spiked haired blonde kid from Thirteen O’ Clock manning the drums.
Fittingly, the music they play is also a total hodgepodge of styles. The first song they launch into is a cover of Christopher Cross’s Sailing and while opening with such a pisspoor choice is debatable, it is true that by doing so these Welfare Gypsys almost ensure that they will improve as the night progresses. Simply put, there’s nowhere to go but up. After this abominable leadoff track a number of like candidates follow, none of it holding together very well until midway through the first set. By now they’re at last able to lock into a steady groove, but the unfortunate repercussions are that we’ve already heard too much dreck to care.
Gravy:
When darkness falls, we saunter next door to either drown sorrows or celebrate, depending on which end of today’s burning powder keg wick we choose to focus upon. Another cover charge and another series of stoner hippie bands await Alan and me, but we’re too worn out to wander much further from the house.
Gravy’s playing when we arrive, a bunch of good old boys specializing in hillbilly rock, a welcome respite from the endless parade of sunny 60s jams we’re accustomed to hearing here. Beers in hand, we grab a table near the back of the bar, finding comfort in the deepest, darkest corner, away from the prying eyes that a well lit room makes possible. Upon sitting down, the first song we witness Gravy rip into is a cover of Willie Nelson’s Whiskey River, which they stomp and shred to pieces, a romp so majestic that ol’ Willie’s probably hearing them, too, in whatever corner of the world he’s withering away in at this very instant.
“OWW!” Alan shouts.
“HOO-EEEEE!” I add.
“WHOOO-DOGGIE!” he enthuses.
“Whiskeeeeeeeyyy Riverrrrrrrrrrrr!” I call out for good measure, as the band begins its next song.
So impressed are we with this sizzling slab of Southern boogie that Alan and I shout out “WHISKEY RIVER!” at the end of every song Gravy plays, but they refuse to oblige us with an encore performance. The crowd surrounding us, tucked away in their isolated circles of candle lit tables, pays no mind to our overtures, though then again for drunken maniacs to hoot and holler song titles here at Ruby’s is nothing out of the ordinary.
In between acts we’re hanging out by the bar, talking to some more coworkers of mine, Jackie and Scott. Jackie’s a plump, short little hostess, always laughing at everything regardless of its humor content. She’s embarking tomorrow on a trip out west to visit some guys in Colorado who used to wait tables at our restaurant, in essence the same trip Tiffany just returned from. Scott, meanwhile, is a long haired dreadlocked kid who cooks in our kitchen part time, when he’s not busy playing with yet another local hippie jam band, Uncle Sam’s Dream Machine. He hasn’t been employed at our restaurant long, and I get the feeling he won’t stick around much longer, either.
Men Of Leisure:
Next up on stage are those boring old bastards Men of Leisure, the most aptly named group in history. We reclaim our former table, Alan and I do, whereupon I immediately begin timing the band from the first note they play. A prior victim of theirs, I’m curious to examine not only how few songs they cram into a set, but how long each song stretches out, as well as what portion of the evening, exactly, these Men of Leisure spend on break.
A hybrid of sorts between Gravy’s hillbilly stomp and the meandering bongo-redolent noodling of everyone else who graces the stage here, this sums up the Men of Leisure in a nutshell. These guys all look to be in their 40s and thus should not only know their way around a decent classic rock catalog but also how to crop their selections down to an acceptable length, but these overindulgent wankers have no concept of either. Their first song alone I clock at ten minutes, and it’s the shortest of their set. Four songs total lasting just short of an hour and they’re off the stage again, gone outside to smoke for half hour break number one. Alan and I are debating whether or not to stick around for set number two when a welcome face drifts past and plops down at our table, that of Jenny Hughes. Rare among my female coworkers, I feel a kinship with Hughes, that she can relate to my crazy lifestyle. She too has lost her license due to various infractions stemming from an insurance lapse, she too has a pair of roommates sharing an upstairs house on campus. One of these roommates, a meek, pale and skinny little blonde chick by the name of Jenny Kramer, has tagged along and dropped into the other remaining chair at our tiny corner table. Their spotting us back here is a minor miracle, though one I’m thankful has transpired.
Most groups are in the midst of a third set by this late hour but they’re just beginning their second, yet it’s difficult to fault these guys for the lackadaisical approach. Bands around here can get away with playing just about anything, for any length of time, so long as it has the appropriate trippy groove they can all shuffle to, one that enables them to spin around in circles while making animal mating calls.
The girls return this time with a half full pitcher of beer, laughing as they claim they’re too drunk to finish it. Alan and I have our own pitcher we’ve barely even made a dent in, but readily accept their offer, as Hughes gracefully sets hers next to ours. Then they bow out into the night, bidding us adieu, leaving us to smolder in their wake.
“Whew, she’s hot,” Alan gasps, his perspiration visibly intensified just from that brief interaction with the Jennys.
“Yeah, she is,” I agree. Kramer’s cute enough in her own right but I know he’s talking about Hughes, I don’t even have to ask.
Later we’re standing by the bar, preparing to leave, when Seresa drifts in. Cafe Bourbon Street is dead tonight, she explains, and they decided to close up early. Alan and I are just finishing up our last cupfuls of beer as she grabs a bottle, slugging it down at a pace to rival ours while the three of us huddle in a loose semicircle. Gorgeous as she is, though, even a master conversationalist like Alan can only muster up so much small talk with her, a relative stranger, and after our beers are finished we’re the next ones out the door.
2000
Okay, so I’m admittedly kind of torn as far as how to post events calendars for these various bars around town. At the moment, I’m leaning toward posting these in the venue itself, instead of the yearly roundups, unless I have something significant to say about the event. So without further ado, fueled by the pure randomness of what I happen to be working on right this second, let me kick off the Ruby Tuesday event calendar for the year 2000:
1/8: The Shakewells
1/13: Peach Melba & Bender
1/14: the aforementioned Foley. Maybe they’ve straightened some things out, a couple of years down the road, or maybe we just left that other gig a little too early. Either way, at this point, they are booked to play Ruby’s every Friday, so you can pencil them in from here on out, until further notice.
1/15: Bob City with Spiveys & Mitch Mitchell’s Terrifying Experience
2/24: Peach Melba
2/26: Toast
2/28: Local Color play here every Monday, of which this is one.
2/29: Every Tuesday, meanwhile, brings with it an open-stage night called Dan’s Acoustic Revolution. Ladies get in free.
3/1: And then each Wednesday, there’s a reggae night featuring The Flex Crew.
3/2: Spider Frendz headline, with support from A Planet For Texas, Missing Girl, and The Staggers
Fridays (as of at least Jan-March) – Foley
Tuesdays (as of at least Jan-March) – Dan’s Acoustic Revolution (open stage; ladies get in free)
Wednesdays (as of at least Jan-March) – Reggae night with The Flex Crew
3/9 – The Shakewells
3/11 – Bender, Jared Oriams
3/16 – Rays Music Exchange
3/17 – St. Patrick’s Day Bash featuring Bob City, Black Love, The White Outs, The Fur Traders
3/18 – Willie Pooch or Foley or both (conflicting ads)
3/23 – Jack Neat (according to ad – they’re actually listed at Oldfield’s on High as well)
3/24 – Knee Jerk Reaction
3/25 – Uncle Sam’s Dream Machine
5/27 & 28: Quarkstock 2000 prog/space fest featuring Quarkspace and 7 other bands
8/16 – The Shantee. Miles and I catch this show, it’s fantastic.
2001
October 25 – Sister Flow, Sugar Pill
October 26 – Holiday Throwdown features Bloody Matt Dillons, Rancid Yak Butter Tea Party, Grafton, Lylo Americans, The Husher, One.point.three.
November 9 – Bloody Matt Dillons, The Jive Turkeys, The Take
November 16 – Bloody Matt Dillons, Estee Louder, Geraldine, The Guinea Worms
The Judas Cow began life in the early 2000s as a live trio hitting some of the more prominent rock clubs around Columbus. Their style, a distinctly Midwestern, mid-tempo blend that falls somewhere between Americana and Tom Petty, seems to lend itself just as much to quiet listening sessions around the house, however, and many of us eagerly await some official recorded output.
Led by singer-guitarist-songwriter Kevin Spain, formerly of beloved local group Silo The Huskie, they would at long last release an EP in 2006, Last Summer. Prior to this, the band had circulated some demos by hand, passing Sharpie labeled discs out around town, and it’s impressive to hear how polished these songs became in the finished product. Of course, playing out constantly does help with that process. But bass player Ryan Haye had only just picked up the instrument shortly before joining the group, and you would never guess that in listening to this EP. Here are the tracks, in order:
Augmented by a fourth member, Chris Bair (also a Silo alumni), they would reconvene to crank out another self-titled disc in 2008. During their prime, I felt like The Judas Cow were my favorite local songwriters – and course the tunes still hold up now. Sadly, apart from contributing to the occasional Exquisite Noise Records compilation album, it doesn’t appear that any of their material is currently in print.
However, they have been kind enough to allow me to list downloadable version of the albums here! This includes one complete demo from the early days which was never even formally released. Just click on the specific album you would like to pick up in the image below:
Stop Rewind Fast Forward: 1993. (click to view/read more)
Pick up a copy of my latest music history tome, concerning that iconic year! Among the shows covered are a Primus and Smashing Pumpkins, both held at Newport Music Hall. Also the Lollapalooza stop at nearby Buckeye Lake, where local band Scrawl was on the bill, and Cbus musician Foley played as a member of Arrested Development.
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