It takes us a lot longer to discover Out-R-Inn than it ever rightly should. Located somewhat slightly out of the familiar campus loop, on Frambes, which may explain why none of us have ever been here. A house which has been converted to a bar at some point, with a jagged stone wall in front guarding this elevated patio, a patio that in turn lords over the sidewalk. They’ve got a doorman checking I.D., always a positive sign that things are happening enough to bother, and we cross that threshold in turn. Upon first entering, our initial impression is that this place appears tiny, with a scuffed wooden bar and stools, not a ton of breathing space in this first room. They are blasting tunes from a CD player behind the bar, for which the drink slingers also choose the discs, although the most curious aspect about this arrangement is that the music is louder out on the sidewalk than it is in here.
We order a beer at the bar and walk toward the back, though, and it’s only in so doing that the full breadth of this operation reveals itself to us. Now, the space looms like an optical illusion in the other direction, where you’re struggling to picture how it’s this much bigger on the inside than would appear possible on the outside. There’s a side room, an upstairs, plus this gigantic back patio with another bar at one end. Brick arches which look like they’ve been around since the 1800s, in fact brick and wood everywhere, mostly the latter. Hardwood floors which are polished in some spots, mostly not, and this wooden corridor for darts, some low riding wooden picnic tables on the back patio, many a shiny wooden wall inside. The smallest stage known to man in one interior corner, but then also, curiously enough, basketball hoops in another behind the place. Television screens everywhere, as it considers itself somewhat of a sports bar, and some of these weird walls that double as windows, these wooden flaps that open whenever the weather is nice.
If there’s one downfall to this bar, it’s that there are way too many guys and not enough girls. Then again, you might say that about pretty much anywhere, given the wrong night. And there is enough visual candy to hold our attention, anyway. We entertain ourselves for the duration of the first beer, pretty much, watching this chubby blonde in a short skirt shoot pool, hoping for a panty shot. Then get bored, order a second round – Damon talks me into trying Moosehead, which isn’t bad – for a voyage onto the patio. They’ve got a shelf behind the bar, just below the monstrous CD rack, with every variety imaginable, and price tags hanging off of each, in a novel twist, which leads to such experimentation. The four of us have made a pact to drink nothing but imports while here, no American swill allowed.
It’s out on the patio that we make our first unexpected encounter, bumping into Frank Wiseman and his trusty sidekick Lauren. These two are hunched before drinks, alone, at one of the picnic tables, a quaint if somewhat bizarre tete-a-tete. He’s telling me he bartends at the Claremont steak house downtown now, and says I should stop in sometime for a drink. In addition to getting canned at our restaurant, he says he also quit Bowties, and is working solely down there at the moment. As for her, though in theory her friends, the other clubhouse bitches continue to make smirking wisecracks about her “drug problem” as they complain about her table thievery – and you would have to say these rumors are beginning to bear visible fruit. She’s looking a little thinned out and pasty these days, actually quite a bit so.
“Ugh. She’s not looking too hot these days,” I remark, after we leave them.
“It’s funny you say that,” Damon chuckles, as we excuse ourselves from that awkward private conference, “I was just thinking that. The first time I met them, I thought, what the hell’s she doing with him? Now I would say it’s the other way around.”
He has no sooner completed this thought before a second acquaintance comes bounding over, right when we step back inside. Carmen, the really cute, curly haired brunette he knows from school, seems delightfully surprised to see him here, and we stand talking to her, Damon most of all, naturally, for quite some time. He says she’s got a cool personality, and this observation seems to hold water in my limited interactions with her. She does have a tendency to lean in extremely close when speaking to you, which could be either intimidating or a turn on – mostly the latter, once you get to know her. It helps that she has a pretty face and a curvaceous body.
She’s here with friends, and returns to them as we head up to inspect the second floor. They have an actual jukebox located at the top of the stairs, and three pool tables. Also, some windows affording a terrific view of the surrounding terrain, both restrooms for some curious reason, and a curved exterior stairwell which leads out to that side basketball court.
We are among the few inquisitive souls actively hanging out up here, thus are able to immediately claim both a pool table and the jukebox. Alan puts some quarters into the juke and plays five or six tunes, with me right behind him. Then Paul, who almost never does this, saunters over to shell out for some songs.
“Watch, he’s gonna play Back In Black next,” Alan jokes to me in a whisper, and then we bust out laughing as this is exactly what happens. Followed by You Shook Me All Night Long.
Still, as predictable as he can be on many fronts, obsessed to no end when the rare subject appeals to him, Paul is still nonetheless capable of blowing your mind with the unexpected revelation now and then, more so than these other two friends. We’ve all got secrets, of course – you wouldn’t be human otherwise. But beyond those, speaking just about our basic personalities, I feel like you’re pretty much going to hear everything interesting that happened to Damon in the course of a day, unless he has a strongly compelling reason not to reveal it, and he will make these tales mighty hilarious in so doing. That Alan probably hews closer to me at the other extreme, as we’re more selective in relating our stories – either because these are the only ones which occurred to us, or we don’t want to bore people, or it’s just too much work – while Paul’s off to the side somewhere from all of these viewpoints. It’s as though he often considers admitting to anything other than the canonical obsessions as diminishing those obsessions. So while we’re chortling over the AC/DC, he seems undisturbed, and possibly not even registering this, raving about this album for the thousandth time…but then abruptly switches gears, when a Soundgarden song airs, says he used to be in a band that played Jesus Christ Pose and he always thought his was a killer cut. I’m floored, and in a way can’t imagine Damon or Alan would ever tell me anything more shocking than this.
It feels like one of these strange nights, though, where everyone’s in a somewhat giddy mood for no concrete reason. I’m not the only one gripped by this sensation that something interesting is bound to happen tonight – which of course often winds up being a self-fulfilling prophecy, as such good cheer and optimism makes things happen on its own. Even as I’m just about out of money and cut myself off following this third round, and Kathleen either passed out early or blew me off, nothing can diminish the potential of this still young night. Alan talks me into drinking a Beck’s Dark, same as him, even though they screw up and give him a regular Beck’s. Damon and Paul beat the two of us in both pool games, somehow, even though Radick’s easily the worst of us, and rarely plays. Then we decide to head down the sidewalk, in favor of Que Tal.
We will return to Out-R-Inn, though, both for the remainder of our campus years and well beyond. It’s the rare kind of establishment where you’re likely to find a bunch of college students but also a sizable middle aged or older crowd, who feel right at home here. Easily the campus establishment I’ve visited most since moving out of the university area, where for example, when one of my aunts and a cousin came to town for a visit, this immediately leapt to mind as our best option. Our go-to choice before and after concerts at the Newport…but also a place I went to alone, one night, after fighting with Jill, while the rest of my friends went to a show at the Newport. After which, but of course, the friends were kind enough to join me.
I know there’s some kind of bizarre true crime story involving a former owner of this place, though I can’t remember the details right now, and that only adds to the mystique. Although I have to admit the night this really cute and curvaceous brunette barmaid decided she was too hot, and to serve drinks in just her bra, this was reason enough alone to return for many, many months. Even if, as Closing Time is playing from their boombox near the end of the night, and Alan mouths the words, the whole I know who I want to take me home line, jabbing an insistent finger in her direction as she slings drinks, he is not exactly successful in these romantic efforts. I know we will never forget that night, and hope to never forget about checking into this so-called inn, either, every now and then.
To see it a couple of decades later, in 2019, not a whole lot has visibly changed. Almost all of the updates seem to be music related, which is a fitting commentary on our modern era. The tunes aren’t nearly as loud when approaching the building, and once inside, you will immediately observe that the racks of compact discs behind the bar are gone. Upstairs, the juke box has been yanked, but otherwise it’s like stepping into a time warp.
This is my first visit since I think 2006, so there are plenty other details I had forgotten about, but am pretty sure were always in place here. Like nearly every square inch of the wood and brick walls being covered with signatures up on this second floor, and the men’s room with the giant piss trough and just one toilet stall otherwise. Downstairs again, I am confronted with the unfortunate sight of just six draft taps, most of them offering cheap domestics. Although it’s easy to forget this is a college campus, and they’re just giving the masses what they want.
Former owner Martin McNamee sold the place somewhere around 2005-ish, as he was filing for bankruptcy…although this would soon turn into a tax fraud/money laundering case against him. According to a September 11, 2007 article by Columbus Business First, McNamee was sentenced to three years of prison, in addition to some hefty restitution to the tune of about half a million dollars. This had something to do with, in part, staging a flood for insurance money (not here, but at this residence). But no, while interesting, this actually wasn’t the “true crime” case I was thinking of, as I believe an even earlier owner got mixed up in some foul deeds, decades earlier. If anyone knows any details about this, by all means fill me in with a comment below.
