Sara Sanger
T authentic home of longtime regulars—true flannel-andwhiskey dives? Or are they, too, being co-opted by the young and beautiful, those with disposable incomes and nostalgia for a sepiatoned past they never actually knew?
T
he phrase “kids these days,” which I overhear at Boulevard Lanes in
Petaluma, doesn’t seem out of place. Bartender Sasha Barrios confirms that Boulevard’s lounge clientele is generally older. She stands behind a center island made of dark wood and Greek columns, which was remolded after the bar was built, but no one can remember the exact year— sometime during the Reagan era. It looks like it belongs in
he vibe at Windsor Bowl is similar, at least at 5pm. In the warm, wood-paneled interior, a group of men discuss their local Elks Club. A woman sits at the far end of the bar, nursing a beer, and remarks sadly, “I remember the day I turned 40.” And at Double Decker in Rohnert Park, bar manager Shelly Brewer says there’s a steady group of older regulars—“some of them really old”—who come in for a drink every day after work. In the 12 years she’s been here, a number of them have passed away.
Drown Your Sorrows at a Bowling Alley Bar Boulevard Lanes 1100 Petaluma Blvd. S., Petaluma. 707.762.4581. Double Decker Lanes 300 Golf Course Drive, Rohnert Park. 707.585.0226. Windsor Bowl 8801 Conde Lane, Windsor. 707.837.9889. Country Club Bowl 88 Vivian Way, San Rafael. 415.456.4661. Napa Bowl 494 Soscol Ave., Napa. 707.224.8331. (RIP: Continental Lanes, Holiday Bowl, Nave Lanes, L & L Lanes, Cloverdale Bowl and so many others . . . )
“There’s no real label to who comes in here—they’re from all walks of life,” she says. But as the Friday evening hours tick by, Double Decker increasingly swells with younger people who weren’t even alive when a dollar would rent four pairs of bowling shoes—and it’s precisely the bar’s dated, dive aesthetic that draws them, according to O’Halloran and Byrd, who sit across from each other on a pair of leather couches like foils in a bromance. “Nowadays, people go out to get laid or get on the dance floor,” O’Halloran says. “Bowling alley bars are still a little bit of a secret, so no one’s putting on airs.” He has perfect posture, a black coat and says I should refer to him in this piece as “an Adonis in a scarf.” Byrd, meanwhile, sports a T-shirt and slicked-back
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Tom Selleck’s house. Two bigscreen TVs broadcast a 49ers win, signs for Bud, Coors and Miller Lite line the walls, and a small group of patrons reference Cheers and address each other by first name. “Most of our regulars are league bowlers, people who have been bowling for years,” Barrios says. One such regular is a man who asks that I refer to him only by his first name, Kip. He has silver hair and is dressed simply, in boots and denim. He’s been coming to Boulevard for roughly 10 years and has been part of the bowling world for much longer. At the age of 17, he began working as a bowling-alley mechanic, fixing the pinsetters that deposit neat triangles of 10 at the end of each lane. This was in the mid- to late ’70s, he recalls, at bowling alleys in Greenbrae, Millbrae, Novato and San Rafael, most of which have long since closed. “The only one still up is the Country Club in San Rafael,” he says, lamenting the rising cost of the sport. When he first started working, it cost 65 cents to play and 25 cents for shoes, and with the youth discount, it was 40 cents a game and 15 cents for shoes. But although he’s no longer a mechanic, he still enjoys Boulevard’s bar. “I know a lot of the people,” he says. “It’s just comfortable.” Barrios agrees. “The regulars depend on me, I know everyone’s drinks,” she says, adding, “I wouldn’t want to deal with a bunch of kids.”