chorus… “You just call out my name, and you know, wherever I am…” One slow night about nine years ago, while bartender “Big Deb” was working, a guy wearing a ski mask walked into the Sly Mongoose and held a gun to the head of “Chuck”—a regular who was busy watching a football game on the bar’s television. “Give me all your money,” the robber said to Deb. As Deb headed to the register, old-time regulars Roscoe and Uncle Wilson, who were the only other customers sitting at the bar that day, started laughing. “Boy, you picked the wrong time to rob this place!” they told the young criminal. “We’re all running tabs—there’s no money here.” “Yeah, go ahead and shoot him,” one of them said, laughing harder, noting that Chuck was still nonchalantly glued to the TV set. “He won’t notice.” Roscoe and Uncle Wilson continued laughing hysterically at the poor thief. “Sit down and order a drink,” they said. “We’ll put it on our tab!” Humiliated and confused, the intruder ran out into his getaway car and was captured at the Shell gas station down the street after Deb called the incident in to the police. For years after that, she held an annual celebration at the Goose on the same date they affectionately called, “The Night We Almost Got Robbed.”
1:45 p.m. Electric Steve walks in. Everyone discusses his birthday party held at the Goose the day before. As per his usual M.O., he got drunk and rather lewd with some of the female customers. Obviously embarrassed by his behavior, Steve is somewhat somber. “Do me a favor,” he says, “next time you see me heading for the mic, tackle me or something…” Three years ago, a fire broke out at the ukulele store by the Sly Mongoose. The flames quickly spread throughout the building, as did word of the disaster. The bartenders and owner at the time, John Rawlings, were powerless to do anything but watch the smoke billowing out from the windows upstairs. Later, after the smoke cleared, John and his staff assessed the damage. While the other shops in the building were destroyed, the bar suffered mostly water and smoke damage. Ironically, John had just bought the place and signed the papers that very day. If the damage was irreparable, John would lose everything and his loyal staff would be out of work. They all wondered what to do next. The fire marshal would be back the next day to determine if the World Famous Sly Mongoose would be shut down for good. Before they could cry into their beers, Walter Hester, who owns Maui Jim sunglasses, came down with a generator, others set up shop vacs and all of the bar regulars—young and old, men and women—came down with buckets and soap and proceeded to wipe down and clean up every spare inch of the Goose. Everyone came together and did such a great job, that the next day the fire marshal could see no reason why the tiny bar should close. That evening, the Sly Mongoose opened for business as usual. All through the night, John rang the bell and people cheered, relieved to be able to hold on to their favorite watering hole.
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COVER STORY
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2:45 p.m. A sprightly, older gentlemen with glasses and a good-natured smirk steps in with some friends. Before any of them say a word, Donna prepares their drinks as they file up around the cocktail tables, now deserted by Hana and her entourage… On one occasion, somebody I was sitting next to noted that everyone at the bar had facial hair— goatees, mustaches and beards—in varying degrees of gray. “Even the women!” he said. On another, youthful 83-year-old Sly Mongoose regular Henry came in. Every morning at dawn, he drives up to Kapalua and walks down the steep slope of Pineapple Hill. He insists this is the secret to his vibrant longevity. “That and tequila!” he says.
3:45 p.m. Two men in their late-30’s, disheveled and redfaced, swagger up to the bar. Donna shakes her head at them and says, firmly, “Nope, I’m not serving you guys—but have a nice day.” They look confused for a moment then, sheepishly, they walk out… Back in the days when it was more common, a fight broke out at the Sly Mongoose. As inevitably happened, a guy got knocked out, tooth and all, and the patrons drew a chalk outline of him and his tooth outside on the driveway. For months, there was erroneous talk in the town of a “murder at the Mongoose.” “That was back when we were a sleazy dive,” said Dave, another longtime Goose bartender, laughing. “You know, about a week ago.” Several years ago, Donna used to work at another bar in town called Tiger’s. On one occasion while working there, a man, who was well known in Lahaina, inappropriately reached under her skirt. Feeling violated, she told Rambo Rick, a respected veteran and regular of the Sly Mongoose, who then took the guy outside and duct-taped him to a tree. When the man’s wife called the Goose looking for him, the bartender unwittingly said he wasn’t there. The wife didn’t believe the bartender and drove by the bar, then noticed her husband tied to the tree out front. She proceeded to remove the tape from his mouth to find out what happened, but he just started yelling at her, so she taped him back up, went into the Goose and had a cocktail. Another time more recently, I was at the Goose, enjoying my drink and feeling rather at ease amongst the more veteran dive bar ohana. One of the regulars I had seen often was an important town official. After fifteen shots and a couple of beers, he drunkenly got off his stool and gave me a gentle squeeze. “You’re gorgeous,” he said. “Wow, thanks,” I said, kind of pleased at my newfound acceptance. “Thanks a lot!” “Yeah,” he went on. “You may not be the most beautiful woman, but I think you’re gorgeous.”
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For advertising information, call 661-3786 x2
The Sly Mongoose is located at 1036 Limahana Pl. in Lahaina’s Industrial Park and can be reached at 661-8097. They open at 10 a.m. everyday and close at 2 a.m. sharp. They don’t take reservations but the bartenders may be willing to accept bribes for service. MTW
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DECEMBER 11, 2003
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