Alley Cats : At Dawn, Canoga Park Bowl Has Six Lanes Going Strong and Burritos on the Hot Plate

Maybe heaven looks like Canoga Park Bowl. Thirty-two lanes. A grill that serves cheeseburgers. Video games. Pool tables. Coke machines. The jukebox in the Royal Room plays Elvis.

During the dark hours before dawn, guys with custom bowling shoes hang out here. Young girls dance to music videos playing on television. Street people come in from the cold.

They come to Canoga Park Bowl because it never closes, except for a few hours on Christmas. Friday and Saturday nights past 3 a.m., the San Fernando Valley is pretty well shut down except for some coffee shops and gas stations. Canoga Park Bowl becomes a fluorescent-lit hangout.

“You got your rock ‘n’ rollers and your New Wavers, your bikers and punkers. You got your freaks,” says Bob Faucheaux, who comes to watch.

“We just kick back here. We’ll stay until the morning comes, then go to Denny’s for breakfast.”

And things can get strange. Last month, some kid sprinted down the lane and dived head-first into the pins. They call that a “Flintstone.” Another guy threw his shoes at the pins and wrecked some machinery. The case--billed as “These Shoes Ain’t Made for Throwing”--got on the “People’s Court” television show. Judge Joseph A. Wapner ruled against the young man and made him pay Canoga Park Bowl $361.67.

“If this place closed after 2 a.m., these kids would be lost. They’d sit in the parking lot, get drunk and throw bottles through the windows,” says Ed Price, who works at the bowling alley. “Here, they get into good, clean American fun . . . bowling, man.”

“It’s a good place to come if you don’t have anything to do and everything’s closed,” said Eva Schell, a 19-year-old Pierce College student who has been hanging out at the bowling alley for the last eight months. “I’ll stay until 5 if I don’t have school.”

Weekend evenings are busiest at Canoga Park Bowl. If you come in at midnight, there is usually a one-hour wait to get onto a lane or into the pool room. But by 3 or so, the crowd has thinned. The all-nighters remain.

The late crowd is mostly teen-agers or people not much older. No one at Canoga Park Bowl checks for curfew, and police say they only care about keeping juveniles off the street.

“We’d rather have the kids in here than out stealing cars,” says Gene Giegoldt, who manages the bowling alley. “Some of these kids have literally grown up in this house.”

There are distinctly different cliques--identified by their clothing and slang. Tattooed men shooting pocket billiards don’t socialize with the people playing video games for hours and hours. But they say hello in passing, and nobody bothers anyone.

“No matter who they are or what they are, they become friends here,” says Alana Bans, 18 and dressed all in black.

The bowling youth are the strongest presence. Those over 21 drink until the Royal Room stops serving, then sober up while playing “pot” games for $2 a go. On Lane 17, a guy named Vince says he’s been here 16 nights in a row. Brian Kaplan is with him this Friday night as they begin a 5-hour spree. The regulars slowly gather around.

“You would think that there are low-lifes in a bowling alley,” Kaplan says. “But these are good people.”

Xuan Tran, who everyone calls “Mike,” wobbles up.

“I’ve been drinking a lot tonight,” Tran says. “I’m ready to bowl anyone for any amount of money.”

Tran doesn’t hold his liquor well, but he has a 200-plus bowling average.

A new crowd arrives after an evening of partying. They don’t bowl well, but they dress stylishly and their haircuts are just right. These people say the bar scene is dead. Bowling is the new thing.

“It’s always happening here on Friday and Saturday nights,” says Kevin York. “These are all cool people.”

And over by the front doors, someone hassles Ed Price. Some regulars immediately come to his aid and throw the bad guy out. The security guard stands by and watches. A street person sleeps through the whole thing.

At 3 a.m. the night is still young.

The people who work at Canoga Park Bowl seem to have stepped into this world from a “Twilight Zone” episode.

Sandy Ruley has been at the grill for seven years. Her mother, Sally, worked it for 13 years before that. Billie Wood is the barmaid at night, and her sister works the days. Their mother used to have that job.

Ed Price has been tending bar in the Royal Room for 11 years. His son, Vinnie, attends to the front desk. They live across the street.

Giegoldt is new, and people aren’t too sure about him yet. He’s on a crusade to spruce the place up, orchestrating $300,000 in renovations that will include double French doors at the entrance.

He’s also intent on kicking out drunks and street people, who for years have used Canoga Park Bowl as a nighttime haven. He says he can be a “mean SOB” when he has to be.

“Any place you go that’s open 24 hours, you’re going to have certain drug addicts, certain types of people,” one longtime employee says in defense of the street people. “They don’t bug the bowlers. Everyone knows them.”

Still, Giegoldt has a vision for this establishment that doesn’t include such patrons.

“We don’t even call them bowling alleys anymore,” he says. “Bowling alley brings to mind something dark and dirty and dusty. Now we call them bowling centers .”

By 4 a.m., the janitors at Canoga Park Bowl are making burritos on a hot plate behind the cash register.

Over by the water fountain, Eva Schell is taking a break from the action. She talks heart-to-heart with another regular--they used to date. Twenty minutes later, they are dancing to music videos on televisions that hang from the ceiling at various points around the alley.

“This place can be like a nightclub, . . . people picking people up,” says Debra Temple, one of those who prefer to watch.

“If I see a single chick in here,” says Faucheaux, “I can kick back, get a phone number.”

During the week, life at Canoga Park Bowl is decidedly less dramatic. The customers are mostly insomniacs and swing-shift workers. On Wednesdays at 1 a.m., some employees from a nearby defense contractor usually come by after work for a little practice.

And there are always the street people. The night clerk says he has to keep checking in the bathroom because they like to sleep there. On weekend nights, they are part of the family. Bowlers and pool shooters know them by name.

On this particular Saturday, at 5 a.m., two street people who had been kicked out have returned to sleep some more. There’s activity on six lanes--a steady crack and thunder of bowling with not so much of the hollering and yelling that went on when everyone was fresher at midnight.

A man who calls himself “The Hawk” strolls in looking for “pot” games. He is considerably older than the bowling youths and doesn’t bother with their $2 games. The real games go for more money, he says. Last week, some guy walked out with $580 for the night.

And a man who has been up all night comes in and rents a lane at the far end of the building, away from everybody else.

“I need to work on my game,” says Craig Polk.

Doesn’t he think this is a weird time to practice?

“No,” he says.

Outside, it is growing light.