A Drying Up of Watering Holes--and Civility

SACRAMENTO — It was not surprising, but nevertheless it was depressing when the handwritten sign went up on the door: “Closed Until Further Notice.”

For too many customers, obviously, the old watering hole itself had become depressing. The decor was dingy and the menu unchanged for generations. Nothing trendy here, no aluminum and glass or “daily specials.” Just faded wood and stucco and a huge, handsome horseshoe bar, where a few denizens imbibed and smoked and watched sports on a TV sitting atop a phone booth--the booth you’d ultimately use to call home and say, “Guess I’ll eat downtown.”

Posey’s had the best prime rib in town. But it also had a much bigger attraction; it had camaraderie and straight talk and political wisdom.

Once, it had been a capital “in” spot, right up there with Frank Fat’s. Legislators, lobbyists, journalists and hacks stood three-deep around the horseshoe at noon, patiently awaiting a table. It was a must stop on the nightly circuit that also included, in the ‘60s, the nearby El Mirador Hotel, where a pimp/guitarist played in the Snake Pit.

On the other side of the Capitol, the downtown side, Fats was--still is--the premier fueling station. But at various periods in the ‘70s and early ‘80s, there also were David’s Brass Rail, a hole-in-the-wall frequented by Gov. Jerry Brown; Ellis’, which was too respectable to survive, and the grungy Torch Club, where politicians and local rabble fed an oldies jukebox and ordered their “final finals.”

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Lawmakers made the rounds and developed friendships and trust that nurtured tolerance and compromise in the Capitol.

Former legislative leader James Mills, who served in both houses, wrote of carousing in the ‘60s in a very readable book, “A Disorderly House.” Journalists inaccurately charged “the Legislature as a whole with drunkenness and philandering,” he asserted. “Such a blanket accusation did not allow for the disparities between the two houses. In general, the Senate was guilty of drunkenness but, unlike the Assembly, was innocent of philandering.”

Morality was deemed a lawmaker’s own affair and political correctness had not entered the consciousness. Lobbyists normally picked up the tab. But as people began to fret about such things, as lawmakers started moving their families to Sacramento and as the world became more sober, fewer politicos trekked the nightly circuit.

And, not uncoincidentally, legislators became less congenial and more self-righteous, unyielding and petty in their daylight dealings.

Posey’s particularly fell on hard times as the remaining action moved to the downtown side of the Capitol. Yet, the old saloon still had its loyalists, people who felt at home in an unpretentious place where waitresses called them “hon.”

It was a favorite hangout of Willie Brown’s political aides, plus a GOP strategist or two and a handful of lawmakers. They traded war stories, intelligence and gossip around the horseshoe. And on June 5 when Brown suddenly surrendered his speakership and installed Republican Doris Allen as his successor--and the Assembly finally collapsed--I knew where to find the maximum candor and minimum of bull.

But I was stopped short by the freshly tacked, ugly sign. And my first reaction was that it had been placed on the wrong building. It was the Capitol that should have been “closed until further notice.”

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Posey’s going belly-up is symbolic of the Capitol’s loss of camaraderie and civility. For the Legislature to function again, more watering holes are needed--if only to serve up diet soft drinks, the beverage of choice for many ‘90s legislators.

There are plenty of nearby restaurants--Dawson’s in the Hyatt Hotel, the Wilson Administration’s favorite; Brannon’s, convenient but unremarkable; the bar-less Broiler, with a Posey’s feel but an updated menu, and Virgas, offering trendy food for yuppies.

But when Posey’s closed, Fat’s and Brannon’s were the only nearby hangouts for schmoozing. That is until the stranded Posey’s crowd “discovered” Simon’s, owned by a former Fat’s bartender. Now the little Chinese bar and cafe is booming.

One night last week, remarkably, to be there was to be in a time warp.

Sen. Richard Mountjoy (R-Arcadia) had caught nine freshwater bass and brought them in to be served. Word spread by mouth and by evening’s end, 10 very diverse legislators from across the ideological extremes were seated together, spearing fish with chopsticks, learning about Hula Hopper lures, whispering rumors to allies and marveling at this strange scene. Nobody cursed in anger. Nobody got flipped off.

Maybe more legislators need to go fishing. They certainly need to find good watering holes.