Another stop on the Great Bars I’ve Known tour would have to be The Pilgrim Club. It was across the street from Wuthering Heights, out on Shankpainter Road. These days it’s a private residence, but back then it was my second home for a whole winter, from opening at noon to closing at 1am. That winter I was, like so many of my friends, collecting unemployment, so I had a lot of free time. We all did that in those days. It was an integral part of Provincetown economy. You worked, usually at two jobs, seven days a week all summer, (“We only have 100 days!” I remember being told.), and then in the fall we’d all sign up for unemployment until we went back to work in the spring. Of course, it was a lot cheaper to live here in the seventies, and we all took care of each other, something which, thankfully, hasn’t changed.

   The Pilgrim Club was owned by Reggie Cabral, who also owned the A-house on Masonic Place, downtown. I don’t think he was the original owner, but he owned it while I was a patron. Reggie’s wife, Myra, didn’t like me, so he used to push me out the back door whenever she arrived. However,  I spent every second I could there for one reason and one reason only: pool. You know that song from MUSIC MAN, “Trouble, Right Here In River City”? That was me. I was totally seduced by the game. My instructors were George McGraw, Digger O’Dell and Bobby Cardinal, and they taught me well. And I practiced. And practiced. And practiced some more. Sometimes, if the smelts were running, someone would come in with a big batch and fry them up in the kitchen. Deep-fried smelts with Tabasco sauce and lemon are fantastic, if you ever have the chance. I can’t remember now what I was drinking, but it must have been beer, which was fifty cents a schooner. I’m sure I couldn’t afford anything else.

   We were all different people then, and Provincetown was a very different place. Back then I didn’t even know Bobby Cardinal was an artist, and I’m pretty sure nobody knew I was a singer. I have no idea what happened to Digger or George, but whenever I shoot a game of eight ball, they are right there with me. I can’t eat fried foods anymore, so smelts are out, and beer is also off the menu, and I don’t shoot nearly as much pool as I used to, but then nothing is forever, is it? We all thought the Pilgrim Club would last forever, and the Fo’castle, too, but then we thought we’d be young forever, too. Oh, well