When we were kids, starting at about 15-years old, there was a bar we’d frequent on Fifth Street east of [...]
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When we were kids, starting at about 15-years old, there was a bar we’d frequent on Fifth Street east of Avenue A, just past the Con Edison substation. It was called the Chic Choc, but we knew it either as Chic’s or Mrs. C’s. Customers addressed the woman behind the bar who owned the place as Mrs. C. Patrons who had known her a long time sometimes called her Virginia. There’s a bar called Sophie’s at the same location today.
Chic’s was nothing special to look at--a narrow storefront bar with a few tables along the wall, and a pool table and jukebox in the back. Virginia was a short, middle-aged, no-nonsense lady. The regulars were mainly older Ukrainian men, Puerto Ricans, a few blacks and Jews, and the occasional stray bohemian. And then there was me, my brother, and a half dozen of our friends, or “the boys” as Mrs. C called us. It was a rough block, and you had to be buzzed into the bar to gain admittance. Drinks were served in floral patterned glasses that had previously contained sour cream.read more...