Our View: New sites for Wilkes-Barre Area high school come with quite a few questions

web1_NWSLogo_400x400.jpg

Rain, snow in the forecast for the Wyoming Valley

<p>WILKES-BARRE &#8212; Corner bars, those wonderful little places in the neighborhood where you could always get an ice cold beer, stimulating conversation with friends and, perhaps, a hard-boiled egg, seem to be fading away.</p><p>In Plymouth, my hometown, there were plenty of corner bars &#8212; each with its own allure derived from a unique ambiance, but a common theme &#8212; reasonably priced drinks, familiar faces and fun.</p><p>My dad&#8217;s favorite watering hole was Bob&#8217;s Cafe at the corner of West Main and Davenport streets. The owner, Bobby Novak, was a friend of my dad&#8217;s and, just like Cheers of TV fame, everybody knew your name there.</p><p>The beer was always cold, drawn from taps that were meticulously cared for, and the place just had a welcoming atmosphere. Bob&#8217;s dad used to go &#8220;up the farm&#8221; and return with delicious delights like scrapple. You can look it up to learn the ingredients, but you would be better served frying some scrapple up and having it with your morning eggs.</p><p>That&#8217;s the kind of stuff that went on at places like Bob&#8217;s. Mr. Novak (Bob&#8217;s dad) would sometimes bring in some fresh buttermilk after a trip to the farm. Served ice cold and garnished with a sprinkle of salt and pepper and, as a friend once said, &#8220;give your tongue a sleigh ride.&#8221; Ice cold buttermilk was something you didn&#8217;t have often, but when you did, you savored every drop.</p><p>Anybody who knows Plymouth, also knows of the miracle mile &#8212; Main Street &#8212; where back in the day it seemed to consist of bar, furniture store, bar, funeral home, bar, furniture store, bar, etc. The challenge, taken by many, was to walk the length of Main Street having one beer in every bar. To date, I am pretty certain that nobody ever completed the journey. Despite that well-known fact of failure, it never served as a deterrent to those thinking they would be the first to accomplish the task.</p><p>And then there was Yido&#8217;s on West Shawnee Avenue at the foot of Nottingham Street. There was a time when Yido &#8212; I never knew the man&#8217;s name &#8212; would serve hot dogs for a nickel and a glass of beer for a dime. For young adults, struggling to pay for college and working minimum wage jobs, that was a bargain.</p><p>It seems that back then there were these quaint little bars everywhere. Little neon signs, often shaped like an arrow, with the name of the bar brightly lit stood out in the darkness of a small town. Every corner bar would have similar attractions, like those Big Six pinball machines, where you would try to direct those silver balls into certain holes to get five in a line. And &#8220;33&#8221; football pools hung on the walls that people would scan to see who they were to root for to score 33 points in an NFL game. And there were 13-run and 14-run baseball pools that drew interest to games.</p><p>Some of these corner bars would offer food, usually home-cooked on the premises and sold at very affordable prices. At Bob&#8217;s Cafe, you could get a small lobster or steak on a Friday or Saturday, and it would be delicious.</p><p>Just up West Main Street, Karpy&#8217;s (now Maxie&#8217;s) would be a training ground for Plymouth kids just embarking on the new world of alcohol consumption. Now this was an interesting place. Leo Karpy would serve the tastiest cheeseburgers I have ever eaten &#8212; with a slice of raw onion and grilled to perfection &#8212; for 50 cents.</p><p>The place was a bit tight, evidenced by the men&#8217;s room right next door to the dart board. You had to cross in front of the dart shooters to access the men&#8217;s room. Trust me, if you didn&#8217;t time it just right, you could end up pulling a dart out of your arm.</p><p>Those corner bars seem to be a memory. They have evolved into &#8220;sports bars&#8221; where big screen TVs surround the bar, fried foods and pizza are served and not everybody knows your name. There are some of these establishments that do a great job and others that, well, fall a bit short.</p><p>If you want to watch a game, you probably will see it better than you could have on the 19-inch portable TV at Bob&#8217;s Cafe, but chances are, you won&#8217;t be able to hear it. Loud music, karaoke or a fledgling duo might be playing in the corner.</p><p>And I&#8217;m certain you wont get to taste any scrapple or wash it down with ice cold buttermilk.</p><style>
.neFileBlock {
	margin-bottom: 20px;
}
.neFileBlock p {
	margin: 0px 0px 0px 0px;
}
.neFileBlock .neFile {
	border-bottom: 1px dotted #aaa;
	padding-bottom: 5px;
	padding-top: 10px;
}
.neFileBlock .neCaption {
	font-size: 85%;
}
</style>
<div class='neFileBlock'>
<div class="neFile"><img class="neImage" src="https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/web1_Columnshot-1-1-2.jpg">
<div class="neCaption">Bill O&#8217;Boyle </div></div><div class="metaInfo"><photo0>https://www.timesleader.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/web1_Columnshot-1-1-2.jpg</photo0><caption0>Bill O&#8217;Boyle </caption0><photoCredit0></photoCredit0></div></div>
<div class="metaInfo"><bylineMeta><p>By Bill O&#8217;Boyle</p><p>boboyle@www.timesleader.com</p></bylineMeta></div><div class="metaInfo"><shirttailMeta><p>Reach Bill O&#8217;Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle.</p></shirttailMeta></div>

Beyond the Byline: I’ll have some scrapple and a buttermilk, please