(Dive Bars and Why We Love Them Page 3 of 6)

THE DIVE: BIRTHPLACE OF THE COUNTERCULTURE?

 

In colonial American dives, says Conroy, men and women could voice anti-authoritarian ideas and behave in unconventional ways. These bars were the first public places where it was socially acceptable to question the authority of the government, the existing social structure, and the rigid moral code of the period.   You might say it was the birthplace of the counterculture movement.

By the mid 1800's, rowdy saloons, gambling houses and gin joints were called "dives" (or "dens," "holes" and "dumps") because they were often situated below street level in the basements of run-down houses in working class (read: poor) neighborhoods.   Once patrons climbed those stairs down into the darkness, they could leave the conformist respectability of "above ground" values behind.

For the better part of two hundred years, dive bars have provided refuge to rebels, misfits and mavericks fleeing from the conformist ideals of the "respectable citizen."   Even today, the dive romanticizes a rebel culture of the "loner."   These rugged individualists were often heavy drinkers and troublemakers.   From the Hell-raising saloon culture of the 1800's, to the Beats of the 1950's and the counterculture movement of the 60's, the dive bar welcomed outlaws of all sorts, including drunks, addicts, and anyone looking to disassociate him/herself from traditional societal expectations.   The dive offered sanctuary, both literally and figuratively: It was a place where people could hide from the wife, the boss, or the law while escaping the expectations of a polite society.

BOOZE & BOOKS:   A LITERARY CONNECTION

"I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me."

  - Hunter S. Thompson

It's tough to pinpoint exactly how the dive bar became a beacon of authenticity in an overly conformist world, but a great deal is owed to the literary community who championed the boozy culture.   During the 1920's and 30's, celebrated writers such as F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway were legendary for their drinking prowess, and their gin-soaked exploits translated to the printed page.   Try to imagine one of Jay Gatsby's fantastic East Egg soirees where the champagne does not flow, or a Paris in The Sun Also Rises that isn't drenched in Vermouth.   In the article For Whom the Booze Tolls , Mario Pesta recalls meeting Hemingway at a Key West dive in the late 1950's and challenging the venerable writer to a drinking duel.   They agreed to chug rum by the pint until only one man remained standing, and Pesta thought he had a chance - he was younger, stronger, and he knew his way around a bottle.   What he didn't know is that Hemingway had a deep, unquenchable thirst for rum, dating back to his expat days in pre-revolutionary Cuba.   "The old man beat me fair and square," says Pesta.    "I got into the ring with the champ and he floored me."   When the Beats and counterculturalists came along, writers like Kerouac, Burroughs and Bukowsi romanticized a working class, skid row version of the bottle

 

 

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