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Almost every documentary tackling the macro-issues of St. Louis demographic trends will take a few minutes to discuss the rise of St. Ann. The suburban community is widely presented as the finest example of post-WWII movement to the county, as thousands of residents left the tightly locked borders of St. Louis City for brand-new tract homes on what was then the edge of the North County. To get any type of real feel for how municipalities like St. Ann have fared in the past half-century, a visit to some of St. Charles Rock Road grog shops is in order.
The positive to this type of project is that you’ll have zero worries about finding locations to visit. Between 270 on the west and 170 on the east, it seems a bar pops up every half-mile. It’s quite the run of taverns, indeed. The flip side to taking in more than a couple drinks on this road is that you’ll pass new municipalities in about the same amount of time and space and, correspondingly, their wealth of police cars. One second you’re having a beer in St. George. The next, you’re tipping one in Breckenridge Hills. And so on and so forth. (As all of these burgs feature their own local law enforcement quirks, we encourage a staggered, rather than staggering, visit to these fine establishments.)
St. Louis County residents, when moving into their new homes, decided that they liked lots and lots of local control, civic redundancy be damned. They also, apparently, really like their drink. Organized in the order of visits, here’s an annotated rundown of our journey, which started on Memorial Day and stretched for a fun week-and-change...
Foley’s Fun & Drink, 10654 St. Charles Rock Road, 63074
Two customers walking into a bar enjoyed by two other customers equals what? Why, yes, a bar with four patrons, altogether. And while that might mean that the vibe of the room suddenly changes, with a bit more zest to the modest proceedings, other times it simply means that people shift around and still do their own thing. On Memorial Day at sunset, the two folks enjoying their stay at Foley’s moved from one end of the bar (nearest the TV playing the underrated “The Outlaw Josey Wales”) down to the other (where they popped endless dollars into the table-top touch game).
Our bartender engaged in a new app that he’d downloaded, which asked the user to identify the logos and brand marks of multinational companies. A surprisingly challenging game, actually. When engaged on more of a one-on-one level, he talked about how the place had been around since 1980, with the biggest day of the year coming on St. Patrick’s Day, no surprise when you consider the Irish theme of the place. Seems that bargain shopping would bring the bodies, too, as four beers and an oversized pretzel ran only $8.75.
We weren’t able to witness the sports that are affiliated with the place. The Silver Strike Bowling league goes on hiatus in the summer, while the bottle cap league plays up the block on Thursday nights. A bottle cap league? In 2012? Clearly, Foley’s was not only the gateway to, well, Foley’s; it was a gateway to another time, when young men got together to hit bottle caps with a thin bat, their teams vying for an oversized trophy and banquet at the end of every summer’s session. Who knew? A nice, safe intro to the Rock Road!
The Office, 9612 St. Charles Rock Road, Breckenridge Hills, 63114
We wrote about The Office during last week’s dissertation on meat shoots. But here’s a fun addendum. While looking up the info on the tavern, I ran across a Riverfront Times review from 2009, compliments of Robin Wheeler. Remarkably, she wrote about a couple, who are clearly regulars at the four-nights-a-week karaoke rotation at the bar. The same couple featured in that ‘09 piece were there on Memorial Day 2012, the gentleman crooning to Sinatra, his lady partial to Patsy Cline. The time machine travels to Breckenridge Hills, obviously, and you’re invited to sing along.
Rumor's Bar & Grill, 9630 Saint Charles Rock Road, 63133
Sometimes you’re meant to walk into a place at just the right moment, capturing the essence of a joint in a single, easily digested visit. Other times, you just walk into a place.
Rumor's, on a recent Saturday afternoon, was a quiet place, if strangely larger than the exterior suggested. Four men sitting around a bar, the rest of the venue unused. A large number of dartboards took up residence against one wall. Other bar amusements were scattered through the remaining floor space. The guys at the bar were discussing the usual stuff, including the relative sexiness of different athletes; collectively, they voted for volleyballers as the tops.
This went on for a bit, until a trio of young people walked in, attempting to sell the bartender Cardinals tickets, which she greeted with skepticism. (Door-to-door sales of sports tickets? Worth asking a few extra questions.) As the negotiations ground on, I finished my local macro-brew and headed out into the summery afternoon, not sure that my last 20 minutes had enriched my life significantly. The lesson of sports, and, I suppose, sports bars: win some, lose some.
G.B. Fields' Old Timers Saloon, 9212 Saint Charles Rock Road, 63114
A few days later, on an otherwise unremarkable weeknight, it was obvious that the party was at Old Timers, a bar that lived up to the name with an audience solidly aged, 43 likely the mean. The bar itself is cut into an unusual J-shape, which allowed for a strung-out quality among the patrons, with folks sorta-facing one another at odd angles, as they all viewed the Cards vs. Astros game on the handful of over-the-bar TVs. In the back, a larger party was found around the pool table, a boisterous group that was taking full advantage of the night’s drink special.
Let’s rephrase. It’s actually a monthly drink special. As in two-for-one drinks for the entire month of June. My initial two-fer was fine. But things turned when I answered “I’m good” to the bartender’s question of whether I needed another round. These two words (“I’m good”) meant to me: “No thanks, I’ve enjoyed my half-hour of quietude in your old-school establishment, but I’m onto other things now.” To her, the words meant: “Let me grab another $2.50 from your on-bar-money-pile and... here’s your next round.” My attempts to finish beer number three were successful, but labored and tedious. And just as I was set to offer my good-for-another-beer-plastic-shot-glass to the nearest patron (who was celebrating his birthday, no less), the bartender had my fourth beer on the bartop, snatching the plastic cup away. This one wouldn’t get consumed. Dag. What a waste of a free beer.
Sometimes, things go slightly astray, they sure do. But we can say this about Old Timers, without any hesitation: there are some haircuts at this place! Ones not seen since the Christian metal band Stryper was out supporting their debut, The Yellow & Black Attack, in 1983. Ethnographic studies, baby.
BS Sports Bar & Grill, 10471 Saint Charles Rock Road, 63074
Coming from Old Timers, a stop at BS was a touch of a culture shock, at least as much as you can have one on the Rock Road. Old Timers is, well, old. BS is new, begun in 2006 inside of a strip mall location that allows for a good amount of seating both inside and outside on the patio. The bar’s a standard “U” allowing everybody there a chance to watch a whole bank of TVs on the back bar, including a sizable center screen. A stage takes up a good chunk of a back corner, with another massive screen behind that. In fact, if anything, the place was a wee bit overwhelming, with lots of visual and audio stimulation happening.
While the crowd was pretty young—every last person in the place was 28, based on purely eyeballing evidence—the music was, um, unexpected. Basically, satellite radio tuned to the ‘80s, so Taylor Dayne and Pebbles were bumpin’ to an audience not yet born when the cuts were popular.
The period of time spent at Old Timers sort took the starch out of the evening, making the westward stop at BS a whole lotta anticlimactic, through no fault of the venue. It was time, absolutely, to head back to the South Side, but not before spotting a bar called Final Destination. Now when you’re on a bars run and a room called Final Destination pops up on your radar at the exact second you’re intending (nay, needing) to not have another drink, there are decisions to be made.
For me, to pass on Final Destination was a solid, sound choice. I’m guessing that others have cracked on the Rock Road, dropping in on that one-place-too-many location for a nightcap. The Rock Road’s temptations, it seems, are many. Not what you’d call “diverse,” but many.
