The oddly agrarian style of the Bottom Street Bar, abandoned but still standing. (Photo by Thomas Wirt)
I had another one of those now-familiar disorienting moments when I drove by the site of Chevy in the Hole earlier this month and discovered that the Bottom Street Bar was gone, along with the nearby bank, both victims of arson. (This used to be the Sundown Lounge, perhaps The Sundowner. Hard to remember.)
You can now stand on the edge of the rubble and see Hurley Hospital across the vast, empty plain bisected by the river.
I never stepped foot in the place, but it holds a prominent spot in my memory of Flint. If you happened to be driving on Chevrolet during a shift change when the traffic backed up, you could come to a stop directly in front of the bar door, which was often propped open during the summer. This was a big thrill for me as a kid. I loved mystery books and I imagined that it was the kind of dark, smokey place where somebody could get murdered. (Perhaps somebody did over the years.) This is how I discovered that it was acceptable to drink at 7 a.m. in Flint.
Me: What are they doing in there?
Me: In the morning?
Mom: They just got out of work. It's night time for them.
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