#thepink

Just when I had begun planning a trip back to Buffalo where I had every intention of spending one more late night at The Pink, a friend sent me a post about the bar being destroyed.

I really have had a mostly fun, surreal life and The Old Pink Flamingo was an important part of it. Allentown was where the freaks and geeks and punks and drunks congregated. The neighborhood was full of great bars, and The Pink was the best.

I had a car in college, and apparently looked like I belonged there, so no one ever asked me for an ID. (The only time I got ID'd in Allentown was on NYE right before my 21st birthday. The doorman of the bar we were at laughed, handed me my ID, and let us in anyways.)

After college, I rented an apartment from a hotdog stand magnate on Franklin at Allen, just a few blocks from The Pink. There were these huge speaker cabinets in the basement of the building that allegedly were left there by the Goo Goo Dolls. My ground floor neighbor was this tough little old lady. She had been a police officer; her apartment was filled with tchotchkes and a bunch of old police equipment. I still have the baton she gave me. I had a studio apartment with something like 14-foot ceilings in the main area, and a huge window overlooking a large overgrown private garden.

The Pink was always dark and usually freezing cold. To this day, most bars I walk into are too bright and too warm for me. I must have been there two or three nights a week. Monday nights were Chicken & Porn, and it was exactly what it sounded like. The bartenders would grill a bunch of chicken and put them out in trays. There was old porn playing on the tvs, and that was the whole night. It was loads of fun.

By this time, the NYS smoking ban had been around for a few years, but that didn't apply in The Pink. It was rundown and dingy, but never came off as dirty to me. When they eventually stopped the smoking inside, the bar never smelled the same.

The Pink had the best music. There were others, but the only dj I really remember kind of looked like Black Francis. He played punk, post, goth, and darker alternative with some 60s and honky tonk here and there. The booth was tiny, there was vinyl and cds crammed in there, and this guy made it look effortless. He would rarely take requests. He actually mixed in some Rod Stewart for me one Halloween after I showed up in my best try at Rod the Mod. This was also the night there was a supposed fight between two costumed guys. One guy left and we all thought it was over until he showed back up with a chainsaw and started revving it in the bar. I think it freaked some people out for a minute until it was obvious there was no chain and it had all been a big Halloween joke.

I guess I was a regular. 4am would come, and the door men were aggressive in getting people out the door…except a small group at the far end of the bar who were allowed to stay. I don't remember staying many times, I was usually running off with friends. But I remember that I could if I wanted to, and that was nice.

One of the bartenders actually went to the same high school as I did, many years earlier. He still remembered the school motto.

Out front of The Pink is where I befriended Shoeshine Randy. Randy was likely a meth addict who lived in the area. It was never clear if he had an apartment or was jumping between shelters. Randy was ragged, but had a shine box and genuinely tried to work at night. He spit polished shoes with beat up neck ties, and he did a fine job. He was funny and though obviously troubled, was a sweet guy. I remember seeing Randy around downtown during the day. I'd get a shout and a hug. Sometimes I'd give him a quick ride across town.

There are other stories I'll keep to myself, but in closing, The Pink meant a lot me. It always lived there in my head as a beloved, perfect (to me) bar, and I guess that's where it'll stay now.