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A "PARAZZA" HUNT OF THE FILLMORE STREET
LINE W. L. Clanahan » | O use o* talkin', cull," he * • J\ I said, dropping wearily into 9 \| th© only vacant chair, "San . Fran's a slow burg." "Sor "Yes. dead rflow. Whrn a guy can't get any drink he calls for out here It's time t* quit bUywin* about all your won derful Improvements and all the swell joints you've put up since the fire an' go to raisin* turnips or guinea pigs. I may look lQte a farmer myself, an" I don't mind confessin' that I've bought a few gold l*rlcks In my time, as well as peddled a, few, but I'm here t' tell you one thing, an' that is that little old K. C, Mizzoo, where I'm on the job when I'm at home, has got this village skinned 40 ways for the buck when It conves to ladlin' out the liquid refreshments with all the artistic trimrain's des.nanded by a gent who had blowed around the western hemisphere as much as y'r Uncle Dudley has." .. "What's tfhe kick?* "Well, old pal, it's Just like this: You see, I chucks the Job In K. C. and hikes for th* Golden gate, being touted along by a big pitcher book describin' all the woafiers and glories of climate of California, and hangs up at Emery ville a few weeks t' see If I can grab off a few honest dollars from the book makers ov«r there, an' one night, I floats across the bay to San Fran*. Havln* dodged the lemon tree an* shook down a tins' bit of a •wad that day, I says f myse»'.f, "Shorty, old boy, it's up f you V go over an' see if there's any thing In San Fran" worth lookin' at.' An' right there is where my trouble com mences." "What trouble?" "My hunt for a pazaza." "X pazaza.?" "Yes, a paoaza. Are you one o' them ehort tportß. too, that don't know what a pazaza is? But I see you are. Well, kid, let me put you wise. I might a' been a happy man t'day if I'd a* been content to -mop up beer or take my booze straight. But, no; I has the coin an' co I has to get eizzy In the nut an' co out lookin' for eomethin' with laca trlmmtßfs on It an' filigree work around the edges, an' there's where I get* Etung \u25a0worse 'n a red bull in a paster by a branch of hornets. "I blows liito a ttrnzlne parlor on Flllmoro Btreet an' wigwags to the boy with the white apron. " "Gimme a pazaza,' I eaye, flingin' one o f them big Ba-yan dollars down on the bar carelessly, just like that. "He leans away over an' cocks up his left ear like a rooster when his hard workin* -wife makes a noise like a worm. "*A what?' he says. "'A pazaza/ never dreamin' but what he'd fall for It. "• 'A pazaza, — a what?" " " 'A pazaza.* "Well, say. pal, I hope my mother's black cat '11 ha\-e the hydrophoby If he didn't get mad about It! "'Say, loofty here!' he hollers. 'Don't try to put nothin' like that over on me! If it's a drink you want, we c'n give you anything you're a lookin' for on Fillmore street, but don't come around here tryln* t' spring no foolish gags on a man who knows his busi ness.' ""I Just stands an' looks at the guy a minute, perfectly befuzzled. AN ALL-NIGHT PROWL IN A CITY THAT NEVER SLEEPS Gibson Adams £> AN FRANCISCO Is the great • • est all night town on earth; J the place where they never go to bed." This expression I had heard so many times that I de cided to .see for myself; so I chose a fine, promising Saturday night and set out bent upon adventure, ready for any- Jhlng and determined to remain out till the sun looked once more over tha Berkeley hills. By 8 o'clock I had enjoyed one of those Italian dinners, so good and bo cheap in the Latin quarter, and, forti fied with "dago red," raviolis and zam balllon, was out on rich, aristocratic Van Ness avenue, studying the towns people at their pastimes. Dozens of autos were speeding down the great, wide way and the broad side walks were thronged with gayly dressed men and women. Many were hurrying to the theaters, and after their half hour the crowds were thinner and more leisurely, for they were out to see each " 'Pal,' I says, 'I don't want t' rub it in, but the fact Is I've Just hit the grit in this town from Salt Lake City, where I went swimmin' in the big pond an* got some to*t o* the salt water down my pipes, an' I'm horrible dry. Now, if you cd Just -mix me up a nice, juicy pazaza.' " 'Aw, chop It!' he says, lookin' like be was goin' f do a double handspring over the bar. 'Here's your drink — straight rye. Fifteen cents. Good night. Call again.' "So I licks up the booze and beats it to the sidewalk. Then I blows into a dump at Geary street. " 'Gimme a pazaza,' I says. " 'A pazaz — a what?" "'A pazaza.' "Well, I gets a run for my money there, anyway. The scholarly bun builder ta*xes a long glass, searches the place over for a piece of Ice and fin'ly digs up one about the size of a hlck'ry nut. He puts this carefully In the bottom o' the glass, pours in a lit tle water, then some glucose an* com mences f fiddle with a long spoon. Then, like the two voiced guinea who could sing a little tenor an* also pipe a little bass, he reaches up on the back bar for a tall bottle with a squirt on it and down under the front bar for a big bottle o' booze, an' he gives first a squirt with one hand Into the glass an' then a dash into it with the others' faces and clothes and the pretty displays in the windows. - Every one on the avenue appeared either to, have money or to be out after it. Here was the rickety, prancing old dandy in silk hat and dove colored gloves, with his pretty, bejeweled young wife clinging to his arm; there, another old man, blind and in rags, coaxing pitiful little squeaks out of his dilapidated accor dion. Here was the fresh young man against the lamp post, chewing.a cigar, rattling his dollars and ogling ladies with enormous hats and diminutive waists; there, below, another young man, legless and hungry, holding up pencils and money -cup to the passers by. Here was a fat. racetrack man in loud plaid and diamonds, laughing and shouting to his companion for the entertainment of the public; there, the shifty eyed, .nervous, whispering ped dler of Chinese lottery tickets. Here was a smart young lady In velvet, es corted by a huge, self-conscious St. Bernard on a leash, and buying a bou quet of violets from, the vender on the corner; there, a pretty, slim Salvation other hand, an' then he fiddles some more with the long spoon. *In an absent minded sort o' way he squirts three or four different kinds o' bitters in the glass and sets it on the bar. Then he strains it off into another glass, twists a piece of lemon peel in. It, drops a cherry in the bottom, tops it off with a slice o' orange an' a spring o' mint an' sets It out with the air of an artist who has just put the fllnlshln' touches on a prize palntln" f'r J. Plerpont Morgan. "'There you are,' he says, with a lordly wave of his mitt. " 'What in the name of Abe Ruef and Eugene Schmitz. do you call that thingr I says. ' A New England boiled dinner?* . "Honest, pal, that booze clerk looked positively, hurt. , " 'That,' he says,* 'is a pazaza.' "'That,' I says, right back, mockin' him, 'is not a pazaza. It looks more like a kerosene highball or- a benzine toddy.' • . " 'Well, anyway,' he says, lookin' kind o' ominous, 'that's what the doctor ordered in your case, and if you don't like it you'd better beat it for the door. Two bits, please.' " "Well, I licks it up, and it ain't so bad, but I'm simply yearnin' for a good old pazaza like they build back in K. C. Mizzoo, you see, so it, fails to, hit the • spot, an* I leaves the dump with my tongue hangin* out an' a hor rible disgust on. "Then I drifts; into another bun fac tory on Ellis street an' again I calls for me favorite swill. "'Well, whaddo you know ajjput that, Spike?' yells .the barkeep to a friend o' his down at the other end o' the bar. 'Here's a man callin* for a pazaza. ' Ever hear of one? '"Nix for the pazaz, as far as, I'm concerned,' says Spike. 'What's it like?' " 'Search me,' says the barkeep. 'Put me wise, pal,' he says, throwing his lamps on me. "I was feelin' .a little chesty after them other two I'd had* an' swells' up a Tjlt. " 'Ex-cuse me,' I orates. "I come into this dump to corral a bit o' nourish ment—not f establish a night school in boozeology.' And I turns on "me heel an* floats out into the glamor o* the night. "A little down the street I pipes another emporium an' skates across the •welcome* sign 1 - an" rounds up at the mahogany. "'Bo,' I says, 'I wish you'd be kind enough to build me a pazaza. Have it nice and cold and Juicy and — ' " 'A what?' "'A pazaza,' I says, comin' again, as polite as a usher at a church wed din'. "Well, sir, that booze clerk fidgets around behind the counter an 1 looks as uneasy as a girl about to recite a piece at school on a Friday afternoon. He gazes at me sort o' pitiful, like a guy in police court hopin' the caliph'll let him off light, an' says, 'Jack, you've kind o' got me on that un. Now, I can make you a nice, juicy Manhattan, a Sulssesse, a New Orleans flip, a. sherry cobbler, a swizzle or a — " " 'Nix,' says I, 'f'r any o' them bum cordials 1 ! They're all f the merry when a guy has only got a teency weency bit of a thirst, but when y'r coppers Army lassie soliciting aid for her sick and needy. In an hour I took the car to Fillmore ' street and up the hill as far as the last saloon, walking back down the grade to "do the line" of old Fill more, the street of the people, and a droll, overgrown, patchy,- conglomerate one It is, sprung at the time of the great fire from a row of suburban delicatessen and cigar shops .to the main artery of a great city. It is a very "midway plaisance." brilliant with illuminated arches over the : crossings and the myriad electric signs over re sorts of amusement , places. Out of penny arcades and nickelo deons came a confusion of "canned music" from phonographs, orchestrelles and nickel in the slot pianos. In front of "10 cent theayturs" spielers shouted the delights of performances -within. A free magic lantern show beautified the face of a building with rural "land scapes and allurements to bargains. in spring clothing. Up the street came a pfour horse wagon with a band strident ly playing "A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight" and a sign proclaiming a grand all night ball out In the Mis sion. ' „ At Post street was a great crowd,' as there is every night,- for this cor ner is the chosen forum of the' street speakers an # d curbstone orators. Four constantly shifting audiences were gathered -about four shouters. The favorite was a woman explaining with chart and chalk and figure" of "speech the mysteries of phrenology. Two rival" orators were expounding to their circles two differing schools of so cialism, the milder one pointing a thumb of, scorn jto his more violent neighbor as an "anachrist." A sickly, pale Yankee, gowned in the most gor geous embroideries of China, held forth on the wondrous virtues of his oriental drugs, the same> being given away; at half a dollar a bottle. The policeman went frantic keeping, the auditors out. side the' curb line. — ", ;V.- Strains of waltz music lured "me up stairs to a dance hall— "two bits" ad mission and no questions asked — where ladies of divers nationalities graciously waltzed with me without the formality of names. . . Down In the street again, I found my self in the flood tide of theater goers who at 11 o'clock pour out of the city's playhouses, which now crowd the dis are as hot as mine, what you need t* chase the' willies an' git y'rself away f'm 23 Lemon street is a pazaza.' " "Well," says the doc, 'I've been dealin' out the oil of Joy an' gladness an' scatterln' sunshine around this town fr a good many years, but dog bite my left hind leg if this ain't the first time I ever hear tell of a pa zaza! How do you make it?" , * "JTswells up as big as a balloon at a country fair an* looks him over i scornful. "'I don't make it,' I says. 'That's your biz — not mine. You're the lordly, manufacturer; I'm only a humble con sumer. Of course, if you don't keep this particular brand o' goods in this booze shop, I'll have<f go- elsewhere.' An', once more I drifts out into the night sorer than a hornet with a gum boll, wonderin' where in the land o' Pat Calhoun an' the board o' super visors I'm goin' t* connect with that drink. "Well, I moseys down to Van Ness avenue, dodgin* holes in. the sidewalk like a prize winner doin' the sword dance at a Scotch picnic,' an' talkin 1 t' myself all the time. " 'By the flamln? eyeballs o',. Francis J. Heney,' says It' myself, 'about; the only resemblance -I see between this much touted San Fran* and little old K. C., Mlzoo, is the hills. This golden* village with the sunset climate may be the Paris of. America and all that, but when it comes to grabbiri" off the bare necessities of life in liquid form, gimme the yappy, snappy little town by ' the Kaw. Oh, sizzle! ff I was only back in Tom Skidmore's rum pal ace, where I cd wet my gills with a few pazazas! By gravy! my. tongue is trict. At one of the popular and jolly cafes I joined the company for supper, and the music. Out on the. highway again the bril liant lights of the arches were sud denly extinguished at midnight, and most of those who remained out .took this as a signal to go home to bed. ; An hour or.'so later there began to pour into the deadened streets from all sides a steady stream of young boys, mostly in the late; teens. /. Many came on bicycles and a goodly number on coasters. Their faces, serious", gener ally earnest, sometimes hard,'- wore that intent -look of business' that- showed that they were -not out atthis hour, on pleasure bent. They were gravitating towards, street corner, where I found a crowdof their kind waiting for some-; thing 'and keeping themselves warm by sham fights, clog dances, acrobatic stunts, etc. • Suddenly all became alert, an*d around the corner swung a big wagon, dumped a pile , of square; white bundles and dashed away. A distributor: mounted the heap, = wildly, swinging his arms to ward* off \ the frantic, "shouting' boys who besieged him,>ipped open the bun-* dies and counted -out portions with In credible speed.- Seizing t their -loads jin turn the boys ran off madly in all direc tions, and in a minute the clear night - ...... "shriveled up harder than a whip crack er! I'll just pipe what they've got on tap in this sanctorum here on the corner.' \u25a0 "So In I blows an* says to the, life . saver behind the bar, 'Pal, I'm dryer than a trainload o' home seekers cross- In' the Great American desert on the Bth of August. I could lick up $100 worth of ambrosia an* never notice it. I^wisht you'd build me a pazaza in a hurry, an' make it long an* cold." "'A what?' he says. "'A* pazaza,' says I. "'By gosh, pal,' he says, sort o1o 1 cheerful, 'that name sounds good, all - right, all right, an' I'd like f accom modate you, but I'm hornswdggled if I know what you're talkin' about. I couldn't. make a pazaza any more than a hen can spit. Put me wise an* I'll see if I can cut the riffle for you.' "I looks across that bar like I'm the mayor of the Pacific ocean an' takes a hitch at me belt. " 'Bo,' I says, 'you look like a good scout, an' I've no doubt you're livin* up f the top notch of all you learnt in the .'Bar Keeper's Friend, but the fact Is you're dead slow. Come on an' give us | a sniff at that bottle with the blue label back yonder, an' lemme give you a tip that's hotter "than Yuma, Ariz., an' that's sure some hot. You see, I blows in here a perflck stranger t' you, an'-. I get yer goat the first flop out of the box when I calls f'r pazaza. Now, faon't I? Surest thing you know! An' any other gazabo that .butts in here lookin' .O- liquid nourishment '11 get y'r goat just the same as I did If he bones you f'r a pazaz' when you're on the Job. By the great Seal Rocks of California, if I was -a good lookin' young Jag pro moter you I'd rather be in hades pumpin' thunder at three cents a clap than t'.haf to stand up here an' own up that- 1 couldn't build a pazaza! W'y, when I'm back in K. C, Mizzoo, I drink 'them things as reg'lar as a chicken goes barefooted an' never think nothin* of it. Ever' morning when I crawls out o' the fuzz an' hikes t' me fav'rlte beanery I orders a mutton chop an'" a pazaza, an' then calls me dog t' eat the chop. That's me breakfast, an' a pippin of a breakfast It Is, too. You c'n bet your collar button. on that. You ought t'. try It a whirl.' "The bo looks at me kind o* puzzled an' laughs nervous. " 'Well,' he says, 'if I only knowed how to build the pazaz' — " 'Back, back!' I chirps. 'Back t' the tall an' uncut! You bun builders out here in San Fran' stand around lookin' purty an' expectin' gents f pin roses on y'r frontispieces when you don't know no more about bar keepln' than Tommy Burns does about lickln' a real heavy weight. Why don't you get up to date? Why don't you learn the fine points of y'r noble profession of rellevin' human thirst?' - "With that he coaxes me down t' th' fur end o' the bar, so 's he c'n get close ..an' do. the brother act. He lays one flipper on me shoulder an' loves me up in a way that's pitiful t' see. - . "'Ol' pal,' he, says, 'I liked you from the first minute you stuck your face in side that door. You look exactly like a brother o' mine that I ain't seen f r years, an' who's comin' out f the coa3t f see me before long. He funs a swell booze parlor in Omaha, an' I'll swear I thought you was him when you first air was ringing with calls of "Sund' mawning pape," "Gidda pape," "Pape yeh," "Call, Chron', Igzamna!" So it was Sunday morning in life as well as by the clock! It gives a weird, uncanny feeling to hear that shouting of the morning's news in the < dead dark of midnight. Two o'clock found me at Fillmore street intersection watching the night " fleers and prowlers go by. From above and below, the. half doors of the corner saloons burst floods of light and within arose the din of boisterous song and shout. Across 3 the % street an over dressed man arid woman halted to quarrel loudly over the ownership of a place of money. Two maudlin soldiers staggered ~ by, exchanging vows of .eternal love. A shuffling beggar ac costed me, seeking the price of a bed. Two young girls passed by and looked me unabashed and inquiringly in the eye. - A smooth young gentleman saun tered along, protesting lonesomeness and finally, in an offhand, careless man ner suggested a social game of cards for small stakes. \u25a0 A burly -policeman passed on his rounds, trying the locks of the shop doors along the block. An allnlght car whizzed down a cross street and disappeared in Its cloud of dust. A messenger boy whirled by on his wheel. A red automobile flew past, filled with boisterous revelers, drag ging a big white Teddy bear by -a rope behind. Two rival milk wagons raced up the street, clattering loudly over the cobble stones of basalt. A fat French bakery wagon lazily followed, stopping here and there to- leave a savory un wrapped loaf on a customer's doorstep!' The all night enchilada man came along* with his deep,' rich basso call of "Red hot! Red hot! , Red hot, and only a dime!" < . Such is life on Fillraore street, old, tough, live, delightful disreputable, bohemian, fascinating Fillmore street. "Will it pass, I v w,onder, when the old "downtown" -is occupied again? Half an hour's ride landed me on the mad, merry, hilarious "Barbary coast.' 1 * .Here on Pacific "street, globe trotters say, Is the greatest collection of tough dance halls on the planet. The resorts fill several blocks. The negroes. s enjoy a number of their own, somewhat patronized by welcome whites. This Is the mecca of the sailors;- this is the .haven of many a midocean desire ; this is the, hole where the money is dropped. . But the "jackies" have , no • monopoly of the ; region/ . For this night there were mingling together actor, drum mer, musician, gambler, stevedore, art student, young ! millionaire,} soldier, crook and adventurer, fraternizing without reserve; and exchanging to- Bacco, matches and^ comments on- the women. ;. The air'Jn the dancehalls was blue. ;. and/;- thick~ with .smoke, the sawdust under the tables was saturated " with beer, and on the open floor the breezes in. By granny, it does me good f see you, just on general principles. What'll you have f drink? Can you stand a bit o* the real fizz water? I've got a few quarts stashed away "here that's been caressin* the loe.ever since yesterday afternoon. Well, happy days! " 'V* know* he- gurgles right in my left ear. 'I always did like t* meet a guy that knows more'n me. I'm al ways wlllin' t' learn, in fact I'm al ways the little Willie Brlghteyes rub berin' an" nosln* around fr information. It's a regular bug with me. I'm plum sizzy and dotty when it comes t'" mop pin" up knowledge — specially if it's got anything with the booze game. A guinea can't expect t* be a bright an* shfnin' light in my profession unless he's right up t' the minute, an* then some. He's always * gotta be on the up an* up. He's not only gotta give the public what it wants, but he's gotta make it want things it never heard of. Now, if I could only build a pazaz' \u25a0 " 'Nix, ol' pal,' I warbles, 'nix! In formation is a corkin" good thing f have on tap, but that pazaz' business is a nifty little secret of me own, an*. l'd no more think 6* glvin' that away free', gratis, fr nothin' than I would o' start in' t' Sunday school in a airship." " 'But if you cd only sort o' gimme a hint — ' ."'Ferget it!' I cheeps. 'Ferget it! Little old K. C, Mizzoo, may be slow, but she can learn this town a lot. but she ain't runnin' no charity bazaar, at that.' "Well, sir, 80, I rallies around that dump till it's almost time fr the milk man t' come bowlin' along with his can o" formaldehyde, an' we licks up the fizz till I'm so full o' bubbles I feel as light as a gas house, anlall the time this booze clerk 1 is hangin' on me neck dancers reeled and swung to insistent music, while along the edges gum chewing girls under exaggerated pomp The San Francisco Sunday CalL an' weepin' on me left shoulder b*ada Se-gTn' me f let htm in on the secret o' the pazaz'. but never a peep he sets. Finally I leaves there. -an' I'm walKta' cr£>keder than the road «J Tamalpais. an' rollin' and heavtn like the breakers lashin' agin the Golden gate but never fr a minute does I get Sooiy enough f yield- up that precious bunch of information." c*, nr tv The audience of one looked at Shorty with no small degree °*Jaterest£ "What 13 a pazzazza?" he asked -Back, back, there. Bo!" shouted Shorty "You want f get the recipe so • 9 you' c'n print it an" put the whole town wise, don't you? Well, 'raus mit n™ A pazaza is . .will that makes a chamoagne cocktail look like a nickers worth of tripe. Necessity wa» its inventor and little old K. C, Mizzoo, was its mother. Know what I'm goin* f dp? Wire Joe Finnegan. my old side kick in K. C. V hotfoot it for San Fran' t'morrow. When Jodie, old boy. plants that fair young form o' his on the coast we'll open- up a swell dump on Market street an*''call it "The Pazaza.* an* right then an* there is where the giddy Miss San Fran' '11 begin t* kick up her heels an' show her gir.srer in a way that'll make the Merry Widow look like the front row in a kindergarten." "But what IS a pa — " "Sh-h-h! don't mention it. little one! Where's a telegraph office, so's I c'n get a flash f Jodie? Wait fr the big sign, an* then come around and drink a pazaza on me." / And Shorty breezed out toward the elevator. Just as dry and just as mys terious as when he entered, carrying the secret of his cherished drink with him. adours were coaxing reluctant or sleepy men to join them in the waltz. As I * stood on the curb wondering how to spend the time still left me, the problem was solved in true bohem- Jan fashion by a Jolly party of three people I had never seen before, who came along in a motor car, informed me that one of their youths had proved a "quitter" and invited me to fill his seat on a run through Golden Gate park to the beach. Why not? The ride- in the park was very beau tiful. The headlights sharply cut the darfcness and made the trees clustered along the perfect roadways stand out in silvered relief like drop curtains in a fairy moonlight stage 1 scene. The damp sea air a3 it struck our faces was sweet and .cool and refreshing. Nor were we enjoying it alone, for one party, after another returning from the beach resorts saluted us on the way. Along the Ocean boulevard a few cars were' still drawn up before eating and drinking places, and at one of these we had a little supper near a big, inviting open fire. As we sped back up the beach and homeward through the park the sky became lighter and lighter till finally the east grew brilliant -and red. Down town the morning cars were running, janitors were scrubbing side walks, sleepy night watchmen were plodding home with lunch pails shawled women were hurrying to early \u2666mass and the life and businesa of a new day were under way.