While having a delicious dinner at Marty’s Blue Room recently, another Marty’s came to mind, and memories of what many would call a slightly misguided youth flowed.
Back in the day, my pals and I and a regular group of Wilkes-Barre area college kids would make an 81-mile road trip on the freshly minted Interstate 81.
The trip up was a breeze — but the return home required a designated driver.
Marty’s Bar in Kirkwood, New York, was a Mecca for under-21 college kids who couldn’t wait for the years to pass to legally drink in a bar. We would pile into cars and drive those 81 miles to Marty’s, where we would see our friends from Wilkes-Barre who shared our passion for indoor drinking and the timeless rock music of the era.
In recent years, I have traveled back to Kirkwood and visited the long-closed Marty’s just to pay homage to the iconic bar and recall many memories of that aforementioned misguided youth.
Until my final trip to Kirkwood, when I discovered that Marty’s had been demolished and a new office building was standing on the hallowed ground of our youth.
Before Marty’s was discovered, underage drinkers were relegated to house parties or the great outdoors deep in the old strip-mining area — not far from Marty’s Blue Room, actually. We would hold “Wanamie Wonderamas” — where several groups gathered throughout the strip-mined/wooded area to tap kegs of beer and drink all night before trying to find our way back to our cars for the ride home.
After a night of partying and before we dared to re-enter our homes where our parents were waiting, we stopped at places like Dwyer’s Lunch on East Main Street in Plymouth, where “sober-up soup” was served. God knows what was in that soup, but it did manage to make us somewhat presentable — at least to the point where we could walk in the house, say goodnight to our parents, and make our way to bed.
Getting back to Marty’s in Kirkwood — our underage drinking home away from home — we were at least responsible about our drinking, as one of us was always designated to drive, which meant that person could only consume one beer. With an 81-mile drive back to Wilkes-Barre, that was mandatory. Each trip, we took turns being the sober guy.
There are many stories about those trips to Marty’s, but one stands out. Remember, this was way back in the day — 1968 to 1971. At the beginning of these drinking sojourns, Interstate 81 was under construction.
But in 1968 or 1969 — the memory is a bit foggy — we exited Marty’s one night and began our journey home. One of my buddies noticed a sign that read, “Interstate 81 — Opening Monday.” That’s where the trip got historical.
“Hell, if it’s opening on Monday, it ought to be good to go on now, right?” my designated driving friend said. To which I replied, “Uhhh, yeah, I guess so.”
He stopped the car, we got out and moved a couple of orange barrels to allow the car to get through, and once through, we returned the barrels to their former positions of blocking the entrance, and away we went.
On this pre-opening weekend, the road was smooth — like glass on a frozen lake. There wasn’t a bump, not a pothole anywhere, not one small patch on this beautiful piece of American-engineered roadway. We glided our way back to Pennsylvania and good old Wyoming Valley.
About halfway home, I asked a question: “Do you think the exit will be open?”
That took us back to a quote once uttered by legendary Plymouth High School athletic coach John “Snoggy” Mergo during a discussion of swimming across Harveys Lake.
“I once swam halfway across Harveys Lake,” Coach Mergo said. “But I got tired, so I swam back.”
Huh?
Just as we knew then not to question Coach Mergo’s logic, my pals also knew not to try to answer the question about the exit. There was no turning back now — we were on I-81, and we were committed to seeing it through.
We made it back, but I’m not sure what exit we took. I do recall there were more of those orange barrels to be moved to allow exiting.
We had completed our journey. We were the first travelers on I-81, and four of the five of us were the first inebriated I-81 travelers. Heck, we even had the first designated driver to ever negotiate I-81.
On that last trip when I couldn’t find Marty’s, I felt I had to know what happened. As I pulled off of I-81, I got on Route 11 where Marty’s was supposed to be. But I could not find the building. I drove up and down and around, thinking maybe the building was remodeled and is now open for some other business. I so hoped it would be a bar.
No luck, so after about 45 minutes of searching, I gave up and returned home. On Tuesday, I called the Kirkwood Town Hall, and I spoke to the town clerk. She was very helpful, telling me she was born in 1971, but she was sure her parents would have the information I requested.
Not even 10 minutes later, she called and gave me the bad news — the building that once housed Marty’s Bar had been demolished within the last two years.
It should have been converted into a museum.
As we enjoyed our meals at Marty’s Blue Room, we found joy in knowing that the iconic restaurant is still open and better than ever.
The perfect place to reminisce about our “misguided youth.”