Everything new is old again

Downtown Chapel Hill surrendered a lot of its hippie charm somewhere in the 70s, overrun by the hawkers of t-shirts.  But now, it seems that the new Carrboro has a lot of the vibe of the old Chapel Hill.  Funky bungalows, cool stores, a co-op grocery, the farmer’s market.  Whatever the current incarnation of hippies may be, they’re there.

We were on the boulevard and taking it all in when we stopped by a bar owned by a friend of a New Jersey friend in a not-yet-gentrified part of town.  The bar shared space on the backside of a building with a car wash, bracketed by an auto parts store on one side, and a body shop across the street. It was dark inside at five on a sunny afternoon, the chairs were piled on the tables, and there was a severe looking woman sitting in the middle of the room fronted by a couple of half empty cases of liquor.  The whole thing called to mind the prison camp scene in Lena Wertmuller’s Seven Beauties, ex- the riding crop. 

Clearly, something was going down.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a way that was not very helpful.  When we didn’t immediately reply, she asked again, “Can I help you?”

“We’re looking for … “ and I mentioned the name of our friend’s friend, the owner.

“He’s not here,” she said.  “Bar’s closed.”

“OK,” we said.  Exchanging a puzzled glance we left without comment. Back in the light, we were crossing in front of the car wash when a man approached us.

“Are you looking for …” and he mentioned the name. 

We were.

“He’s gone. Left last night. ABC (North Carolina’s Alcohol Beverage Control, which licenses drinking establishments and collects taxes) is taking everything.”

That, we figured, explained the bureaucratic hostility.  Creative destruction.  You start a business.  You make your way. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes the man comes crashing down on you like the hangover from a double Negroni.  Circle of life and all that.  The old Chapel Hill hippies might have been perplexed by the concoctions that had been on offer at this place, but they would have appreciated the spirit that animated the effort, and meditated righteously on the impermanence of it all. 

Meanwhile, the sun was out and the streets were bustling. We kept on trucking. Elsewhere in Carrboro, everything new was old again.