The Next Round

Almost two years ago my wife and little girl fell asleep at the normal times at our new, little house in the Catskills. Though we had owned the place for several months, it was likely only our third or so visit, as our pipes had frozen over the winter, and it took months to get them repaired. Because of this I didn’t know the area well, which made it all the more difficult to figure out where I would go to watch the Mayweather v. De La Hoya fight. We don’t have a tv in the Catskills, and even if we did, pay per view would not be possible, as cable is not yet running its way to the mountain where we live. So, I headed out to find a bar where the fight, expected to be the most watched in over a decade, was on. My first stop was in the nearest town to us, Roxbury. As far removed as Roxbury is from any major city, or even any major highway, I was surprised by how sophisticated the night life was. In a town of 2000 people or so, there were two gay bars, both very hip, making it seem more like Greenwich Village, than a remote mountain village. While this would have been fine on a normal night, the gay bars were not showing the fight. I did notice one strange thing at the first place I went to. Besides the upper middle class New York clientele, there was also a local man drinking Bud Light, and shots of bourbon in the corner. Not wanting to stereotype, but recognizing that he must be local, and may like boxing, I bought a round, and asked him where we might find an establishment that was showing it. He was a very nice guy, not judgmental, full of stories, a farmer, or former farmer, now trying to socialize wherever possible and afford the next drink. We went outside, where for the first time I realized the extent of his drunkenness. He was stumbling, and still headed for his car, which filled me with anxiety and guilt, so I gave him a 20, told him to go back in the bar, as I was hoping he would pass out, and be put to sleep by the extremely nice owners of the lounge, rather than drive off a cliff trying to help me find my away around the dark country roads. So I continued up Route 30, which after Roxbury takes you to a slightly larger town called Margaretville. It is a nice town, and one that I would later get to know much better as my wife was a co-owner of a tea and herb store in this village. For the time though, I knew it only as the town where the areas only supermarket, the A & P was located. I was to find the three bars in town, and met very nice people at all of them. Unfortunately it was prohibitively expensive to purchase a pay- for- view fight. I almost thought I had found the place when I noticed boxing on one of the 5 TVs in the bar. Unfortunately it was a videotape of an old Sugar Ray Leonard fight, which the owner must have had for 20 years. Still this was a good sign. At least I found a bar/restaurant with someone who liked boxing. I found the owner, who to my surprise was French (like my wife). We spoke a little French, and he got some pate and a bottle of Cote de Rhone from the kitchen, which was a pleasant surprise, and completely out of place. I asked him about the pay- for-view fight, and offered to pay for it myself. The rest of the people sitting at the bar seemed very enthusiastic about this suggestion and even offered to put in a few dollars towards it. The owner was thrilled and asked me how to do it. I told him that he can order pay for view right from the cables remote control. He then said “ what cable? We don’t have cable here. “So that idea was out. There was only minutes remaining until the bell, and the owner came up with a last minute solution. He lived upstairs from the restaurant, and since the kitchen was already closed, he grabbed a bottle of wine, and one of the young drunken men from the bar, and I joined him in his apartment, where we tuned into the fight on his radio. This was a classically beautiful moment that was not even ruined by the fact that we lost reception right as “are you ready to rumble” was sounded.

This is a happy story really, and one that was the first of many memorable experiences, and interesting people I have met in the Catskills. We have become very close with our neighbors, who Marine (my wife) even owned a business with. Our social life is also more fulfilling and honest than I could have ever imagined. We have remained friends with the couple who introduced us to the area, and consider them like family. We have dinner with artists, models, farmers, not for profit workers, all of which have become friends, not because of what they do, but because of who they are. The reason that I write this though is a bit sad. When retracing the locations of the evening of the Mayweather fight, I find that none of the places I went are still in business. Like so many other places during this recession businesses just can’t afford to stay open.

I have always heard that the while the Great Depression was terrible, it was also a time when there was a sense of community. I hope this was true, and even more so hope this is true now, but I worry that there is no place to go for a community experience.