The Antlers Restaurant on Portage Avenue, like the city of
Sault Ste. Marie, is in a state of suspended animation. That is,
there is a prodigious amount of junk hanging from unseen wires
above the occupants' heads, like so many swords of Damocles, a
veritable cloud of rifles, pawnbroker's signs, moose, and a
birch bark canoe just swaying up there, denying gravity and the
laws of physics. Tourists who eat in the Antlers often come down
with feelings of anxiety because of this, and because of the
stories they have heard about the place.
The Antlers Restaurant was first known as the
"Bucket-of-Blood Saloon and Ice Cream Parlor." It was run during
the Prohibition days, and so it had to have a front. The place
was closed down, however, when internal revenue agents
discovered that it sold only one quart of ice cream a month, and
yet took in a profit of $900.00. It's been said that the
"Bucket-of-Blood" then became the first lemonade stand in
history which refused to serve minors. Actually, the history of
the venerable saloon goes back more than four generations, three
families of owners, with the current family ownership.
The Kinney family, contributing the name and the memorabilia
that adorn the ceilings and the walls. And the previous owners,
Tony Rogers, Jack Brulie, and Al LeLievere, supplying the
legends that surround it. The story (false) is that the Kinneys
acquired all the junk that hangs from the ceiling by barter.
Local wags point out to visitors that the Antlers had a policy
of exchanging money for material goods: thereby operating one of
the few "bar"-gaining economics in the world. Anyone who ran out
of money on a good binge, so the tale goes, could trade a rifle
or another antique for enough loot to get stoned for a while. In
a town that has its share of habitual drinkers who also happen
to be broke, it seems like a good story.
The truth is that when the Kinneys took over in 1948, there
was little ornamentation on the walls, and most of that is not
reprintable. Harold and Walt Kinney, enterprising former Detroit
policemen, then took over and "steaked" out the place. That is
they added prime steak to beer and booze, and they have had a
meaty business ever since. One story persists, however, that one
of the chief patrons, Tiny T., was one of the chief contributors
to the Antlers museum. According to local tourist guides, Tiny,
while on a two-week toot, traded a moose head, his pistol, his
watch, his cousin, and his Pontiac. All of the stuff now adorns
the upper atmosphere of the bar, they point out, except for the
cousin and the car.
The cousin sits stuffed on one of the stools, and Tiny's car
is parked nearby, next to a huge log that was left there by a
drunken lumberjack, who thought he could get a case of Jack
Daniels for a stick of pulp. But there is an intellectual side
to the life in the Antlers. It is the country club of the
working class. Tolvo Suomi and the Finnish Five performed with
authentic Scandinavian folk songs for three nights in 1959 on
one of the tables. Several episodes of Gunsmoke were filmed
there.
And the Antlers was the other home of the Detroit Red Wings
hockey team when they once trained in the Sault. Nowadays, the
Antlers gives lessons in boat whistles; in fact, whistles and
horns of all kinds. You can usually tell the importance of a
guest, or the distance a visitor had traveled by the combination
of whistles, bells, and honks from the bar. There are a great
many truths in the world, but you may never hear them in the
Antlers Restaurant. A truth may seem like a lie in a place where
so many lies have been told, and where the insecurity of the
world seems small compared to the lingering doubt that some of
the stuff up above and all around is due to come down, like the
sword of Damocles, and end it all. Written By Paul Ripley
© Outdoor Journal Productions, Inc. 2002
