Next door to CJOH-TV in Ottawa was The Capri. A short walk across a small parking lot and you were in the bar side of the joint. There was a tablecloth restaurant too, but you rarely went in there, as the management of the station were usually at the tables, while us peons resided on the bar side.
The original decor Capri had hobnailed barn flooring and was the local watering hole for dozens of softball and baseball teams, who would come to the Capri after a game, still wearing spikes. Painted a cheery black inside, the Capri, had a full bar selection and a menu of reasonable food. However, being next to a television station, it also had a clientele of professional and gifted-amateur level drinkers.
The nature of television production is like the military: Hurry up and wait, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. In the glory days of the Capri, if you wanted to find someone on a production crew and they weren’t in the building, you’d check the Capri. Production meetings, briefings, lineups and pre-production were all held in the bar. Cast parties, department meetings, wrap parties and probably half the union meetings were held there too. On the restaurant side, we suspected that at least a third of management business was accomplished over the Greek Salad and garlic bread.
Then, over one summer, the Capri bar was renovated, painted a suede colour with new furniture and an oak bar. It became upscale, or at least tried to become upscale, but the TV crews and ball teams wouldn’t let it happen. We kept coming over and drinking our weight during lunch, then after work, or between newscasts.
There were two older gentlemen who had their seats at the bar. Much like Norm and Cliff from "Cheers", the two characters who rarely moved, except their elbows, seemed to be part of the decor. When one of them passed away, a small brass plaque was affixed to the bar, noting it was ‘his’ seat. (I’ve forgotten their names, but if you remember them, please let me know.)
When someone left the employ of CJOH, the Capri was the venue for the going-away bash. I have some recollection of mine, specifically wearing a large envelope on my head, emblazoned with a papal crest, as I attempted to bless the gathered multitudes. I think the reason I can’t remember much, was the line of shots that were on the table in front of me and kept being replenished by colleagues. At least there was no dancing for me to regret, but the hangover the next day was big enough to walk around and wonder at, like Stonehenge.
Eventually, like many bars, the Capri tried to become something it wasn’t and died a slow lingering death as a sports bar.
The Functions Room: Ottawa. Algonquin College, my alma mater, sort of, taught two fabulous courses: Bartending and Hospitality. The Functions Room decor was classic 1975 Industrial Multifunction Room, including the indestructible fiberglass chairs, burnt orange drapery and linoleum on the floor that could survive nuclear attack.
The Hospitality students prepped, cooked and served a three or four course fine dining meal every Friday at lunch. The menu was prix fixe at $5. At the same time on Fridays, the Bartending students would produce the five drinks they learned that week, for $1 a go.
Since our five-hour class in television production was on Friday, we had exactly one hour between the end of studio time and the start of the much-hated, mandatory English class at 2 pm.
We would run from the studio when released and head to the Functions Room, to plunk down $10 for lunch. The Hospitality students would bring us sauteed trout with a mandarin orange reduction sauce, or what ever speciality they learned that week. Concurrently, we’d down five highballs with lunch to ensure the quality of the Bartending students’ teaching. With one eye on the clock and the other on the drinks, we would run from the Functions Room at 13:59:55 to make the English class.
By 1420 hrs, many of us would be asleep, or so pickled that we couldn’t see straight and attempted to keep our heads from wobbling as best we could. After English those who wanted to would adjourn to The World on Woodroffe Ave and continue industrial drinking. Or The Capri, or Peter’s Pantry, or even, on truly upscale evenings, The Grads.
RoadDave 