Listen, everybody who’s been here for a spell has their own favorite Chiappini’s story. And now that the old Melrose Gulf filling station turned fish & tackle shop and hanging out emporium is closing after 91 years, I better tell mine.
For the record, the last time I did bidnezz at Chiappini’s was three years ago. I was celebrating my 75th birthday by cycling what would surely be my last century – starting in St. Augustine and, hopefully, ending up at GNV’s First Mag.
And I woulda made the full 100 miles too. Except for the “not so fast” head wind I had to battle all the way from the Matanzas River to the Gainesville-Hawthorne Trail.
As it was I had to stop at 95.5 miles for two reasons:
It was getting dark and I was growing older by the minute.
Plus, First Mag was getting ready to close and I woulda missed that celebratory 72 pale ale if I had gone the extra 4.5 miles.
No contest, right?
Anyway, late in the afternoon, when I was closing in on my quest, I stopped at Chiappini’s for a beverage (iced tea, although I would have preferred a beer.)
Had a very nice conversation about my adventures that day with the usual Chiappini’s hangers-on. I told them about the Harley rider I met in Palatka who looked at me like I was a lunatic when I told him I was riding 100 miles on my bicycle.
But wait, there’s more
But that’s not my favorite Chiappini’s story.
To tell that story I have to go way, way back to when my son Andrew – now nearing 40 – was a member of Troop 84 and spending a very hot summer at Shands Boy Scout Camp.
My buddy Louis Kalivoda also had sons there. And the two of us were conscripted to cook hot dogs for the scouts.
But of course, if you’re going to Camp Shands, and passing through Melrose, you absolutely had to stop at Chiappini’s for a cold Bud. Right?
So we did.
Two sweating long necks were obligingly uncapped.
Louis and me took deep swallows and figured that we had plenty of time to get to Shands before Troop 84 scouts began to wonder if they were part of the Donner Party.
It was great. But then it was time to settle the bill.
“I forgot my wallet,” Louis said, sheepishly.
“Not a prob,” I said, reaching for my own wallet.
Which wasn’t there.
Louis looked at me.
I looked at Louis.
And then we both looked the guy behind the counter, who was patiently waiting for us to pay up and get out.
it was an uncomfortable moment.
As I began hoping that Putnam deputies would arrest us instead of ASO deputies. That way my name wouldn’t show up in The Sun the next day.
Until….
…“Ah hell….I’ll pay for ‘em.”
I looked behind me and there was Al Hall.
Tall, lanky, blond and staring at us through the ever present glasses that his ex-girlfriend once told me were just plain glass because Al liked to keep a separation between himself and the rest of the world.
Don’t know if that was true or not. You know how it is with old girlfriends.
Anyway, Al generously kept Louis and me from getting arrested for drinking unpaid for Buds.
Thereby insuring that the Troop 84 scouts would not perish from malnutrition that night.
And I wouldn’t lose my job the next day.
Hall was business editor for The Sun when I started working there in 1976. He wasn’t much of a biz editor, truth be told. But he did know more about Alachua County than anybody else I ever met.
As far as I could tell, the only time he ever left the county was for that bothersome tour in Vietnam and the odd SEC football game.
Although there was that one time he organized a deep sea fishing trip off Daytona for Sun Staffers. He told us he’d doctored our lunch sandwiches with fish bait.
But I’m pretty sure he was kidding.
When he quit the Sun Al moved into his late mother’s lake house. Whereupon he became what you might call at Chiappini regular.
How regular? First, he couldn’t really go any place else because this POS pickup truck had been giving up the ghost for years.
And second he had pretty much become persona non grata at his previous haunt, the Sovereign, in downtown GNV. (As I remember it, another ex-girlfriend got the Sovereign in the break-up settlement.)
Suffice it to say that Al became such a fixture at Chiappini’s that they really ought to erect a statue of him as a remembrance of things past.
Al and his pipe.
Al is long gone now. But his Chiappini’s legacy lives on.
Including that time he took pity on me and Louis and sent us on our way.
The rest of the story
I would be doing a disservice if I didn’t tell you the whole story about that day.
Yes, we did get to Camp Shands. Whereupon we fired up the charcoal grill and began loading it with long-frozen hot dogs.
But, I dunno, those dogs didn’t look quite right to me.
They looked sort of, um, greeenish.
“Louis!” I said. “Do those dogs look OK to you?
“Yeah, they’re fine,” he shot back.
I wasn’t convinced. So I took my case to a higher court.
In the person of Mrs. French. Who was the official Troop 84 Mother In Chief.
“Do these dogs look OK to you?” I asked her.
“No!” she said, “They’re green. They’re spoiled!”
“But Louis said they’re fine,” I protested.
“Louis is color blind!” She shot back.
Oh yeah, I had forgotten.
And I have the nerve to call myself a trained observer.
Anyway, we put on some non-green dogs. The scouts survived to camp another night in the sweltering heat.
And my name didn’t appear in The Sun’s Police Beat column the next day thanks to Al Hall and Mrs. French.
Al and Louis are gone now. And soon, so will be Chiappini’s.
As the last witness to that fateful day, I’m glad I had the chance to go on record with this.
BTW: Kids are resilient and I’m pretty sure most of the scouts would have survived the night even if Mrs. French hadn’t intervened.
Probably.
One more thing
Oh, and I would be remiss if I didn’t give a shout out to GNVs Troop 84, which is celebrating its Centennial year right now.
They’re having a celebratory dinner on May 16 at the First Methodist Church Fellowship Hall. Get the details here: troop84gainesville@gmail.com
Check it out, why don’t you.
Later.
FreeGNV 