One thing in there made me particularly laugh. They said how he and his boys used to go to Barry’s. Barry’s was this incongruous place, a cheesy, yet hugely popular, club just in a normal neighborhood in Warwick (about 1/2 mile form the airport). Their commercials in the 80s were fantastic- lots of jump-cuts and alliteration “Barry’s, Barry’s, Barry’s! *cut to a mustachioed Tony holding a beer* Beers! *cut to his wingman, eating* Burgers! *Loni Anderson’s non-union Cranston equivalent* Blondes! *Angie Bompansero in her heyday* Brunettes! Barry’s, Barry’s, Barry’s!” You get the point. Anyway, one day I’m walking home from jr high, so it’s 87-89 some time. A car pulls up next to me, rolls down the window, and motions me over. “Hey, do you know where I can find Barry’s, Barry’s, Barry’s?” It was just singular Barry’s. I started cracking up because it was like 2:30 on a weekday and he said it just like the commercial, but I don’t believe it was ironically.
Unfortunately by the time I turned 21 Barry’s was in slow decline and not the hedonistic place I imagined as a teen. I went a couple of times since my cousin lived around the corner but nothing memorable ever came of it. It’s now a bank! bank! bank! (Balloon mortgages! Bearer bonds!)