鈥淲anna buy a crossbow? Last in a pack of six!鈥�
That鈥檚 what the scruffy hustler was offering, holding open a filthy duffel bag to reveal the single remaining crossbow. We took his offer to mean the other five crossbows might already be in the possession of other soused patrons surrounding us at the Cambie.
That kind of unsolicited, black market table service was commonplace at the Cambie in the late 1980s and early 鈥�90s, when property crime was arguably at an all-time high in the neighbourhood.
鈥淵ou鈥檇 be offered an entire brick of stolen cheese,鈥� remembers my Smugglers bandmate Nick Thomas. 鈥淥r packages of raw meat. I recall that the alternate choice to the crossbow was a 25th anniversary sealed VHS copy of The Jungle Book.鈥�
Nick passed on the crossbow. I slipped the guy a fiver for The Jungle Book.
Earlier this spring, many Vancouverites who came of age in the seedy bars just off the Gastown strip were shocked to learn the Cambie, arguably the most legendary and notorious of them all, will be closing this fall after an unprecedented run at the corner of West Cordova and Cambie Streets. The stories came pouring forth like dirt-cheap Molson Canadian.
Youth movement
According to the Cambie鈥檚 owner, Sam Yehia, a bar has been in operation on that corner at 310 Cambie St. since 1897. That 132-year stretch makes it the oldest watering hole in Vancouver. Many would say, with great fondness, the key word in that last sentence is 鈥渉ole.鈥� Over the years, the bar has gone through many makeovers before it became known as the world-famous backpackers hostel it is now.
鈥淭he place was a dump when we encountered it in the late 1960s,鈥� recounts Paul Dixon, a friend of a friend who commented on Facebook. 鈥淏ack then it was called the Gastown Inn, or the 鈥楪rasstown Inn鈥� as it was more commonly known. You would walk through on a weekend night and be accosted by the denizens of every second table: 鈥榞rass, hash, or acid?鈥� That was the mantra of the day.鈥�
By the 1980s, after a stint as the Carleton, the bar was christened the Cambie, and was known as an 鈥渙ld man bar,鈥� a dive generally inhabited by retired or out of work blue collar single men drowning their sorrows, many of whom lived in the surrounding SROs. It was a tough place.
You could make a very strong argument that the fortunes of the Cambie turned around when a tiny, subterranean record shop called Scratch opened up in 1987, directly across the street at 317A Cambie, down the stairs in Vancouver鈥檚 only subterranean row of shops. It was owned and operated by Keith Parry, who now lives in his hometown of Courtenay, B.C.
鈥淚 was living at the back of the store,鈥� says Parry. 鈥淢y friend Jim Edgett was living upstairs at Danny鈥檚 Inn. We were 19 years old, and so many of the pubs and old man bars of the neighbourhood were rough and intimidating, so Jim and I decided to go to the Cambie as some rite of passage for at least one drink, every day for a month.鈥�
Like many former Cambie patrons, Parry doesn鈥檛 mince words when describing his first impressions of Vancouver鈥檚 venerable den of sin.
鈥淚t was downtrodden. There was a one-man-country band playing to an audience of bikers and drug dealers. Old timers and alcoholics of all varieties lined up at 9 a.m. to get in. Stolen goods were sold table to table to patrons slouched in those yellow, cockroach-infested booths. And it was less than a dollar for a glass of beer.鈥�
Nick Thomas also fondly remembers the cheap suds.
鈥淭hey came in these little glasses for seventy-five cents each,鈥� Thomas recalls. 鈥淲henever the server would come around to announce last call, we鈥檇 say, 鈥榃e鈥檒l take 20, thanks.鈥欌��
Up the hill in the late 1980s, Seymour Street had become known as 鈥淩ecord Row鈥� for the stack of records stores lining the east side of the block between Dunsmuir and Pender Streets. A&B Sound was in the thick of it, employing many young music lovers, one of whom was future filmmaker and New Pornographers keyboardist Blaine Thurier.
鈥淭he first time I went to the Cambie was in 1988. I was with a friend who I worked with at A&B Sound, and we were the most regular-type people there,鈥� remembers Thurier. 鈥淭he rest of the clientele were committed Downtown Eastsiders. The place did not feel safe. Going to the bathroom was an adventure, but it felt a lot more exciting than the Railway Club.鈥�
Thurier credits former 麻豆传媒映画musician Sandy Morris as one of the original trailblazers for the youth movement at the Cambie.
鈥淟ong before the trendy crowds found the Cambie, my scene was a group of musician types, drinking away many afternoons and nights at the Cambie,鈥� says Morris, who played in many 麻豆传媒映画bands, and now lives on 麻豆传媒映画Island. 鈥淲hen I started going to the Cambie, they still had the circular booths. A glass of beer was seventy-five cents and a pint was $1.75. Roz worked the bar and Ross gathered the empty pint glasses, stacking them high into the air.鈥�
Soon, the scene of indie musicians who gathered at the Cambie would make a lasting impression on the city鈥檚 music scene.
鈥淭he people who worked at A&B Sound would come down to Scratch to shop,鈥� says Parry. 鈥淚t wasn鈥檛 long until friends and bandmates and Scratch customers would start going to the Cambie with Jim and me, and then it became something that just happened on Fridays. Close the store, meet friends at the Cambie and close the bar down.鈥�
Parry would become the drummer of the proto-alt-grunge band Superconductor, which featured many of his male drinking buddies at the Cambie on six guitars and two basses, while Morris would help form the all-female and equally grungy Kreviss, also featuring many, many guitarists. Several romances existed between the bands.
鈥淚 spent many hours at the Cambie in the early days of Kreviss and Superconductor,鈥� recounts Sara Lapsley, the former lead singer of Kreviss, who now lives in Ottawa. 鈥淢y most salient memory is getting banned from the Cambie for three months because I entered the men鈥檚 washroom. I noticed a strange object in the urinal, so I picked it up and carried it back to our table. The bouncer caught up to me and implemented the ban. I had no idea what a urinal puck was!鈥�
Carl Newman was the lead singer of Superconductor, and would eventually form the internationally renowned New Pornographers with his Cambie drinking buddy and best friend Blaine Thurier almost a decade later.
鈥淚 remember the first time I went in to the Cambie I felt like a brave explorer,鈥� says Newman, who now lives in Woodstock, New York. 鈥淏ut I didn鈥檛 know that every town had a dive bar haunted by hipsters. Those years at the Cambie was the only time I鈥檝e ever had a 鈥楥heers鈥�-type place that I could go to anytime and I would know someone. It felt like a place where something was always happening.鈥�
The injection of young, healthy, polite, vibrant, flannel-clad longhairs from the suburbs was a shock to both the beleaguered staff and the wasted, flannel-clad old-timers at the Cambie, many of whom were intrigued at the growing number of scenesters. A few times, contact across the generations was made.
鈥淚 remember going to the Cambie once with a friend, and there was nowhere to sit,鈥� recounts Thurier. 鈥淎 man with a swollen, red, bulbous nose was asleep alone at a large table so we figured he wouldn鈥檛 mind. He was also clutching his groceries from Woodward鈥檚, which was still open at the time. He woke up and glared at us, latching on to us with a deep hatred. He snarled at us and spat, 鈥榃hat do you know about pizza!?鈥� I checked his bag and sure enough it was stuffed with frozen pizza. He repeated the question. I thought he was going to knife us, but be promptly fell back to sleep, so we stayed at the table and ordered a six dollar pitcher.鈥�
Here comes a regular
One old-timer from the Cambie who many remember was a foul-mouthed Maritimer named Don Campbell.
鈥淗e鈥檇 belly-up to our table and sit uninvited, telling us tales of riding the rails 鈥榝rom coast to coast on tea and toast,鈥欌�� says Thurier.
鈥淗e鈥檇 referred to himself as 鈥榯he meanest cocksucker in the St. John River Valley,鈥欌�� chimes in Newman.
鈥淒on Campbell lived upstairs above the bar,鈥� Morris continues. 鈥淗e was a total asshole whose obscenity-filled vocabulary endeared himself to us. He became a regular at our table.鈥�
A picture of Don Campbell can be seen on Superconductor鈥檚 1991 debut single, The Most Popular Man In The World, on Scratch Records.
鈥淏y the time we met Don, his face was basically hamburger, and his voice already carried a permanent death rattle,鈥� says Thurier, who also featured Don in one of his indie-comic zines. 鈥淗e did like the young men though. Don hit on each one of us in turn. I always felt bad for him. He carried around this impossible, unfulfillable desire. Of course, the pity stopped as his perseverance became annoying. Our friend Sean Condon did end up in his room once, but not for sexual purposes. Don locked the door and cradled Sean鈥檚 face in his hands and said, 鈥楢re you gonna make love to me?鈥� Sadly for Don, the answer was no.鈥�
Condon was another music-loving kid from the suburbs who shopped at Scratch and was soon crossing the street to the Cambie to join the alt-rock drinking crowd. He鈥檚 pictured beside Don Campbell on the Superconductor single. Condon now lives and works in Langley.
鈥淵eah, both the Cambie and Don Campbell are somewhat indelibly etched in my mind, for several factors,鈥� says Condon. 鈥淒on was actually a really nice, gentle guy. He sat in that bar every day. He was a very cheap drunk and became utterly intolerable within about three or four pints. He had some particularly deep and long scars across his face, but he had a soft look. But I did once see him get clocked by a large lady who literally just walked through the door. Don lurched at her, and she floored him with one punch.鈥�
Just another day at the Cambie.
Secret鈥檚 out
Parry remembers exactly when the scales began to tip from old-timer dive bar to its current endangered status as full-blown international youth hostel party bar.
鈥淗ere鈥檚 how it all went wrong,鈥� recalls Parry. 鈥淎 friend of mine invited his friend Boyd, who was a bike courier. Boyd loved the crusty experience of the Cambie. Up until then, it had been our little anti-hipster secret, but the very next weekend about 50 bike couriers invaded the place, and suddenly the Cambie was no longer our secret.鈥�
The turning point was also helped along by larger happenings in the music world. By 1992, grunge had broken and the alternative was mainstream. Thanks to that cheap beer that initially attracted the vanguard of Vancouver鈥檚 indie rock scene, the owner of the Cambie suddenly had a golden egg of a grunge bar on his hands.
鈥淩enovations happened, the one-man-country band turned into a grunge jukebox, slovenly, lecherous old timers like Don Campbell were evicted from the upstairs hotel so it could become a youth hostel, and for some reason, people started lining up to get in, which seemed bizarre to us, because the Cambie was a shithole,鈥� says Parry. 鈥淏ut it was an appealing shithole to us for the weird things that happened there, which all went away when the salty characters were soon nowhere to be found.鈥�
鈥淭he young long hairs started showing up more and more until they made up most of the clientele,鈥� says Thurier, who by then was working across the street at Scratch Records. 鈥淭he older alkies living in the SRO above weren鈥檛 too happy, but there wasn鈥檛 too much they could do about it.鈥�
The Cambie attempted a complete makeover in 1992, briefly rebranding as the James Dean Saloon, yet another odd blip in the bar鈥檚 long history that very few people remember. Luckily, the Smugglers filmed the short lived signage for our 1992 video 鈥溌槎勾接郴瑽.C.鈥�
The bar would soon revert to the Cambie and has remained so ever since.
鈥淵eah, the bike couriers started showing up and that was the end of it,鈥� Newman says. 鈥淟ineups down the block, and no special privileges for early adopters.鈥�
Johnny McQueen has been a 麻豆传媒映画bike courier since the early 1990s, and claims the couriers didn鈥檛 take up residency in the Cambie for long.
鈥淵eah, we hung out at the Cambie for a bit,鈥� confirms McQueen. 鈥淚 remember the noise and the smoke. Endless pitchers of cheap draft and those huge tables made out of old bowling alley. But the couriers had our 鈥榦wn鈥� bar to hang out at, which was the Niagara and later the Brickyard. Mostly I remember the atmosphere of the Cambie. A lot of good times.鈥�
Foggy memories
For the past nearly 30 years, the Cambie has been a roaring drinking establishment, adding a large patio, a bakery and the famous 鈥渂urger and a beer鈥� deal. When the announcement of the bar鈥檚 closure came down 鈥� which supposedly has something to do with the 鈥� social media became ablaze with ridiculous remembrances.
One person claimed that standing beside that grunge jukebox meant you wanted to buy drugs. Another suggested the draft beer was piped in from the urinals. One person met her husband during a binge at the Cambie and they now have two kids. Another fondly recalled how the bar smelled like 鈥渨arm vomit.鈥�
No matter what the memories or the era, what is for certain is that the Cambie, a place that often felt like a sloppy, dangerous, lovable cross between an old west saloon and the cantina from Star Wars, was indeed a rite of passage for countless Vancouverites for more than a century.
And that salty old timer Don Campbell?
鈥淚 remember opening Scratch one morning, right across the street from the Cambie, and I could see Don peering down at me from his window above the bar,鈥� recounts Thurier. 鈥淚 had never seen such despair. It was like a ghost looking at me from a lonely, desolate hell. Years later, I heard that Don was found dead in another SRO, his throat cut, having hit on the wrong guy.鈥�
The Cambie will pour its final round Nov. 30, 2019. If you return to pay your respects to the oldest bar in this town, be sure to raise a glass to the Cambie鈥檚 barstool ghosts like Don Campbell.
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