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By JENNIFER LEARN jlearn@leader.net
Sunday, February 06, 2000 Page: 1A
WILKES-BARRE – Al Boris hung up the telephone and stared deep in thought at
the red velvet curtains and antique mirrors hanging in his Carey Avenue bar.
A friend phoned to tell him about someone interested in buying the place,
and Boris faced the reality that his more than a half century in the tavern
business might soon be over.
He wants to sell. None of his children is interested in the life-consuming,
often financially shaky bar business. But it’s tough giving up a place that
has become a local institution.
“There’s a lot of history here when you look back on the years,” said
Boris, who has never had an alcoholic drink.
He has lost part of his lung and much of his voice from lung and throat
cancer. He is giving up the tavern that put eight children through college and
that served as a site for countless wedding proposals and emotionally charged
political discussions.
But Boris still isn’t ready to let go of his seat on the Wilkes-Barre City
Council. “I think I can still do something to help the city.”
It was because of Boris Bar that he first emerged as a newsmaker. Instead
of turning to churches or City Hall for help after the 1972 Agnes Flood, some
South Wilkes-Barre residents gathered at the flood-ravaged tavern. The topic
of discussion: Why wasn’t the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development
distributing the emergency shelter campers and trailers that sat unused in a
parking lot?
So Boris moved his family, equipped with cots, sleeping bags and blankets,
into the HUD office at Mackin Elementary School. He left only when a HUD
official promised that the campers and trailers would be delivered within
days.
He opened Boris Bar in 1946 while he pursued a biology degree at the newly
opened King’s College. His father helped out at the bar while Boris was in
class. “I thought it would be a nice business because I always enjoyed being
around people.”
He threw out 50 to 60 unruly customers in the first few months after the
business opened, including doctors and lawyers. But Boris said he tries to
treat everyone with dignity, calling troublemakers over on the pretext that
they have phone calls.
“Then I will tell them to gently finish their drinks and leave. Nobody
must know,” Boris said.
Although his clientele includes some of the city’s most prestigious, Boris
didn’t want anyone to feel unwelcome.
“We wanted to make sure people didn’t feel like it was too nice for them
to come in. We didn’t want to discourage the average working guy,” he said.
His rules – and council views – are admittedly old fashioned.
For example, men can’t buy women drinks at Boris Bar unless the woman
confirms the buyer is a relative or someone who is not bothering her. Women
weren’t allowed to sit at the bar with men until some women protested. Boris
relented because he couldn’t afford a lawsuit he was sure he would lose. And
swearing and fighting are not allowed.
Councilman Jim McCarthy, who also owns a city bar, said Boris does not put
up with any bull in his bar or in the city.
“He’s one of the old, old timers. He runs a tight ship, and if you don’t
like it don’t come in,” McCarthy said. “He’s like that on council too. He
speaks his mind very forthrightly.”
Boris made headlines in 1993 when he protested the appearance of “Oh!
Calcutta!” at the Kirby Center because the famed Broadway musical featured
three nude skits. Boris protested that the show violated the city’s obscenity
ordinance because it is “patently offensive.” The show went on.
The councilman’s bigger controversy made national headlines. Boris ignited
a firestorm of protest in 1993 after he commented on a complaint that men were
openly engaging in sex in a park. “You should shoot half of them, anyway,”
Boris said. Gays with AIDS “are getting what they deserve,” he said.
For months, outraged residents demanded Boris’ resignation. The council
proposed a law to ban discrimination based on sexual orientation, but it was
defeated four months later.
Although they don’t always agree with his statements, Boris’ fellow
Wilkes-Barre City Council members say he speaks from his heart.
City Councilman Tom Leighton said Boris’ comments about homosexuals were
made because he was concerned about people molesting children.
“Al Boris is a very straightforward, honest speaking individual,”
Leighton said. “He’s a very honorable family man, business man and person.”
Leighton said Boris does not back down under pressure.
“He’ll never beat around the truth. The unfortunate part is that people
don’t like being told the truth and people don’t like being told no,”
Leighton said.
Councilman Phil Latinski said: “I think his legacy is that Al will always
do something when he says he will. He is a man of his word.”
Boris was appointed to the council in March 1981 to fill the seat of Kevin
Blaum, who had become a state representative. The court had to step in because
members could not agree on who should get the seat.
Former Mayor Lee Namey, who clashed often with Boris, said he believes
Boris “always did what he felt was best for the city.”
“Al seems to keep winning elections, so he must be doing something
right.”
Boris Bar customers are relieved Boris will remain on council but
disappointed their hangout might close or change.
Harry Schwab of Wilkes-Barre said he used to come in 35 years ago, and he
was relieved to find the place hadn’t lost its atmosphere when he moved back
to the area in 1995. At Boris’, there are no cover charges, dance music or
bouncers at the door. And you can buy a stinger or martini for $2.
Boris’ wife, Lou Ann, made the red velvet curtains that cloak the bar, and
she washes them and replaces them with tan satin ones every spring – a task
that takes more than a week.
“It was exactly the same,” Schwab said, smiling.
Behind the bar are several trivia books and almanacs, and bartender Eddie
Nowakowski, clad in a tuxedo jacket and bowtie, is always ready to search for
answers to nuggets such as the date the Franklin Brewery closed (1956).
Nowakowski, who has missed only one day in his 24 years working for Boris,
calls the library if he can’t find answers in his books.
Of course many answers about politics and home improvement projects come
from the customers, who are always right.
Wilkes-Barre resident Charles Conlon holds up a glass of Stegmaier, the
bar’s top seller at 35 cents a glass. A pitcher is $2.75.
“The new owner had better have Stegmaier,” said Conlon, a Boris Bar
customer since 1956.
After 50 years of marriage, Boris and his wife are ready to rest. Lou Ann
cleans before the 11 a.m. opening and cooks until the midnight closing – six
days a week. Boris, who started chemotherapy last week, takes a nap so he can
stay up to lock the doors.
Although his energy is often drained, Boris proudly notes he has missed
only one City Council meeting since 1981, and it was because of a recent snow
storm.
Lou Ann said the most painful part of Boris’ recent illnesses was the
effect his throat cancer had on his voice. Doctors advised him to avoid
speaking, but it’s not usually possible.
“He loves people,” she said.
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