The Coon Rod

On the way home from Oneida with Nick the other day, I decided to swing by Pratt's Hollow, the geographical center of New York and show off a slice of my ole stomping grounds. The infamous Coon Rod. In my twenties, usually the thought would hit our drunken heads at the Loose Goose, now the Hour Glass to hop in our car and make the trek out to see Butch at the Coon Rod. You'd get your beers in a ball jar while getting poked from secrete holes in the wall under the bar. The coon dogs were freaking hot and you'd eat them in barber chairs. I'd almost always trip on the little step that went into the next room from the bar and alway's end up with a guitar jamming some old Dead tunes or what ever song came about. Most everybody had something to special to say and it was said all over the bath walls. The Coon Rod. Everyone who lives in Central New York likely had tipped a few at this unique slice of life in Central New York. Rumor has is Butch won the lottery some time ago and I don't think its been opened since. The last time I saw Butch was at the Big Moose Inn in the dimly lit bar. I was standing there counting change behind the bar and after hearing the door open, I turned around and there he was. Butch from the Coon Rod. Very strange.