I never knew who Harry was, but it didn't matter one bit. Harry's is, or more accurately today, was a bar, tucked away on Main Street in Hyannis, Massachusetts. Down Cape Cod Way. Harry's was my favorite bar on earth. When I was 27 or so and going through a "young life" crisis after breaking off a long engagement, I left work on a Friday and on a whim drove down to Hyannis from my place in the North Shore area of Massachusetts, about a two hour drive. I checked into a small motel on Main Street that Friday evening and slept. Saturday I spent walking about the town(a quieter and quainter place than it is today) and the beach and on Saturday evening, thinking that a drink would do me good, I strolled into Harry's. They played albums all the way through on the sound system then when a Blues or Jazz band wasn't playing on the small stage. They loved Sting, apparently, for he always seemed to singing whenever I stepped over the seashell walk and opened the door. For the next two years, I drove down to Hyannis on average two weekends a month. I couldn't wait to get out of work on Friday and begin the drive. I couldn't wait to walk over that seashell walk and be at Harry's I started to make friends in Hyannis. I dated men in Hyannis. I even considered moving to Hyannis. I even began a "flirtation" with one of the then owners of Harry's, Eddie. He was hot. Then, one weekend, the weekend I planned to meet Eddie after Harry's closed for the evening, my boss on the home turf had an emergency hearing to deal with on Monday and requested that I work that Saturday. I couldn't go to Hyannis that weekend. Disappointed, I yet agreed to work and instead of Harry's, I made plans to meet a girlfriend at a local restaurant/pub, Seven Central in Manchester By Sea, Massachusetts. While I was ordering a drink, a man bumped into me. I was not in the best mood, as I was dreaming of Harry and Hyannis and Eddie, so I gave him a pointedly dirty look and turned away. The man took a seat beside me and presented me with a most charming smile in return. That man was Lloyd Nichols . . . my husband.
This past weekend, Harry closed his door. So, goodbye, Harry, and thanks for the two "funest" years of my "single" life. I drink to you tonight. To the salad days.
The news story: http://www.capecodonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20100907/NEWS/9070316