Ziggy Socky, Ziggy Socky, Hoy! Hoy! Hoy!

There once was this bar on Wilshire in Santa Monica called “The Fox Inn Rathskeller,” where visitors would stand in line for up to an hour, just to get into the crowded, smoke-filled room. Nothing fancy about the place – just picnic tables and benches, and a piano up front. No TVs along the walls. They only served beer.

Everybody came to drink beer and sing along with the guy playing the piano.

It was the closest thing we had to a German pub, with the beer flowing freely and everybody inside singing choruses of raunchy beer-drinking rugby songs. Beer wasn’t poured by the glass, but by the pitcher.

Of course, that was a different time, and society was a different place. There was no such thing as Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. I can’t imagine a place like that could operate today, which is why it’s no wonder officials closed The Fox Inn in 1989, depriving future generations of the unique exploits of Bill “The Fox” Foster.

I think people have a hard time believing there really was such a guy, but The Fox was a legend. He could drink beer faster than anyone ever. Even the characters portrayed in the film “Beerfest” couldn’t hold a cold one to the Fox.

Standing behind an upright piano holding two mugs of beer, and with a cry of “Ziggy socky ziggy socky, hoy! Hoy! Hoy!” he would dump both mugs down his throat in less than two seconds. Not surprisingly, he held the title of “World’s Fastest Beer Drinker” for 25 consecutive years. Really.

Anytime he was met with an “automatic challenge,” he’d drink two beers faster than the challenger could drink even one. He’d turn a beer glass upside-down and fill the crown with beer and offer it to his opponent, then drink his full glass before the other person could drink the one-ounce shot of beer. He rarely lost a challenge, if ever.

The best part, of course, was watching him stand on his head and chug a glass. He’d still win. He’d probably drink close to 40 glasses of beer a night, and then come back the next night and do it again.

Between chugs, The Fox led the room in song. He’d play piano, calling out sing-along-style parodies of popular standards with raunchy lyrics and crass choruses. It was pub entertainment at its best – a room full of drunks belting out what he called "songs your mother wouldn't sing." I taught my sons The Fox version of “Take it out at the Ballgame,” which we routinely still sing every time during the seventh-inning stretch. I don’t think they know the real words to the song anymore. The Fox’s “censored” version is much more fun.

I found a bunch of short clips that were recorded at the Fox Inn. Go to this link to listen to them one at a time.

The Fox Inn was filled with picnic tables, and more wooden benches were lined end-to-end along the walls. It was standing room only on Saturday nights, and people stood on the benches just to get a better view. The line outside was 25 feet long. I first heard about the place in college, and my friend Nick Salata first took us there. Nick seemed to know everywhere to go in Los Angeles, and this was one of his favorites. It was one of mine, too.

Foster performed nightly at The Fox Inn from 1961 until it was closed in 1989. It was a mandatory stop after going to a Lakers or Kings game at the Forum, or on a visit to our friend Trip Oates’ place in Santa Monica.

My favorite memory is running into the Fox at a UCLA-Stanford football game at the Rose Bowl on a November afternoon in 1982 (UCLA won, 38-35 in a shootout between quarterbacks Tom Ramsey and John Elway). Back then they still sold beer at college games, so when Greg Setlich, Robert Villanueva, Grant Warhurst and I saw the Fox roaming the concourse area, we offered up an automatic challenge. He refused because he had to work that night. Naturally, the four of us figured we needed to go see him at work. We had a generous head start, having several large beers at the game. Add a few more at some other watering holes around town, and we eventually found our way to Santa Monica. The Fox recognized us from our meeting at the Rose Bowl earlier in the day, and called us out for an automatic challenge. We were already pretty saturated, but none of us stood a chance anyway By that time we truly looked foolish.

The songs made it especially fun. Anyone could chime in with their own limerick or rhyme, but they better be good, or else they’d be met with a chorus of “F--- You,” sung to the tune of the “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” Christmas song. And if the Fox spotted you heading toward the restroom while he was at the piano, he’d likely stop in mid song and start repeating, “We know where you’re going, we know where you’re going…”

And if you dared spill your beer, he’d call you out with another “F—You” song in your honor.

After the sale of the Fox Inn, Foster continued to perform in and around Los Angeles and at college campuses and special events. He later gained notoriety as a cast member of “The Man Show” on cable TV, where he chugged beers and sang songs with the audience. We saw him perform at Irrelevant Week at the Balboa Bay Club and at a bar in Pasadena, but it never was the same as the Santa Monica pub. It was always fun, but the last time we saw him in Pasadena, one of the guys in our group got us kicked out of the restaurant early that night, so we never got to enjoy him again at his best.

Here is a video tribute to the Fox that aired on "The Man Show." Definitely worth watching, but it doesn't come close to capturing the atmosphere that filled "The Fox Inn Rathskeller" on Wilshire.

On May 10, 2000, Foster died at his home in Santa Monica after a long battle with prostate cancer. Gone, but long remembered.

Making Olympic Memories

I love the Olympics. I’ve been intrigued by the magic of the Games ever since I was a kid. I think my earliest Olympic memory was when I was 8, watching parts of a hockey game at a friend’s house on a black-and-white TV during the 1968 Winter Games in Grenoble, France. Oh, and I remember Peggy Fleming.

By the time the 1968 Summer Olympics from Mexico City rolled around, I was hooked. I remember they were in September, because school had started and we talked about the Olympics in class. I loved the pageantry and symbolism, and what it was all supposed to mean. I was captivated by the events. To me, Olympic sports like swimming, diving and track and field were as mainstream as football and baseball.

That’s because the Olympics are so memorable. And while I certainly can’t remember everything, there are athletic achievements that will live forever. They become part of our nation’s social fiber and our history. Remembering past Olympics is different from remembering batting averages or starting lineups. The Olympics are about incredible moments. The big ones come to life every four years, but there are so many others that live on, too.

I mean, when else would you ever watch events like badminton, ping pong (okay, they call it table tennis), trampoline, field hockey, team handball, rowing, fencing, archery, cycling, diving, equestrian and weightlifting on TV? I’ve watched bits and pieces of all of those, along with boxing and tennis. I’ve even watched some soccer, which means this must be special. NBC continues to feed us plenty of swimming, gymnastics, volleyball (indoor and beach) and basketball, and now track and field. Those are the things that TV viewers want. I want more. And more baseball and softball, too (it’s stupid that the IOC is getting rid of those and keeping the obscure sports).

I must have these feelings every four years, but the Beijing Olympics seem extraordinary to me. There already have been so many great moments to remember. If you haven’t seen it yet, check out these frame-by-frame photos in Sports Illustrated of Michael Phelps’ incredible 100-meter butterfly victory for his seventh of eight gold medals.

Forty years after falling in love with the Olympics, I don’t really recall if I actually watched the big events when I was younger, or if they are engrained in my head because of the coverage that followed. I do remember watching Tommie Smith and John Carlos run the 200 meters in 1968, and the medal ceremony that followed when they both raised the black power sign on the medal stand. But I didn’t witness Bob Beamon’s unbelievable long jump of 29-2 to become the first person to clear 28 feet, let alone 29. And I don’t remember watching when Jimmy Hines became the world’s fastest man or when Bill Toomey was crowned the world’s greatest athlete.
But the things that surprisingly still ring clear are both the opening ceremonies and the closing ceremonies. I was so impressed by the torchbearer climbing the steps to light the caldron. And when the games came to and end, there seemed to be such sadness. I remember an image of the word “Mexico 68” in fireworks, and watching as it slowly burned out. But then the word “Munich” appeared, and all was well. It was at that moment that I remember telling my dad that I wanted to go to the Olympics.

My dad died before the next Olympiad, so we were never able to have that experience together. And going to Germany was a bit unrealistic to begin with. But I knew that one day I’d go to the Olympics. Fortunately, in 1984, the Olympics came to me.

It’s just as well that I didn’t go to Munich in 1972, because that was the year the Palestinian terrorists kidnapped and killed the Israeli athletes. It was still at the heart of the Cold War, and the rivalry between the U.S. and Soviet Union was at its peak. As a 13-year-old kid, I thought that the Eastern Block countries were cheating in everything. If not the teams, then the judges and the officials. Remember? They gave the Soviet basketball team three attempts to win until they finally did. The U.S. team didn’t go to the medal ceremonies, and they still haven’t accepted the silver medals…. A Russian won the 100-meters, but after two American sprinters were disqualified because they didn’t run in the early heats. Apparently they were told the wrong time of their races. And the East German women (if you wanted to call them that) won seemingly every event in the pool. Soviet gymnast Olga Korbut was the darling of the Games, but less-popular Lyudmila Turischeva was the true star USSR gymnastics team. The United States had its share of success, led by swimmer Mark Spitz with his seven gold medals. On the track, Dave Wottle, wearing a baseball cap, won the 800, and Frank Shorter won the marathon. Pomona’s Bob Seagren finished second in the pole vault.

I eventually did make it to Munich years later, and I saw the Olympic stadium and swimming pool. But there were no events then, and on that trip I was more interested in the Hofbräuhaus.

Still determined to go to the Olympics, my friend Lindsey Brewer and I decided we’d make a cross-country bike ride to Montreal.

Yeah, right.

But I watched the Games on TV and remember the highlights – Nadia’s perfect 10, Bruce Jenner winning the decathlon and unknown Edwin Moses winning the 400 hurdles. I also remember watching the platform diving, as Italian Klaus Dibiasi won his third straight gold, beating the 16-year-old American, Greg Louganis. Throughout the games, there was a McDonald’s commercial starring Claremont High’s Patti O’Toole. She was our own local Olympic celebrity.

The Games of 1980 really were only the Winter Olympics for the United States, because of Jimmy Carter’s boycott of the Summer Games in Moscow. Too bad. A couple of years later, when I was in graduate school at USC, the head of the public relations department, Kenneth “Doc” Smith, told me stories of just how great it was in Moscow. He called it the greatest Olympics that America never saw. There was no television coverage, since the U.S. didn’t participate. That summer came and went without the Olympics.

But the winter was different. The Lake Placid games probably provided more memories than most, and they produced one of the greatest moments ever –the American hockey team’s “miracle on ice” victory over Russia en route to the gold medal. I still remember living at the “Animal House” in Pomona, listening to KMET-FM, when Paraquat Kelly came on the air late one Friday afternoon and said, “We beat the Rooskies.” Our typically full house of college students was intently tuned in for the tape-delayed broadcast a few hours later.

My 1984 Olympic memories are too many for this blog, and they deserve a place by themselves. I still look back at that summer as the greatest 16 days ever. In the years that have followed, my love for the Olympics has been adopted by our kids, who look forward to our own special opening ceremonies with the Moores, Seligmans DesCombes and others who share our Olympic spirit. It really is an incredible time. Tune in before the magic is gone.

Things That Aren't Here Anymore

Inland Valley Daily Bulletin columnist David Allen will occasionally include columns in the newspaper or on his blog site about restaurants and businesses that have closed, been replaced or are simply not there anymore.

I started thinking about some of the places I’d go with regularity around Claremont and the Pomona Valley when I was younger. It’s surprising just what isn’t here anymore.

For example, way back when I was really young, there was a restaurant on the corner of Foothill and Garey in Pomona called Henry’s, where you could park and the carhops would take your order and serve you in your car. It had an elaborate dining area inside, which seemed like a contradiction to the pre-fast-food approach outside. That place was long gone well before I could drive, so I never really experienced it much. It gave way to a series of other restaurants, including Tiffany’s, the Northeast Corner and the Odyssey Disco before becoming a strip mall.

My family would often shop in the center on the southeast corner of Garey and Foothill, where we called the Thriftymart grocery store “The Big T” because of the huge “T” sign. There was Owl Drug, Sprouse-Rietz, a pet store, a baseball card shop and a Keds shoe store that was run by midgets. Across Garey was the bowling alley, which was one of the few places kids could go hang out, along with the old miniature golf course on the corner of Foothill and Lynoak (where Dave Bosson was successfully convinced to switch girlfriends—for a couple of days).


The movie theaters were still single-screen theaters, except for the one behind the Montclair Plaza that had three separate theatres. Claremont had the Village Theater, which was the one and only form of nightlife in downtown Claremont at the time. The streets shut down early, including the few downtown restaurants. At night, Claremont was a ghost town, except for the Village Theater.

Pomona had the Fox Theater and the United Artists Theater. The Fox is still there, but it hasn’t been the Fox in probably 40 years – although it is currently being renovated. The Mt. Baldy Drive-In at White and Foothill in La Verne went away 20 years ago, but was always great fun on a summer night.

When the “new” Albertson’s opened on Towne and Foothill, we found ourselves venturing a mile east for some of our shopping. And in the same center sprang up a Value Fair, where you could find pretty much anything. All of those places – gone.

The other grocery store in town was the Stater Bros. on the southeast corner of Foothill and Indian Hill. There were tunnels that went under those streets so pedestrians wouldn’t have to cross in heavy traffic on the way to the old Claremont High School. I can barely remember when that was a campus, but I remember the previous iteration of shops that replaced the classrooms, as well as the Griswolds’ Restaurant. The old gym was known as “the Pavilion” before it became the Candlelight Pavilion, and we had quite a few dances and other events over there.

For a quick dinner, we’d go to Tugboat Annie’s or Magic Towers on Foothill. My friend Mike Radlovic’s dad owned Magic Towers, and I think most kids who grew up in Claremont around then remember the day when Batman and Robin made guest appearances.

We’d often eat at Jongs Chinese restaurant in Cucamonga, which is now a Vince’s Spaghetti restaurant (we always went to the Ontario Vince’s too, but that is still there). Any trip to the east meant a ride over "the dips" on Baseline just east of Padua. Those were flattened as the road was widened from the Piedmont Mesa area just west of Claremont east through Upland and beyond.

Even after the dips were gone, I still remember being in high school and driving home late from Jim Moore’s place in Upland, and not feeling the need to stop at any of the few stop signs scattered between Mountain Avenue in Upland and my house in west Claremont. There was nothing but orange groves on both sides of the street, and no traffic. The stop signs served little purpose late at night. There wasn’t a stop at Baseline and Towne until my senior year, and when they finally put one up, Jim wanted to take an axe to it.

All of those orange and lemon groves brought an incredible and memorable smell to the entire area. That is what I remember about summer nights in Claremont, but that strong but welcome aroma doesn’t exist here anymore, either.

When I got into high school, my friends and I would venture off campus for lunch down at the In-N-Out on Towne Avenue just north of Arrow, or across the street to Jack in the Box. Sometimes we’d get a burger over at the Orange Julius at Foothill and Berkeley, where lots of Claremont High people worked. Those are all gone.

There were all sorts of after-game Claremont hangouts that aren’t around anymore, like Betsy Ross (where I worked in high school), Sambo’s, the Railroader, Straw Hat Pizza (now Eddie’s Pizza). We’d go there when we weren’t headed to the after-game dances, which they don’t hold anymore, either.

Back when Claremont High was an open campus that operated with a college-style “module” class system, we’d frequently pass time by going to the Sportsman sporting goods store owned by Bim Jollymour and Rhino Records in downtown. Rhino is still around, but it has moved twice since then, now occupying the old Bentley’s market. Then we’d go look for more records at the Wherehouse and Music-Plus stores on south Indian Hill, and then go test stereo equipment at Pacific Stereo. I eventually worked there, too. Another place I worked, the Pomona Valley Creamery on Mission in Ontario, is also gone.

Indian Hill was an interesting street, too. I remember when my mom would drive past the bank in the downtown area, where the fountain was always filled with soap suds. It got to be such a problem that they filled the fountain with dirt and it became a planter. Up the street was Memorial Park, which we’d pass going to and from Little League games at College Park. It was during the 1960s, and I remember all of the hippies sitting in a circle smoking weed in Memorial Park, and we couldn’t go there because it was dangerous.

College Park is still the home of Little League in Claremont, but back then there were two leagues. They shared the fields, but Claremont National played its major league division over at St. Ambrose field, which was on Mountain Ave. south of the church on Bonita Ave. It’s been an apartment complex for probably more than 30 years now.

There were also a couple of Pony League fields in Claremont. They were the baseball fields from the old high school, just south of what is now the CHS football field. Those had to be the absolute worst baseball fields ever, but I bet Claremont school officials wish they had the land back to expand their athletic fields. Instead, the fields are now the site of town homes and weed-filled parking lots.

Looking back, the other thing people probably remember are the places they could buy beer before turning 21. There were a bunch of them, but I don’t think any of them exist today -- probably because they sold beer to minors. There was North Hills Liquor on Towne, right next to the Driftwood Dairy. Both were very lax about asking for IDs. Bourbon Street and Lasagne Liquor in Claremont were a little harder, as was the Liquor Locker in La Verne. But the best place was the 7-11 on Garey and Harrison in Pomona. It was a sure thing (except for Doug Jollymour). Everybody called the owner “Ali-Baba,” because he wore a turban (well before the days of being politically correct). Ali had to know he was selling beer to minors, because the pricetags seemed to change every time we’d go in. He knew he could get away with hiking up the price. Simple economics, until he got caught too many times and was shut down.

When I reached college and beyond, we'd go to drink and eat at now-defunct local places like Sneaker's, Lord Charlie's, El Gato Gordo and a few places in La Verne that seemed to change names and ownership every six months. Those have all disappeared, except the Buffalo Inn, which is still a reliable venue for a cold beverage.

I'd meet friends there after our softball games or after covering local sporting events for the Pomona Progress Bulletin. That was great experience and a lot of fun. The newspaper merged with the Ontario Daily Report many years ago. The old “Prog” building is still there in downtown Pomona, but it’s no longer used for the newspaper business. That’s another industry that has seen its better days, and may not be around too much longer, either. That’s because people can find all they want by reading blogs and such. And so it goes.

I’m sure there are a lot of other places and things that I’m forgetting about. If you have memories of these places, or of other things that aren’t here anymore, please leave a comment.

Those Old College Days

Claremont High's Class of 1976 started a Yahoo chat room in 2006 in anticipation of their 30-year reunion. The chat room -- and the reunion -- were so popular that they even got coverage in the Los Angeles Times in July 2006...

The Yahoo chat room is still going strong. And the postings are in the tens of thousands. But this one from Bill Baldwin (CHS 1976) is worth sharing. Enjoy...

I have been "outing" as many embarrassing stories as my memory serves up and it is electrically jolted by many of these posts. Sid Robinson popped up today and I thought I would share yet another story from our youth that at least Sid and I may shield from our kids.

Around 1979-80 Sid, Brent Bosson, myself and few others crash a large Claremont Colleges party. There are probably 200 to 300 in attendance and Sid shows up primed with more that a couple in him. If you know Sid... he is bright, mild mannered and nice as can be....put a few beers in him and the term "liquid courage" does not touch his chemically infused bravado.

As a number of the students rolled a large beer keg into the center of the building, I noticed Sid transfixed on the keg. Two guys are looking for the tapper when Sid looks over at me devilishly.

"Let's take the keg."

"You’re kidding me" I replied.

"I mean it... we are having a party tomorrow night...lets take it now! Get on the other end!"

Without another word Sid and I pick up the keg and simply begin saying, "excuse us… keg is coming through"... the sea of faux Ivy Leaguers parts and even holds the door as we exit the building. In the confusion, they must think we are "in charge of the keg". We run as far as we can holding the keg and then begin to roll it down Dartmouth Ave. In the background we can now hear screaming and then the thunder of dozens of running feet.

Sid and I stop... roll the keg behind a bush and Sid leaps the fence to get his car. I stand my ground in front of the bush and try to remain calm... lean against a tree... as the hysterical hoard runs right by me and down Dartmouth... all the while screaming about the "beating those mofo's are going to get"

About 5 minutes later my heart begins beat again. Sid pulls up from around the corner.... we wait for the clear an load the keg into his car.

Sid looks at me... same devilish grin… "Let's go back to the party."

"Now you have lost your mind," I tell him.

"I am serious," he says "They can't remember what we looked like…Let's just switch shirts and go back...we can't miss seeing this."

"And if by chance someone recognizes us?”

"Hell Bill... you'll kick the #@#@ out of at least a couple of them before we die"

It was hard not be infused with his infectious immortality.

We arrive back to find a melee. Sid and I inquire about what has happened and we join their " let's kick some #$%" attitude and are quickly enlisted to help find ourselves.

We run into Brent and he tells us that we should leave.... “Some maniacs have stolen the keg right out from under the party’s nose.” We both smile. Sid's devil smile and Brent is beside himself... laughing so hard we fear our cover (you know the clever "shirt switch") will be blown.

The guys who bought the keg have sent their assassins out on the hunt and are returning to their dorm room... custom "eagle tapper" in hand to call about getting another keg. Sid and Brent follow them back to the dorm and I stay at the party and watch Kathy Weatherall (sp) (Mil.... Helen’s sis) ... the only person who recognized Sid and myself.... go on at length about some guy she saw with the keg...about 7-foot-tall with one eye, anything to throw them off the hunt.

Meanwhile Sid and Brent are hiding as the two with the tapper leave their room sans the tapper. At the colleges all the door hinges are on the outside of the doors in case of an emergency... and after our two victims leave, Sid and Brent pry the hinges off the door...take the tapper and leave a note on the floor "same guys that took the keg."

We had a large party the next night and after the keg was spent... quietly placed the empty keg and tapper in front of their dorm door…

It was mean.... but we didn't want them to lose their deposit.