The Shellfish was only a five minute drive from my house. It had been a local landmark and watering hole for generations. The building was built in the mid-1800s, and as the story goes, it transitioned from a hotel to a tavern over time, survived prohibition, and kept going strong ever since. While most restaurants along the bay became inundated with tourists during the summer months, the Shellfish almost always remained a local crowd. Summer nights saw the bar packed with not only the baby-faced 21 year olds, but also the old familiar faces of the baby-boomer era. Everybody drank; everybody danced; everybody was friends. The building itself was a spectacular site. Its four story Victorian structure with a large wrap around porch overlooking the bay was unique among the smaller shops and restaurants. Inside, I would always see the same several faces seated at their designated stools at the bar. I didn’t frequent the Shellfish enough for everyone to know my name, but it was always a familiar scene.

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