The Elegy for a Dive Series, Pt. 2 (A Dave Fairbank Joint)

Rendezvous Inn
College Park, Md.
Closed 1996

At its heart, the Rendezvous Inn was a dive. A popular dive, but still a dive. It promised nothing more than cheap beer to college kids with little money. It was a social hive with alcohol, and while at the University of Maryland I spent an unhealthy amount of time there.

The ‘Vous, as it was known, was located just off the southeastern edge of campus, at the corner of Route 1 and Knox Road, a nondescript block building with windows on one side. It was a no-frills, rectangular space that held 500-600 people, with the bar in the middle of the room, a jukebox in front and booths against the walls. The drinking age in Maryland was 18 when I went to school and wasn’t raised to 21 until 1982.

The smell was the first thing that hit you when you entered, an unmistakable wave of stale beer and bodily fluids that permeated the floor, the seats, the walls, the ceiling, everything. In cold weather, the smell of damp wool and heavy clothing mixed with beer created its own unique aroma.

Patrons often had a separate pair of “’Vous shoes” because the terracotta floor routinely had a film of beer that ruined regular shoes. If someone vomited, it was standard practice to rinse the area with beer or water and continue drinking.

As one alumna told the school newspaper, the Diamondback: “Envision everything like black wood and sticky. Like no joke, the tables were sticky, the floors were sticky, the bar was sticky, everything was sticky with beer because (there) was just constantly beer thrown all over the floor. It was gross, it was absolutely gross, but that was where we’d go.”

Bathrooms were downstairs and best approached with a HAZMAT suit and flamethrower. Urinals in the men’s room were routinely broken or absent, leaving guys to simply pee into holes in the wall. Management wised up and installed a stainless steel trough that was no less disgusting but far more durable.

The ‘Vous opened as early as 8 a.m. on snow days, and there was a saying: Two to two at the ‘Vous. Plenty of people on Fridays arrived at 2 p.m. and stayed until closing at 2 a.m. As I recall, pitchers were $1.75 during Happy Hour, and they might have doubled during regular hours. The owner said in one story that they went through 200 kegs and 2,000 cases of beer per week.

Of course, behavior and hygiene were questionable. People regularly poured beer into and drank out of each other’s shoes. There was something called a butt pour. Someone would drop their pants and bend forward. A pitcher was poured over his or her butt, with empty cups underneath to catch the spillage, which was then consumed. Occasionally, guys would engage in a beer slide if the floor was particularly slick and filmy. They’d take off their shirts, and sometimes their pants, and folks would clear a path. They’d get a short running start and dive and slide on their chests, to see how far they could go.

My dad met me at the ‘Vous one evening during my senior year. Said he wanted to see the place I’d mentioned and so many other College Park denizens talked about. We went in and secured a booth. As the evening progressed, friends trickled in after class, study sessions, bong hits, whatever. When they approached the booth, I said, I’d like you to meet my dad. They laughed. You see, it wasn’t unusual for older gents to wander in and find a seat at the bar for a few beers among the kids. Students often struck up conversations with them, and they became one more drinking buddy for the evening.

Anyway, they laughed and I said, no, really, this is my dad. He pulled out his driver’s license to prove it. Much cheering and applause. He hung with us for the next couple of hours, buying pitchers and telling stories and being the center of attention. He reveled in it. I’m certain he should not have driven home that night. But it being the late ‘70s-early ‘80s, and it not being his first rodeo, he made it safely.

The ‘Vous closed its 37-year-run in Dec. 1996, as Route 1 and areas around campus developed, and kids began to gravitate toward cleaner, more upscale bars and eateries. That it lasted as long as it did is a marvel. Sort of.

Raise a glass, make a toast

Cheers! Kanpai! Slainte! Prost!

A watering hole with filth and germs

Lifted spirits and dismissed gloom

And possessed the power to affirm

It’s not where you drink, but with whom