The Richmond Arms - Part Two
We returned to The Richmond Arms after a long-forgotten grump, on Christmas Eve afternoon and it was just like coming home because we had. Michelle greeted us warmly, expressing how much she’d missed us and how happy she was to see us again. The prodigals were forgiven and welcomed back into the fold (I suspect we were not the first). The pub was mostly empty save for us, and Andy, Richard, Eileen and Eileen’s husband (I never learned his name), who were at their usual stations. Andy bought us a drink and we ended up trading rounds and stories all afternoon. It felt like Christmas. This was the start of our second decade with the pub. Looking back, those ten years passed so quickly, but I suppose that’s always the case, isn’t it?
Michael, the pub’s owner, never once acknowledged our presence, which we found hilarious, but Michelle, along with Lori and Jasleen, Coretta, Moira, Justin, Juan, Amber, Danielle, Laura, Kendal, Heather, Monica, and sweet Jen were all bright stars, exceptional, not only at making every customer feel as welcome as they made us, but also literally keeping the place from falling apart. They created magic from nothing. We spent more football weekends, holidays, and happy hours with them than with our family and friends. It was also the place we took family and friends when given the choice. They all loved ‘our’ pub and for many, it became theirs as well.
We celebrated anniversaries, birthdays and new jobs. We mourned the loss of pets, people, and one of those jobs. It was a haven in the storm and a respite from the heat. It was the stop for a quick dinner of homemade soup (the best) on the way to the grocery store and the provider of deli turkey (Marlowe’s morning staple) when we decided to postpone the grocery trip one more day. Reading cards for a suicide prevention event remains one of the high points of my professional divination career.
Every December 31st was English New Year, complete with a countdown, noisemakers and hats, and champagne (bubbly wine of some sort anyway) toast promptly at 6pm. We never made it to US New Year, the early option always being preferable.
The only times we shied away from the pub were when they showed major US sporting events, like the Super Bowl. I tried to pay attention to when these were happening so we could plan accordingly and one Super Bowl Sunday we made a calculated stop, early in the day. There were two spaces left on the Super Bowl Squares board. I don’t know if I felt particularly lucky, or I just decided to help close out the squares, but I bought them.
It was several days later before we stopped in again, only for Coretta to surprise us with an envelope containg our winnings. We hadn’t watched the game and didn’t know the final numbers of our squares. David wasn’t even sure how the whole thing worked. Drinks were on us, that night.
Not even the two worst hurricanes to ever hit Houston could keep the doors closed. A dead raccoon in the ceiling almost did, but I digress. It was the first place we found open after Hurricane Ike (with owner Michael behind the bar serving bottled beer and shots since there was no electricity). During Hurricane Harvey, Michelle relocated her entire family, including her 80+ year old mother-in-law and they rode out the storm with Richmond (the pub cat) snuggled up next to Michelle for the duration of the storm. Battling incoming water, roof damage and no power, she was still able to open to customers in record time.
The Richmond Arms closed earlier this year, but it had been dying a slow death for quite a long time before that. Lori and Jen had passed away, like Jackie, both far too young. Michelle and most of the remaining staff moved on to greener pastures in 2018. They were its heart and soul, and it wasn’t the same after their departure. The new General Manager was a complete disaster whose answer to dwindling business was implementing Yacht Rock nights (I never even knew there was such a thing) and karaoke. She didn’t last long and Emily, who had worked with Michelle several years earlier, took over. She gave it her best shot, but the writing was pretty much on the wall at this point and the owner finally sold the business to a family team who thought they could ride on the 40+ years of coattails.
The pandemic slowly drove the last few nails into the pub’s coffin, but we weren’t around to bear witness. Health issues have brought an end to our pub visits, and alcohol in total, but that’s a story for another time. One day this past February, the new owners locked the doors, saying they planned to reopen in a few weeks. As of this writing, the Richmond Arms sign was still up, and the outside of the building has been painted black with new decking out front that appears to be covered with astroturf. I heard there was a garage sale a few months ago to unload the years of memorabilia inside. I’d love to go by and have a chat with Jackie, Lori and Jen. I’m kind of surprised they’ve let the place stand but I guess they’re waiting to see what happens next, too. I hope the camera shop next door is still feeding the cat.
Nothing lasts forever, but I have a lifetime of fond memories and lasting friendships from the rundown, ramshackle pub on the corner of Richmond Avenue and Fountainview Drive. It wasn’t just a pub. It was a wonderfully quirky and special place in time. As I reach the end of this column, I realize I've run out of words, and alternatively, I could keep writing about it forever. In either case, my words have failed to convey just how marvelous the Richmond Arms really was. This is wholly because of Michelle and the amazing, attentive, and hard working talented people who went above and beyond for and with her. I can only hope that you were fortunate enough to know it for yourself, or someplace that was the kind of home the Richmond was to me.
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