THE SLIPPERY NOODLE INN

THE SLIPPERY NOODLE INN

Indiana’s Oldest Bar

By Duncan 

A place that serves food can be called a restaurant, cafeteria, or dining room. If 'Da-Place' also serves alcohol, it could be referred to as a bar, inn, tavern, watering hole, or even a dive. The Slippery Noodle has also been called a Hotel, Roadhouse, Speakeasy, and Brothel. 

People have lived and died at this location. There have been shootouts, some walking away, and some outlaws being carried out of the building on a Coroner's stretcher. Even John Dillinger left his mark behind. Shot-gun blasts and bullets are still embedded in the walls. 

On Friday, I finally made the trip to the Slippery Noddle Inn. 

As some of you know, I will travel miles to experience a “Mom and Pop.” I also look for old restaurants that have been in business for years. They have stood the test of time and are still going strong—there is history behind their shingles. 

According to the National Restaurant Association, only 20% of new restaurants are still in business after five years. It’s said that 60% fail the first year.  

I have a Mom and Pop right under my nose that I've never visited. A “joint” called The Slippery Noodle Inn is just four blocks south of downtown Indianapolis. Its location is incredibly convenient. It is close to all the attractions in downtown Indianapolis. 

Lucus Oil Stadium. (Indianapolis Colts - Football - 67,000 - 70,000 seats.) 

Gainbridge Field House (Indiana Pacers - Basketball - 18,000 seats.) 

Victory Field - (Baseball - 14,200 seats).  

Indiana Convention Center (566,000 Sq Ft - Gen Con - 70,000 attendees.) 

In Indianapolis's mile square, 30,000 people live in apartments, condos, or single-family dwellings. Downtown Indianapolis has a unique lifestyle. 

To provide some background, I opened the door to the Slippery Noodle Inn many years ago. It was late at night, but I didn’t go in. Perhaps I was intimidated by this very small bar, or was it the many people in a limited space? 

I hesitated, stepped back, and closed the door. Standing on the street, I looked at the front door, unsure why I hesitated. Perhaps it just wasn’t my night. The bar was incredibly loud, filled beyond capacity with more people than it could hold, like fifteen college guys trying to cram into a phone booth. Everyone was elbow to elbow, laughing and drinking—large men with beer bellies, ball caps, and tattoos. I admit it; the crowd made me uncomfortable. Normally, I wouldn’t have noticed, but I must have been stone-cold sober. 

Last Friday, I visited The Slippery Noodle Inn with my friends, who call themselves "The G-5." We all worked at the same Savings and Loan in the late 1980s. We decided to have lunch to reminisce about the "Good Old Times." We meet at a different restaurant each month, allowing each member to choose the location. It was my turn to select the venue for our December gathering. 

Google Streets and Maps 

The issue with the Slippery Noodle Inn is the parking situation. It’s located downtown; unfortunately, we could not find any free parking. I regret choosing this place, as there is no free parking option.

Across the street, there were two large parking lots. One was located on the south side of South Street, while the other was on the north side. The south parking lot featured a shack where an attendant would typically be stationed to collect payment. Each lot had a prominent sign indicating that it cost $5.00 to park. I decided to try the south lot first, but unfortunately, the shack was unattended. There was a heavy padlock on the door, suggesting that the attendant was not inside. It seemed likely that he would only be in the shack if there was a basement beneath it.

The warning signs are everywhere: "No Overnight Parking.” “Don’t pay, and you will be towed.” “We have multiple cameras watching you.” ‘We know where you live, and we will come for you and your children if you don’t pay.” Use your phone and follow the instructions on the QR Code on the side of the building. NOW!!

I have no idea what a QR code is, and I have never used one. However, I definitely didn’t want “Mean Yellow” to be towed, so I asked my Samsung S-24 cell phone, “What is a QR code?” The answer came back quickly: it stands for "Quick Response code."

I was unsure about what to do next. I knew I needed to take a picture, but that didn’t work. I tried holding my phone both close to the QR code and a little farther away. Suddenly, something changed. I must have pressed a button, and a menu appeared on my screen. It turned out to be the Dennison Parking Lot Application. I followed the prompts, and the first step was to enter my license plate number.

I had to walk back to my car to look at my license plate and then enter the number into a field on the application. After that, it requested my first name, last name, email address, phone number, military ID number, chow card, and vaccination record. Then, it asked for my credit card number, expiration month, and expiration year. Finally, it wanted the security code on the back of my credit card. At this point, I started feeling nervous.

I checked my cell phone screen and saw the parking fee: $5.00, with an additional $2.00 service charge for using my credit card, bringing the total to $7.00. Standing in the parking lot, my hands were cold, the wind was blowing, and I felt completely frozen. There was no way to pay with cash!

This is absolutely frustrating. I've gone through all the steps required, and I dislike this process immensely. Now I'm being charged a 40% surcharge—this is ridiculous. I decided to cancel my application, got into my car, and drove to the parking lot on the north side of South Street.     

Google Streets and Maps 

I noticed that there are significantly more cars in the north parking lot compared to the south lot. Is there a reason for this difference? What are the parking rules? When a restaurant's parking lot is full, it usually indicates something positive—good food, excellent service, and reasonable prices. Why didn't I consider this before deciding to park in the south lot? I'm not sure.

In the north parking lot, there is a charge card machine that resembles a small gray mailbox next to the shack, as can be seen in the picture. Once again, there was no attendant present in the shack. However, the process of paying for parking was much simpler. You just enter your license plate number into the machine, insert your credit card into the slot, and you're all set. I also noticed several cameras monitoring my every move. The signage in this lot was less intimidating than that in the south lot, as it did not threaten to pursue my children if I failed to pay.

I tucked my credit card back into my wallet, put my hands in my pockets, and assumed my usual defensive stance against the typical Indiana weather—with my neck buried under my collar. The wind was blowing, and it was cold. I pulled my head down into my coat to shield myself from the chill. I refer to this winter position as “not having a neck.”

The Slippery Noodle Inn - Meridian and South Street, Indianapolis. 

There it was, across the street. I’m going in and have lunch. I pulled on the door, but it didn’t open. A sign on the door: “The Door Sticks—Pull Hard.” 

You have to go back to 1850 when it all began. At that time, there was just a bar and a few chairs. While this photograph was taken in recent years, it shows the original size of the bar, which has been in operation for 174 years. The bar and back bar are made from Tiger Oak and are believed to be over 100 years old.

It’s common knowledge in Indianapolis that the Slippery Noodle has been around for a long time. It’s now known as a Blues Bar. Live Blues music every night. 

When the building was constructed, it was originally designed as a roadhouse named The Tremont House, featuring a bar downstairs and sleeping rooms upstairs. Over the years, the property changed hands multiple times and was renamed.

1885 - The Tremont House

1860 - Concordia House

1990 - Germania House - German Club 

1914 - Becks Saloon - Louis Beck 

1935 - Moore’s Beer Tavern - Walter Moore 

1940 - Boris’ Place - Boris Petercheff 

1962 - Boris’ Place - Emelia Finehout

1963 - The Slippery Noodle Inn - Harold and Lorean Yeagy 

2020 - The Slippery Noddle Inn - Son Hal Yeagy 

2023 -  The Slippery Noddle Inn - Jason Amonett & Sean Lothridge 

DUNCAN - AARON KOENIG - GEORGE BURCH - ROBERT (BOB) CHEEK 

As we settled into our seats, we asked Christian (our mid-twenties - male waiter) several questions about the place. First, he was extremely knowledgeable about the menu. And he had a couple of interesting stories. 

“What is the most ordered food item at the Noddle?” 

“Chicken wings, Pizza, Burgers. In that order.” 

Aaron ordered a bowl of chili, George ordered the Reuben, and I ordered the French onion soup and a triple club. Bob wasn’t hungry, so I offered him a quarter of my club. “Well, okay!”

We asked Christian to take our picture as he returned to our table. 

Christian was very helpful. “Over the years, the building has had an interesting cast of characters. Christian asked if we were aware that the place has ghosts?”

That comment caught Aaron’s attention.

Aaron: “Ghosts? What kind of Ghosts?” 

We all looked over at Aaron; the tone in Aaron’s voice expressed alarm, concern, fear, and speculation.

“Simmer down, Aaron. We've got you covered.” 

I encouraged Christian to tell us the story.  

There have apparently been multiple encounters, and it seems that the staff who work here are aware of “who” the ghosts are.

“Is there more than one ghost?”

"You will make your own decision after hearing the stories. There is a presence of someone who may have been a maintenance worker or caretaker, and it appears he lingers in the area. I've heard that he resides in the basement and is often seen wearing a pair of overalls. His name is George."

I looked at Aaron, and he was all ears.

“Have you (Christian) seen this “George?” 

“I’ve never been in the basement, but I’ve heard George stays down there. He apparently scares the delivery drivers who are supposed to bring the beer kegs and deliver them to the basement. One driver was told to put the beer in the basement, and when he flipped on the light, he found George right in front of him. He was shaken by the encounter and said he would never deliver to the Noodle again. I have no idea if George is really in the basement, but that’s what I’ve been told.” 

“Christian, would you go down in the basement?” 

“I don’t believe a person named ‘George’ is in the basement.” 

“You didn’t answer my question. Would you go down in the basement?”  

Christian smiled, hesitated, and asked, “You guys need anything?”  

“So, Christian, do you have any other ghost stories?” 

 

"Well, other ghosts are wandering around, including a sex worker who was killed while on duty. At least, that’s what I have been told. This place has also housed slaves seeking freedom as they came from the south, as well as a cowboy who lost his life after being stabbed over a 'Lady of the Evening.'"

"Is the cowboy walking around, or is the 'Lady of the Evening' taking a stroll?"

“I don’t know, I’m told it’s the cowboy?” 

“But you have not seen George or the cowboy?” 

“No, I have not personally seen the spirits.” 

Well, I didn’t realize it would be this much fun. By the way, they have several dining rooms separate from the original bar area. But you have to walk through the bar to get to the dining rooms in the back. I looked over at Aaron and warned him to be careful when leaving the building and don't bump into sex workers or cowboys. 

Aaron: “That’s not funny.”  

DUNCAN

LEAVING THE SLIPPERY NODDLE INN

LOOKING BACK AS WE WALK OUT THE DOOR

CLUB 54

CLUB 54 

By Duncan 

When I was a young and impetuous kid, it was considered common and normal—and I’m talking about New York City during my college days—to have dinner and lots of booze, finishing the night off with an all-night breakfast and eggs kind of place, about 4:00 in the morning. It was fun, exciting, and a way of life for me—it might have even been called a lifestyle. 

Speaking of an over-the-top lifestyle. CLUB 54 was located at 245 West 54th Street, New York City, hence the monitor “54.” I don’t want you to think that my dinner invitation the other night in sleepy mid-western Indianapolis was anything like the excitement of CLUB 54, New York City. That would be a stretch.    

However, as a member in good standing and a solid citizen of my HOA’s Rules and Regulations Board, I worry about what others might think of my late-night comings and goings. I have neighbors who might be looking out their windows and wondering, “Just look at him coming home at 3:30 in the morning. Despicable.”  

Yes, it was one of those nights. The evening started with pleasant conversation. A cocktail was offered, and a cocktail was received. A second libation before dinner? I weighed the moment, the company, the atmosphere. 

Well, sure, I’ll have another one. After all, I see the broasted chicken, the salad, and the vegetables being prepared. The food will fill my soul and allow the alcohol to gel with the nourishment, and I will be able to balance matter over mind. I’ve done it before, and I can certainly do it again. 

After all, the conversations are getting interesting. We have moved from complimenting the host on his beautiful home to politics to test the waters as to who is leaning which way. The more interesting topic of discussion is the relationship between a man and a woman. The more we drink, the more the testimony from the book of man and woman is laid bare on the table. 

Oh, my, this is going to be an interesting night. We have three unmarried men and one married man. The unmarried have lost their wives to death and or divorce, and they are back on the market looking for love, companionship, and sex. I was surprised at how candid this conversation was going to be. 

Although the men are looking, it becomes clear as the night progresses that they are not necessarily interested in long-term committed relations with another woman. We move to a table outside on the Veranda for dinner. The red wine is flowing. The broasted chicken is good, and the salad is acceptable. The conversation becomes unmediated to raw, and candid language has become the focus on the obvious. Women. 

The fly in the ointment is that they are comparing the world of women today with the world of their past wives. It’s becoming clear that they all have expectations. They have had relationships with one woman for 20-30 years, and the women they meet occasionally now are nowhere near what they have known in the past. 

The term “Baggage” appears in the conversation. I, of course, know where we are going with this epogram. One can only assume most women they meet have an agenda. It is strongly believed among the men attending our quaint dinner party that women are looking for a man to care for them. A woman will do anything the man wants until she catches him, and then she can return to her real self.

I hold my wine glass to my lips and hear one of the men say, “It’s been said that the bride walking down the aisle will say to herself, That’s the last BJ I will ever give.”  

I’ve heard that cliche before, and I assume that, in some cases, it is more than likely true.  

I remember when my mom passed, and my father was alone. I took him to church every Sunday, and he was happy to be in a place he loved and could talk with people he admired. 

I went to the church basement to get a coffee before the service. I noticed a big round table of older widowed women sitting together. There must have been eight of them. They all noticed me and, with a broad smile, asked me to join their table. 

“How’s George doing since Lucy passed.” 

I gave them a few obligatory words: “He’s doing pretty good right now.” I wasn’t sure what they wanted to hear. Maybe they wanted to hear that he was all torn to pieces and could barely function. He was grieving, couldn’t eat, and was losing weight. Who knows what a widow wants to hear about a husband after he loses his wife? Could they possibly want to hear that he misses her terribly? Could that message resonate back to their marriages? I felt like I was walking and talking to a minefield. 

I leaned into the group and decided to tread softly. Eight widows were living alone, and they might be interested in Dad as a companion. Yes, I was getting ready to play “Match Game.” So, I phrased my question delicately without being too obvious about my intentions. 

“So, tell me about yourselves, what do you all need or want after you lose your spouse?” 

“I sure don’t need to be waiting hand and foot over another man, picking up his dirty shorts off the floor and expecting me to wash and iron his clothes.” 

“I am never going back to being told what I can and can’t do again.” 

The rest of the women nodded in agreement with the outspoken women. The women who talked had a very sharp tongue and made no bones about how they felt. I was taken aback and almost shocked. These kind, older, good Christian church women had a real answer to relationships. I had no idea they would be this outspoken about relationships/marriage. I realized I needed to run for cover, so to speak. 

“So, tell me, help me, how should I expect my Dad to behave now that he is alone?”

“He will be fine, not to worry.” 

I sat back and watched the group talk among themselves. I had dodged a bullet. It was as if I weren’t there. I listened to them talk and drank my coffee. The more they talked, the more I became invisible, which was what I wanted to happen. I didn’t want to be caught trying to play Cupid. 

None of them were interested in another marriage or relationship. They had their dogs or cats and were satisfied with life as it was! Their relationship with a man was slammed shut. 

I was invited to this dinner by an old motorcycle pal of mine. We don’t see each other very often. He still rides, but I gave up the sport of motorcycling several years ago. 

He decided to invite me and several other men over for dinner. All were retired, some doing better financially than others, but most seemed to have “enough” to make it to the end of life. As the night continued, we had lots to discuss—old and current events. Among the chatter, a conversation started. The question was raised. 

If you were on a deserted island and could only have one thing on the island, would you want Books, Music, or Movies? 

“What about Television? What about women?” What about electricity? What about golf? It was restated that we were talking about a deserted island. The deserted island question became a moot point after dinner and a couple more adult beverages. So you can imagine the question on a deserted island faded into many other topics. 

And the main topic of conversion for the night was “women.” The lack of women and the lack of sex. I’m unaware of the “market or the demographics” for retired men. Or retired women, for that matter. I assume a retired man is looking for a “retired-aged woman.” Unless he is craving a “Trophy Wife.” 

The term “Baggage” came up again. Of course, there is zero “Baggage” among the men at this diner party. This group of men at my dinner party is perfect in every way. I was drinking, but I was still able to listen to reason. 

I asked if anyone was using a dating website. Only one admitted to using one. The general feeling was that it was a waste of time. The pictures of the women were years old, and most had gained a lot of weight, but they (the women) were still hopeful that they would find someone. 

The question of where you meet these women was asked. In other words, how much money are you spending trying to find a woman? It was disclosed that he (Number One) generally met women for lunch. But because of his disappointments, he now only meets for coffee. 

Another was going to single functions. Man Number Two went to his first singles function and was looking for the entrance to the event. An attractive woman exited her car and asked if he was lost. He told the nice lady that he was looking for the singles event. “Oh, I’m headed there myself. Come with me, and I will show you where the entrance is.” 

She stayed close to him the entire night. It made Number Two a little uncomfortable that she was so close during the entire evening. Finally, he was ready to leave and thanked her for showing him the entrance. There was a pause in the goodbye, and he asked if she would like to return to his place for a nightcap. 

She said she would love to. Of course, we were all ears to this story. “What happened then? What did she say?” 

“She came back to my place. And we talked for about an hour.” 

“Talked that’s all you did, was talk? You got a picture of her?” 

Reasonable facsimile. 

Number Two invited his newfound friend to another night out, and it was also a singles-sponsored function. Our Number Two started talking to an attractive woman sitting behind him. Our lovely that he brought to the event pulled him aside and said, 

“Hey, Buster, you’re with me, and I don’t want you hitting on my girlfriends.” 

Number Two informed us that the “freind” sitting behind his date accepted his invitation for a date that night.  

"All is fair in love and war" is often attributed to John Lyly's 1579 novel Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit, which includes the quote, "The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war."

I remember Frank Sinatra singing a song called “Luck Be a Lady Tonight.” If you have never heard the song and don’t know it, give it a listen, and you might figure out what I was thinking. 

The evening turned to early morning, and I got an earful. I haven’t had this much fun listening to grown men talk about women in a long time. And to think, I thought it was only me!