For another thing, there’s one big, long, healthy year left in the current space. Anyone who has taken advantage of the scads of free programming there of late can attest to the Milky’s enduring freshness. Increased patronage now ensures a stronger start at the new space —which will sport an outdoor patio around the base of the colossal Haffenreffer smokestack.
After all is said and done, moreover, the main difference here is the candlepin bowling, and, frankly, none of you was very good at it anyhow. I’ve watched you. Our city may be shedding seven lanes, but we can take solace in knowing that we’re not smothering many rising welterweight candlepin stars in the process.
But one of the elements that makes news of this sort-of-closing announcement sting so much is the ease with which one could get all personal with the club. I have a year’s worth of Mary-oke to thank for the refining of my now-sterling version of “Kissing a Fool.” It’s the place where I once hugged the World Series Trophy, where I bowled my first candlepin strike, where I ripped my first pair of pants dancing. It’s where the Goodridges had the reception after gay marriage was legalized. It’s where Mango’s Latin Dance Party lived. It’s where countless community meetings, work parties, first dates, final shows, auspicious debuts, and absolute trainwrecks have taken place. If the Milky Way’s digs can never be replicated, there’s a good chance that its spirit can.
“We’ve always been a gathering space for everyone in the community,” says a bummed but ungloomy Downs, “and we’ll continue to be. You’ve got to stay tough-minded, resilient, and 100 percent dedicated to your mission and concept to survive — and that’s what we’re doing.
