01/26/2023
(Story by Neesy Tompkins)
Under a big Texas Sky and a waxing moon in Sagittarius, Shorty's, in preparation of being moved.
It is moving, emotionally, just to look at it now. An old iconic legend where new concrete parking lots have surrounded and replaced old oyster shells, and newer buildings with shiny paint have crowded near this old bar and her crumbling exterior, the antiquity of pilings used as a foundation.
It is moving, emotionally, just looking at it and the memories it houses. Old dusty baseball caps, signed by their owners and left to adorn the ceiling. A memory in time. But, it is Ms. Rose whose memory sits on that last bar stool at the end, with her twinkling blue eyes; her old pig collection in memory of all those pig parties. Those warped creaky wood floors can never be replaced, nor the view from the ladies room facing the harbor at sunset, or the old fashioned jukebox with Larry Joe Taylor singing his Texas Coastal music.
Like a story fresh out of a Faulkner novel, this Rose, our Ms. Rose, maintained the family business the duration of her life even as the face of Port Aransas changed all around her, this old building inherited from her Mom. But nothing can ever replace all the memories contained within these saturated walls.
Pretty sure there's probably some long lost wedding rings and old coins, maybe even a bullet or two underneath that building.
Old timers tell of a time when gambling was frequent there, and when the ferry boat captain would call to warn of incoming coppers, the money quickly thrown into old wooden coca cola 12 pack cases and moved out the door.
If these walls could talk, the story they would tell. An end of an era. Edwin Myers is now the owner of Shorty’s and while still unclear as to why Shorty’s is being moved, one thing is for sure - the flats will never be the same. To care enough about old historic buildings and this old bar, keeping the building alive, in this time in Port Aransas is a rare thing. Hopefully, onward to a new location that will prosper, though uprooted, for another 100 years.
For now, a waxing moon symbolizing the end of things, shining her glow upon what might be Shorty's last night at this home of hers for so many years, twinkling like the eyes of Ms. Rose, as if she is still here, watching over her old bar. Man, if these walls could talk......