Editor's note: This story is part of Southwest Michigan's Second Wave's On the Ground Kalamazoo series.

KALAMAZOO, MI — It was a unique time and place in Downtown Kalamazoo's history, where one could see R'n'B bands in the city's high-class Black club, buy a crazy punk rock record at the neighboring record store, and have a Goebel's and an “Al burger” among hipsters and working stiffs mingling at the "working man's saloon."

The ghosts of Mr. President's, Flipside Records, and Missias still haunt the intersection where Eleanor Street crosses North Burdick and the Kalamazoo Mall.  

The Institute of Public Scholarship's office is in the original space of the old Missias Tavern (before it moved to Eleanor), 313 N. Burdick. To acknowledge the past, and pay tribute to the ghosts, the IPS held a talk on "Remembering the Block: North Burdick Street," in December.

Missias Tavern ran from the 1930s to 1977 when it moved to 128 Eleanor. IPS Executive Director and Co-Founder Michelle Johnson has a personal connection with the old tavern — her godfather, John Mathews bartended there. IPS' other co-founder is Denise Miller.

CourtesyMichelle Johnson, CEO and co-founder of the Institute for Public ScholarshipStories of the past are important because of connections like that. "And those stories are really important to us, because we are in this space, and we always want to commemorate that space," Johnson says. The IPS' studios are adorned with photos of the neighborhood's past, "because we want to continue to use this space as an ongoing exhibit of the really rich history of this neighborhood," says Johnson.

The mission of IPS is "impactful, interdisciplinary collaborations that address complex societal challenges  and promote the well-being of Black and Brown communities." According to the IPS website, the organization is "dedicated to fostering just, restorative, and sustainable solutions through the integration of the Arts, Humanities, and Sciences." 

IPS plans to hold more talks on the history of Downtown. The next will be March 13, 6 pm, with Judy Sarkozy and Larry Bell on the beginnings of Sarkozy Bakery and Kalamazoo Brewing.

No standing on top of the bar

It was the dawn of the '90s when this writer visited Missias and Flipside often, and once stopped in Mr. President's. I came from a farm near Galesburg, was on the verge of graduating from Western Michigan University, and was about to begin a life as a freelance journalist. That area felt like what I imagined a big city should feel like: diverse, full of DIY culture, and dominated by a freewheeling spirit — or what Flipside owner Neil Juhl called "tomfoolery."

Tomfoolery was not allowed at Mr. President's, however.

Mark WedelSteve Jones ran Mr. President's with his uncle Fred Johnes.At the IPS event, Steve Jones spoke on how he ran Mr. Presidents with his uncle, Fred Jones. Fred opened the club in 1973, after running the Ambassador Lounge on Patterson Street since 1961. Through the '70s and '80s, the North Burdick urban nightclub was a popular spot for dining, dancing, and entertainment.

Steve Jones learned the tricks of the trade from elders who'd worked for decades in the nightclub business. "It was that professional — everybody had a bow tie, and a white shirt, and a black vest that tended bar, and people that were servers. So when you present that to people, they'll respond to it, acknowledge it, know what kind of place it is," he says.

Sometimes they had customers who'd say to themselves, "This is not my kind of place. There's nobody fighting. I can't stand on top of the bar," Jones says. "So those people would come in and say, 'No, this isn't my thing.'"

It was a different time. Jones told a story from his uncle: It was a nearly 24/7 kind of job for the Jones'. One night Fred forgot to lock the door when closing, and his alarm didn't go off the next morning. 

Fred got to the bar a couple of hours late, "and the bar was full." Third-shift customers "went in, turned the lights on, and some guy poured drinks, and they collected money.... At the time, that was their bar. Completely different time."

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public Scholarship IPS's Michelle Johnson and Steve Jones, talking about the history of Mr. Presidents.It was a time when segregation in the bars and food establishments — if maybe only self-segregation along with the results of redlining that kept the Northside separated from the rest of Kalamazoo — was prevalent. 

Morgan Pyne spoke up from the audience. He was in bands from the Food Band in the '70 to Duke and the Loose Cannons now.

Around 1973 he and his friends wanted to see the bands that played at Mr. Presidents. He wondered, "You think they'll let me in there?" Pyne says, to the audience's laughter. "And they said, 'Yeah, they might, you know, if you behave yourselves.'"

"So I wanted to just say that it was a very welcoming place. I always felt that everybody was cool. And my poor, white, skinny ass — it was skinny at that time --" big laughs from the audience — "and I'm still white. But it was just a wonderful place to go and a very comfortable place to be," Pyne says.

Jones says again, "It was a different time." Many nights around 1 a.m. "we'd have a couple detectives show up... They'd come in to see if there were people that were drunk, if you had people who were underage. And they would come back after 2 o'clock to see if you had drinks on the bar."

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public ScholarshipSeveral people gathered for an IPS-sponsored talk on the unique history of a downtown business corner.With their liquor license at stake, Mr. Presidents had to make sure excessive drunkenness was kept out of the club, Jones says.

"There was a segment of people in the white community that would get some drinks someplace else and say, 'Let's go down to Mr. Presidents,' sometimes being drunk. And we would never make anybody drunk. We'd cut people off just because of the liability of it," he says.

"And there were times when we didn't let people in, and they took offense to it, that it was racial. And that was never the case. But we never let people in that had been drinking excessively just because of liability. Any business like that, your first rule of thumb is protect yourself."

Pyne replies, "You were also very tolerant of me, and I was surely drinking just the minimum because I didn't have any money in 1973."

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public ScholarshipSteve Jones of Mr. President's speaks with IPS's Michelle JohnsonJones spoke further on the stresses of running a bar but says there were also benefits and a feeling of pride.

"One of the things that I'm very proud to say is that I trained a lot of bartenders and trained a lot of servers that were able and happy when they were to go on and work someplace else," he says.

"We gave a lot of people their first job and taught them how to be professionals. So when they left there, they could work anywhere. And that was very gratifying to be able to do that. Because a lot of those people, especially People of Color that at that time, they wouldn't have got an opportunity to work anyplace else," he says.

Jones also looks back fondly at "the relationships that we had with customers that depended on us and needed a shoulder to cry on, all the people that went through challenges in their life that we were there for, not just as a bar, but as a friend."

Hands Across Eleanor

"Set the Wayback Machine for 1977," Neil Juhl says.

Then he was a Michigan State student who loved records and the record stores of East Lansing. 

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public ScholarshipMichelle Johnson, co-founder and ED of Institute of Public Scholarship, speaks with Neil Juhl, former owner of Flipside Records.He was spending a lot of money at Flat Black and Circular, and thinking, "This college thing's not working out so good for me." So he spent more money buying up friends' and thrift shops' old records and got into the business.

Juhl left for Kalamazoo to open Flipside Records as a used record store on the Kalamazoo Mall, near Eleanor, where the Kalamazoo Valley Museum is now.

He had an old "chi-ching" mechanical cash register, no bathroom, one sink that, he admitted, he used as his bathroom, and bins of old records.

Flipside expanded into the neighboring storefront by knocking out a wall and adding clothing and other items. Since customers kept asking for newer releases, Juhl started selling new records. 

"The '80s were a period of growth and getting to the place where we were a mature record store," he says.

Across from his store, on Eleanor, was Missias, a "Working Mans' Saloon," its sign read.

In 1986, "one night, we were probably really loaded, we were over at the bar," with Al the bartender discussing Hands Across America, a national charity effort that attempted to make a human chain across the country.

Mark WedelMatthew Sahlgren, a former Flipside clerk, in his 1992 Hands Across Eleanor shirt."It was a big, corny deal," Juhl says. 

What the neighborhood needed was a similarly unifying event, "Hands Across Eleanor." So they began to organize.

They had a pig roast, music from Missias' jukebox — filled with a variety of oldies and new records by Flipside — and "a lot of tomfoolery. And we actually did hold hands, and went through the bar all the way across to the record store."

The event turned into an annual block party that ran for nine years, even after Flipside moved across Eleanor to the building near Missias, and had no need for a show of unity connecting the blocks. 

Juhl remembers someone riding a donkey around during one Hands event — or maybe that was some other event, he's not sure.

But he has a lot of other memories, such as of boxer Leon Spinks, during his time with the Kalamazoo Boxing Academy. "He spent a lot of money. And I can remember him eating a big sandwich and looking through records, and just food going everywhere."

During the late '80s and on into the '90s, the store hosted many in-store promotional visits from touring acts: the Fat Boys, Henry Rollins, Flaming Lips, Fishbone. (See The Flaming Lips playing inside Flipside, 1994.)

Flipside's last location had "everything you couldn't get at the mall. We were alternative rock. We had a deep jazz catalog, blues, world beat, and yeah, lots of hip hop."

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public ScholarshipAn old 'artifact' from Flipside RecordsJuhl brought artifacts for his talk. One, a Sun Ra coffee mug, showed how the store had everything for the unique music lover, even coffee cups dedicated to Afrofuturist experimental jazz musicians.

Flipside closed in 2001. "It was just time to close. It was 24 years, a lot of goodness," Juhl says.

Juhl had decided to get back on track with his original Michigan State career path, as an educator. A couple of decades ago he went to work as a school paraprofessional, met his current wife and daughter, and is now retired. "So, happy ending, no regrets." 

Old Hippies, hipsters, and working men

In 1977, Downtown Kalamazoo "was kind of a wasteland when I got here," Juhl says. "And to see where it is now with all the entertainment and eateries and wonderful stores, it's real gratifying. Love what we're doing here. Just love it."

But at the end of the last century, the old neighborhood had a lot of life and a certain different kind of vibe.

"Well, with the Rickman House being down there, that would make things really interesting with Uncle Sam and a lot of the characters that lived there," Juhl says.

Who's Uncle Sam?

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public ScholarshipT-shirts mementos of Hands Across Eleanor"He was a Rickman House guy. Carried a flag, had a white beard, and he had the little Uncle Sam thing. And he'd also cross-dress, too."

The Rickman House has long been a home for people who may have been institutionalized decades before. Some residents may have dressed differently — like in full Uncle Sam attire. Though they may have scared away more sensitive potential customers, Rickman residents — to the shop owners of the area — were part of the neighborhood. 

From the audience, Judy Sarkozy tells of seeing an impromptu parade with Uncle Sam and KPS officers march by her old bakery.  

"The cops, the bike cops, were always wonderful," she says.

"So Uncle Sam was going to parade down the sidewalk. And the two cops followed, marching along with Uncle Sam. And as they went by me, (cops ordered) 'Eyes right!' And there was a salute to him. It was great."

Erica Smith, Marketing Director, Institute for Public ScholarshipAn old t-shirt from Hands Across Eleanor event in 1991Juhl says that Rickman residents reported break-ins at his store, and kept watch over the neighborhood. "So that was just value-added, from my experience down here."

After the talk, Sarkozy tells Second Wave, "I saw it as the tail end of the '60s." Sarkozy was in college in the 1960s; "I was in the( Students for a Democratic Society).... I think we were lucky to have all of that turmoil and discussion. Agonizing and pushing," she says.

"I think it really affected all of us when we got into it and started businesses... You had to have the hippies and the weirdos to have this neighborhood."

Juhl adds, "Nobody else would go near it."

"That's right!" Sarkozy says. "They told me you can't do a business north of Michigan Avenue... We were from Detroit. We said, 'What? This is dangerous?'"

Weird records and bread baked by a former hippie guided the atmosphere of the area. With Flipside bringing alternative music fans to the neighborhood and hosting block parties with Missias, soon the bar began attracting '90s hipsters and hosting bands. 

"It turned from just kind of a working stiff bar to kind of a hipster place," Juhl says during his talk. "It was always a working man's saloon, even when it was being transitioned into a hipster place. The two worlds were perfect together."

(See "Land of Lincoln," an early-90s music video by Kalamazoo's The Sleestacks, for a time-capsule look inside the hipster/working man's world of Missias.)

Courtesy, Kalamazoo Public Library1990 photo of Missias from the Kalamazoo Public Library local history department. Bartender Al Yucker (left) with unknown patrons.The IPS couldn't reach Al the bartender — Allen Yucker, who tended bar at Missias — for him to talk about the saloon. We found his memories in a 2012 post from Facebook group Vanished Kalamazoo. 

He wrote that he ran the bar for his stepfather Nick Missias for 17 years. Nick's father Steve Missias opened his first business in 1921, where the first Sarkozy's bakery was (destroyed by fire in 2012).  

Since it was Prohibition times in 1921, it's unclear if it was an illegal speakeasy or a non-alcohol joint. Then Missias Tavern opened in 1931 at 313 North Burdick, the current home of the IPS.

"Synonymous with Missais was our great neighbor Flipside Records, and Neil (Juhl), greatest music man alive," Yucker wrote on Facebook. 
 
Sarkozy says at the talk, "It was a wonderful block. I mean, it was... I had plenty of customers who wouldn't come there. But it was really quite a wonderful place. The ones that did come were exceptionally wonderful."