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I’ve never been a “joiner” or a club person, and after observing recent pyrotechnics at the Elks Lodge on Pine Street, I am reminded why.
If you missed the story—broken in Auburn’s daily newspaper—the Elks have been embroiled in a dust-up with the City over improvements to the club’s half-paved, half-gravel parking lot. If reports are to be trusted, the Lodge has been quietly making improvements to its grounds—sans necessary permits—and someone ratted to the City.
With the goal of reining the Elks into compliance, the City informed
the club that expanding the parking lot would require installation of
an expensive sidewalk, curb and gutter as well as acquisition of proper
permits. Outraged at the estimated costs associated with an approved
project, one Elks member was quoted in a published report as saying,
“If somebody’s got a piece of land big enough for us, let us know and
we’ll move.”
This statement ignited a very entertaining series of dueling letters to
the editor of Auburn’s daily newspaper, precipitated by an initial
salvo fired over the bow of the USS Elks by a correspondent who
characterized the club as a watering hole for good old boys. He
suggested that the Elks not let the door hit them in the ass on the way
out of town.
Elks club members retaliated instantly by unleashing broadsides of
their own, using words such as “stupidity” and “illiterate” to describe
the writer, with one combatant suggesting “. . . but you will just have
to take another Prozac or those who are progressive and more tolerant
will just have to pack your bags and hit the road.”
In the same inflammatory breath, this letter to the Auburn Journal
outlined the mission statement of the Elks Lodge: “To inculcate the
principles of charity, justice, brotherly love and fidelity; to
recognize a belief in God; to promote the welfare and enhance the
happiness of its members; to quicken the spirit of American patriotism;
to cultivate good fellowship; to perpetuate itself as a fraternal
organization. Elks will serve the people and communities through
benevolent programs, demonstrating that Elks care and Elks share.”
It is so refreshing to see people actively walk the talk, isn’t it? My spirit is all quickened, indeed.
In fact, nearly every fraternal, service or social club in Auburn—from
Rotary to the Lions to the Masonic Temple to the Odd Fellows—has a
proscribed higher purpose at its core, though at the end of the day,
the basic raison d’etre of each is to uniformly enjoy social encounters
and promote local business opportunities. And, oh yeah, every once in a
while members have been observed hoisting a tall frosty or two.
There is one organization in town, however, for which I have unbounded
admiration because it does not pretend any lofty, socially conscious
purpose. The Tahoe Club, housed in a magnificent Spanish revival
structure at the corner of Lincoln Way and East Placer, exists solely
as a hideaway for its membership. It is an intimate refuge where its
members are invited to escape reality and sip on very modestly priced
high balls.
Founded in 1907, the Tahoe Club does no fund raising and it sponsors no
pet projects, nor is the word “benevolent” encountered with any
frequency. For one key reason that I will not illuminate here, the
Tahoe Club shuns the limelight and seeks no publicity. Members quietly
revel in their obscurity and pretty much just do their own thing ...
play cards, gossip and chill at the bar, like-minded people enjoying
their own company.
A very private club, seeking membership can be tricky. The first time
you are invited upstairs, you are termed a “guest.” On your second
visit, you are viewed as a “friend.” A third visit won’t happen unless
you are approved to become a “member.” Make the mistake of wearing a
hat into the joint and house rules require that you purchase libations
all around.
Several years ago, I was proposed for membership by Tahoe Club
President Dick Brooks and my California Club neighbor and former Auburn
mayor, Hank Gonzales. Much to my amazement, I was accepted and at 52, I
believe I was one of the youngest members of the group.
I love the Tahoe Club’s interior spaces that can best be described as
real-time retro. Mount the stairs and you are transported back to the
50s. Two sides of the main room are graced with tall windows that lead
out to a balcony for awesome viewing of events like the Black &
White Ball and the Festival of Lights Parade.
A vintage pool table dominates the space, but it can be rolled away to
make room for dancing on the maple hardwood floor, with a disco ball
hanging overhead. The bar is in the back on the left, and it’s not
unusual to hear dice being slammed on its surface. Comfortable chairs
and card tables fill the back and a few old school pin-ups grace the
walls, along with a plaque listing current members (which you need to
check every visit to see who has died recently).
Though I really enjoyed the monthly dinners (prepared by members in a
downstairs commercial kitchen) and just hanging out, I lasted but a
single year. We all agreed that I wasn’t a very good fit.
I doubt that I’ll be joining any other club soon because I subscribe to
the philosophy of Groucho Marx. The irrepressible, mustachioed,
vaudeville-era comedian—cigar in hand and massive eyebrows raised—had
it right when tendering his resignation to a social organization: “I
would not join any club that would accept someone like me for a
member.”
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Gary Moffat is a journalist and co-owner of Carpe Vino in Old Town
Auburn. Read his other work at www.onlyinauburn.com and
www.carpevinoauburn.com .
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