The Freemason Lodge that Serves Liquor and Culture

Tucked away on the east side of Portland on Stark Street you will find a small strip of businesses. One of the buildings occupying this block is a split level bar known as the Goodfoot (a James Brown reference no doubt). Upstairs you find a pool hall with classic pinball machines in the corner. After 8pm each evening the downstairs will open all days of the week, hosting local musical acts in a basement atmosphere, where the candlelight dances on the tables and the blue-lit bar serves drinks throughout the performances.

For me, Portland is a city of transformation. Bars with music acts alone are all well and good, but the unique aspect of the Goodfoot is its Last Thursdays, where local artists display their works around the red felt tables that stand on hardwood floors once the domain of an old Freemason Lodge. Still today the faint markings of the t-cross and sextant can be seen on these floors, the symbol of the Masons.

After a couple of pints, and tilting one of the pinball machines, I settle into a corner booth on the upper level to purvey a scene of locals that drift in between the pool players, drinks in hand, eyeing the paintings hung on the walls that surround the pool room.

A variety of people live in this neighborhood, many appear to be local. The First Thursday crowd of the modern Pearl District are nowhere to be seen. I find myself asking, is this a place where art imitates life, or life imitates the art? Music from a bass guitar riff rumbles against the wood floor as the band takes the stage below. In a bar full of people, I am left alone in my corner, at yet with no one at my table, I feel oddly at home. The Goodfoot represents all that is wonderful about Portland. This place doesn’t simply want to just cater alcohol to its customers; it offers a voice in Southeast Portland. Part art gallery, part social gathering place, part musical display.

The Goodfoot has its own personality. In my booth I hear its voice asking me, “What do you have to contribute?” And my response, is nothing more than to take a mental snapshot of a new breed of bar, and reply back with, “Do you think I have it in my soul to become a new breed of man?” The answer returned is silence intermixed with the sounds of cue balls, clinking glasses, and snare drums from below.

You Never Forget Your First...

Barely out of college but living on my own, a good friend of mine called me up one day and asked me to meet him at the restaurant down by Union Station. Up until this time in all my years in Portland, I had not once set foot near that train station, let alone the restaurant that was located within it.

The minute I was walked in I knew there was something different about this place: red high-back chairs in lounge, a large dining area filled with people who looked as old as my grandparents, and a lounge-singer playing piano beside the bar. The performer was a musician by the name of John Gilmore. It wasn't too long after our initial visit that he would join us for a drink each night, recounting tales about his father who produced many of Frank Sinatra’s hits when at Columbia records, his experience at meeting the Chairman of the Board himself while at UCLA, gigs he played, commercials you might recognize him from, and generally being an overall generous host. An outstanding artist in his own right, John still takes any and all requests from the audience; from the Rat Pack to Lionel Richie.

For the next couple of years we spent our time at Wilf's as regulars. Our Manhattans would be waiting for us as we arrived every Friday, John would take our requests, and in those times we lived on top of our world. Times have changed for us since then, some friends have come and gone... and however soul-crushingly sentimental this may be - those days of good friends, cigarettes, Maker's Mark and The Chairman's 'Wave' are mine...to my final round.

Founder Wilf Nofield established the restaurant in 1975, and today his three daughters (Adele, Candace and JoAnne, who all manage the restaurant) preserve his legacy.