Of the Blues and Marathons
40 Years Later, All Comers Still Welcome
By Steve Reynolds
“Automatic Slim” is the first name (among many) to be dropped in Willie Dixon’s classic 1959 composition Wang Dang Doodle, the cover version by Koko Taylor being the one most people come to know first. Dixon cited the title as lingo of the day for “havin’ a real good time.” Some rock historians note that the song may owe a nod of inspiration to an earlier tune in which the song’s colorful character list is coded reference for a lesbian rave up, but no sole orientation is required to enjoy the song.
Slim’s opened on October 9, 1986. Some long-tenured readers may recall that the real good time back then included the New York Mets, and what might be called the Massive Era of New York nightlife. Studio 54 had spawned the likes of the Tunnel, Limelight, Danceteria, and, of course, the Palladium. (The footprint was big enough for NYU to build a student athletic complex; insert your own irony here.) Today you’d have to be in a warehouse space to approach the scale of the spectacle, crowds, and shows then on display. Strange as it may seem now, these were established, (mostly) legal, licensed beacons of the New York night.
“We were a place to get away from monster clubs and doormen,” recalled Dave Zinsser recently, about Slim’s, the West Village locale he co-founded nearly 40 years ago.
Such was the quixotic nature of that moment that an establishment like Palladium, which needed to serve literally thousands of sweaty clubutantes every weekend, also maintained a team of typically large and/or aloof doormen, and some sort of intimidating “guest policy,” used in part to turn people away.
Zinsser and his partners were having none of that. “We took all comers,” was the door policy.
Inside, the bar was about three things: simple food, a not-too seriously-taken spirit, and the groove of the blues and soul, powered by some 150 cassette tapes—and what is a still-growing gallery of musicians. Several photographers with the same taste in music turned up in the early years, and still do: Bob Gruen, who lived nearby, contributed several of his musician portraits over the years. Slim’s also hosts works from Kate Simon and Gerald Malanga. Also, well-known and esoteric portraits of Muddy Waters, Howling Wolf, Marvin Gaye, Bob Marley, certain blues devotees from England, and a sprinkling of various punk icons adorn the walls in a continual rotation known only to Zinsser
The place has been both a hangout for locals as well as something of a secret haunt for more celebrated types. Just across from HB Studios, the bar has regularly welcomed writers, actors, and blues players of both literal and figurative talents. Zinsser remembers a night in 1987 when, around 3:30 a.m., Gruen brought Joe Strummer in for a nightcap.
“First thing he says is, ‘Got any Guiness?’ We didn’t. I’ve been bummed out about it ever since… We finally did get it in last month.” (Seeing Strummer come back for his pint might not be out of line, given the state of the other characters coming in and out at that hour.)
Forty years on, Slim’s sustained existence is notable given the withered state of New York’s nightlife. All the aforementioned clubs are gone, and there’s a wretched sameness of some that have arisen since COVID.
“It’s as if every place is running the same algorithm,” one long time denizen of Hudson Street lamented recently. “We may as well move to Cincinnati if every place is gonna close at 10 o’clock. (With no disrespect to the Queen City, Slims remains one of the few places in its part of the Village where you can still get a cheeseburger after 10 p.m.)
“We’re the opposite of an algorithm – we don’t predict anything!” said Manager and Chief Wang’er John Murphy. Murphy could be more aptly called a “host” in the traditional sense of a pub, in that his presence exudes a spirit of welcome.
Understanding all of this, it should perhaps have felt less startling to a couple of Slim’s habitues, when, on a recent bitter cold weeknight, a bundled-up platoon of figures began to troop in and, in the center of a 40 year old juke joint on the edge of town, unfazedly peeled off puffy jackets, woolen topcoats and various other outerwearings, to reveal about a dozen women in full-body running suits, high viz vests, and the latest footgear technology.
As John and Pedro, Tuesday’s barkeeps, were giving out hot teas, water, and an occasional hot toddy, the geezers, in some small astonishment, made inquiries. It seems that Slim’s is a gathering place of the Slow Girl Run Club, which uses the bar to muster up for its weekly evening group run along the Hudson. For a few minutes the bar is part trainer’s room, locker room, and coaching office.
The club was founded by Isabel DiGiovanni, a video editor with HBO, when she was training for the New York City Marathon in 2022. Why this moniker? She said, “I wanted to create an actual pace-inclusive club that runs together and would be non-intimidating…Many run clubs in NYC would say they were ‘pace-inclusive,’ but you’re actually running way faster than you expect, or you’re left in the dust.”
There must have been a demand for such an approach, as the club has accumulated some 3,000+ registered members. And how did you find your way to Slim’s? DiGiovanni laughed a bit and said, “We started out meeting at Pier 45, but we got hassled, as I didn’t have all the official permits. So we moved our start point to out front here (of Slim’s) …when the weather got cold, I asked if we could meet inside! I didn’t know what they’d say, but we’re very grateful!”
The juxtaposition of the group and the setting struck some patrons of Slim’s as incongruent initially, and then it didn’t. There is something distinctly harmonic about new arrivals to the city, in a club for “whatever kind of runner you want to be,” mingling in a long running public house, founded to take all comers. A New York kind of harmonics. A Wang Dang Doodle, even.
Automatic Slim’s
Bar & Restaurant Est. ‘86
733 Washington. St.
NY, NY 10014
automaticslimsnyc.com
