You've spent hours sweltering on the sidewalk, climbing on a chair, hopping on a table, jumping up and down. Daniels recently overhauled an English double-decker bus, and he says that given the right circumstances, he'll provide round-trip transportation for groups of fans. And now getting to Churchill's may be even easier than ever. "I don't like so much of the music, so I don't regulate it from that point of view," Daniels declares. Proprietor Dave Daniels says that after 40 years in the entertainment business, a lack of musical philosophy propels Churchill's. The Church offers laissez-faire rock (and drinking and partying) at its grittiest. None of which is revelation: Over the past five years, a period when there were other rock clubs around, the unpretentious spot in Little Haiti topped this category four times, with good reasons, including its huge selection of beers and bottom-of-the-barrel prices.
Virtually every local band is welcome to play at Churchill's, and most do. It's the place to catch surf-punk legends Agent Orange, experimental rock bands such as Melt Banana and Blonde Redhead, the balls-to-the-walls rock and roll of Nashville Pussy or the Belmont Playboys, the acoustic touch of Diane Ward, and the noise of Rat Bastard and the Laundry Room Squelchers (to name a few). But alas there is Churchill's, that dingy, down-to-earth, ultra-British multipurpose pub so often lauded here. The rock scene in Miami isn't exactly overwhelming. We breathed a sigh of relief and ordered another round. The 1800 Club was back in business like a hack reporter with a freshly sharpened pencil. Eventually basketball's moneyed players returned to their hardwood floors. Nonetheless patrons began to trickle back. Mixon made his deadline, but the NBA went on strike. Workers sandblasted 40-plus years of nicotine off the walls, instantly rendering the place twice as bright. They brought in Richard Mixon, who supervised a hurried overhaul in an attempt to reopen by November in time for basketball season and the clientele drawn to nearby Heat games. The Ader family, which has owned the bar since William Ader, Jr., built it in 1955, refused to walk away from the joint. By late spring the waitresses had mutinied and quit en masse. A year into their lease, the Cohens' questionable management, epitomized by the manager himself disappearing to Vegas for almost a month, took its toll. Long a favorite watering hole of scribblers, flatfoots, and politicos, the 1800 Club was a noir cave of a bar with all the comfort of a living room but half the light. It was a dark day in June when creditors and city regulators forced Ira Cohen and his son Danny to shutter the venerable 1800 Club.
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