Pour and Tour

SHALACO'S
9001 Bird Road
Nowadays the most popular nightspot on Bird Road is a restaurant: La Carreta, which, on any given night boasts more patrons than any Bird Road haunt west of the Palmetto.

With the possible exception, that is, of Shalaco's, a Mexican-American dance club.

Entering Shalaco's, which was once a cog in the Big Daddy's liquor-store-and-lounge empire, is like embarking on a B-movie adventure. A narrow, shabby corridor leads to a heavy soundproof door, where you half-expect Peter Lorre to appear and demand the password before he lets you in. Shalaco's has preserved at least one important Big Daddy's tradition: It's darker than Mammoth Cave. If not for the light radiating from the CD jukebox or the wide-screen TV set, infrared goggles would be required in order to traverse the dance floor and the tight ring of tables at its periphery.

Picture this: The TV is tuned to Telemundo, which is running a cheap Mexican action movie (a bad girl tries to seduce a married man; he shoots her with his big pistola), but the audio is overwhelmed by Juan Luis Guerra and Grupo 440's "Burbujas de Amor." The clientele is predominantly male, and the few women who are present dance listlessly with a series of men beneath a mirrored disco ball. One of the women, a brunette with glossy red lipstick, a tight black micro-skirt, and stiletto heels that stretch her calves to the breaking point, looks barely old enough to buy her own drinks. She stares impassively into space as she wriggles halfheartedly with an overweight older man, her third partner in as many songs. Her skin is as smooth as polished marble, her eyes as hard as granite. When the song ends, she walks to the bar and waits for someone to light her cigarette.

She doesn't have to wait very long.

BERNARDO GARCIA-BRAKE & RIVERO FUNERAL HOMES
8215 & 7895 Bird Road
For those who believe rock is dead, the resting place of the Copa provides a handy illustration of the metaphor -- it's now the Rivero Funeral Home. And if one example isn't enough, the Big Daddy's down the block is now the Bernardo Garcia-Brake Funeral Home.

Ron Hoeben, co-owner of the retail music store Not Just Guitars, remembers the Copa when the customers were a little more lively. Hoeben played guitar at the club for more than eight years, as a member of house bands Joined Venture and Blue Mist. "Everything you can think of happened there," says Hoeben. "If you wanted to go somewhere and get laid for sure, that was the place. Sexually, it was pretty free. That's probably why people liked it so much. One night there was a guy dancing in the middle of the floor; the girl he was dancing with just unzipped his pants and started giving him head right there. Another time there was a lesbian couple in a corner table sucking each other's breasts. It wasn't like that every night, but it wasn't uncommon, either. If you were a band member and you couldn't get laid there, you couldn't get laid, period. Cost me my first marriage.

"That place killed me," Hoeben asserts. "Burned me out. Lots of other bands, too. Seven sets a night, 9:00 p.m. to 4:30 a.m. Nobody does that any more. The Copa was amazing because it was the same crowd, night after night, till 5:00 a.m. It was always kind of a mystery what these people had for day jobs."

DOUBLE PLAY PUB
7821 Bird Road
Nestled in the shade of the Tropicaire Flea Market, the Double Play (formerly Zeke's, and later the Silver Bullet) is a cozy, cluttered neighborhood sports bar that doesn't look big enough to contain the single pool table it's got, let alone host a live band. An electronic message board atop one of the two beer coolers announces a "...LINGERIE SHOW EVERY FRIDAY...ENJOY THE LADIES' COMPANY, WIN A PRIZE...." Ballgames are broadcast on all three TVs. The beaten linoleum floor has a thousand tears and cigarette burns, and many of the black drop-ceiling panels look as though they will buckle at any time. Better than 50 percent of the decor consists of Budweiser and Coors Light promotional materials; the only item that was probably not donated by a beer distributor is the giant stuffed-animal head mounted on the wall above the pool table.

The Foosball table and the Street Fighter II video game don't see nearly as much action as the pool table and the CD jukebox. Guns N' Roses and Tom Petty serenade a procession of mediocre eight-ball players, some of whom take their game far too seriously, considering their skill level. The sign that proclaims, "Only one person permitted in the bathroom at a time," seems unnecessary. For one thing, the Double Play is not the kind of place that's conducive to drug dealing or illicit sex in the restrooms. And besides, fitting one person into the cramped lavatory is a feat best left to contortionists.

"We played there," insists Ram centsn Corugedo, acknowledging the location's petite proportions. "It was called the Silver Bullet because it didn't have a name back then, just a neon Coors Light sign in the window. We had to move the pool table to play, it was so small. But it was great, we'd have all these rednecks trying to breakdance, spinning around on the floor."