The Gin was to Ole Miss what Rick’s Cafe American was to Casablanca. It was more than a cross roads or a meeting place where libations flowed and inhibitions fell. It was a place where ideas were debated, and pretty girls were woo’d; a place where music rattled the the walls of the old building just as hard as it rocked the souls of undergrads who were just discovering independence. The three tiers of seating offered tables providing great views of bands playing on the tiny stage. Tables overflowed with pitchers of beer, baskets of fried mushrooms and platters of fresh oysters. In the days before the smoking bans, the ceiling fans ensured a homogenized mix of cigarette smoke, perfume and cool, air conditioned air.

The Gin burned on March 6th, 2010. When I heard about the fire, even though I had not been there in nearly 20 years, it hit me hard. It was as if the Titanic had sunk or the Hindenburg had exploded. The Gin had burned. I didn’t even realize it had closed. How the hell does that happen? A bar close in Oxford? Really?

On more than one occasion, I may have been over-served at The Gin. My friends and I frequently sat drinking beer, talking politics, philosophy and poetry while falling in and out of love in the dim light and swirling smoke of a rowdy Friday night at The Gin. Conversations erupting with everyone from Willie Morris to Mose Allison broadened our horizons more than anyone could have anticipated. With the Tangents as the soundtrack, The Gin shaped our time in Oxford. The one universal truth that everyone can agree on some 40 years on is that we all knew that John Grisham was way too nice a guy to be a lawyer.

A night at The Gin was like a night at one of Gatsby’s parties. It was loud, and there was laughter. There were beautiful people with wonderful futures hiding behind gleaming smiles while drowning their fears and insecurities in cheap bourbon and cold beer. The eclectic mix of cars in the parking lots described a crowd that included debutantes and dilettantes, jocks, accounting majors , law students and poets. No matter where you sat, or who you sat with, you were guaranteed a good night.

It wasn’t a night at the Opera. It was a night at The Gin.

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Written by William Garner

8 Comments

cobb hammond

I have likely forgotten more memories in that wonderful edifice, than I would remember in any other bar. -And that’s saying a lot, because I’ve had my share of favorite watering holes over the years.

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Candy

Some of the best memories.. best was when locals came home for holidays and we would go straight to Gin to see everyone

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Greg Wright

I lived right across the street in the Hippie Hotel before it was so named with a continuous stream of students also visiting the Ice House and James Barr so they could ice down hot beer.

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Jeff Rawlings

Met my wife there while playing shuffleboard in the back room. A very special place

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