Last mission to repair the Hubble telescope
Fifty years ago, they were screwed-up kids sent to the Florida School for Boys to be straightened out. But now they are screwed-up men, scarred by the whippings they endured. Read the story and see a video and portrait gallery.
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By NICK MARGIASSO
Published February 4, 2005
Autumn Cruz/tbt*
A bright spot — literally and figuratively — at The Hub is the fairly decent jukebox.
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Vitals: This singularly functional watering hole is open Monday through Saturday, 10 a.m. to 3 a.m., and opens a bit later on Sunday (1 p.m.) while still closing at 3, the magic number. For those keeping score at home, that's a possible 17 hours of uninterrupted chances to pound 'em like a heavyweight, which you better be to hang with this crowd. Park at your own risk on the downtown streets. There's never a cover at 719 N Franklin St., and you can reach the bar at (813) 229-1553.
Writing on the wall: When the most entertaining thing your bar has going for it is scribbling words on a wall while relieving yourself, good times are not abounding. The Hub's bathrooms, which might be cleaner than the rest of the joint, have some real philosophical zingers -- "Love is more strong than you think" and a pre-revolution diss "Your momma was a white colonialist" -- that make unburdening yourself of that Pabst sixer even more revelatory.
Hipster hangover: The Hub has mysteriously garnered a reputation as the Mecca of bars amongst Tampa's "cool kids" -- that is to say the group of late 20s, early 30-something hardcore hangers-on and post-punks that make this the hub (pun intended) of their slipping scene. Needless to say, if you've ever ironed creases in your khakis or think chain smoking is "stinky," you may have a better time drinking at the DMV.
Beer bore: For being attached to a liquor store there certainly isn't an array of sultry suds to indulge in at the Hub. The beers on draft are similar to any Valrico hole-in-the-wall, and any ideas of a nice selection of Irish and English ales should be checked at the neon-lit bar.
Food for thought: This place should be commended for resisting the temptation to serve food. Call me crazy, but dirty-checkered floors and a haze of stale smoke doesn't scream spinach wrap.
Pinball wizard: Aside from the oddly busy pinball machine, one video game and a fairly decent jukebox, the Hub is just ashy tabletops and partially padded chairs. So, here's to drinkin' out the bottle, then.
Go or no?: Unless you fall into the aforementioned category of "scenesters," you probably ask for something from your bar other than smelling like Joe Camel's personal hamper or shying from things like light and sociability.
[Last modified February 3, 2005, 14:35:55]
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