My old friend’s grandfather tried to shut down the Roanoke!

An old high-school friend of mine, Jack Ferguson, wanted to meet for lunch the other day. He suggested we meet at the Roanoke Inn because that’s his favorite place on Mercer Island. Why? Because his grandfather tried to shut the place down in the 1950s. This is a true story, which he told me over beers.

His maternal grandfather, John Colcock, lived in a house on the waterfront near the Roanoke. Colcock was a teetotaler who opposed drinking alcohol, and didn’t like having a tavern so close to his house.

Jack and his parents, who then lived in Tacoma, used to visit the Colcocks when he was a young boy. “My grandfather in the 1950s always said: ‘We’ve got to get rid of that restaurant because there’s no reason to serve alcohol in this neighborhood,’” Ferguson told me.

Did his grandfather ever make any legal effort to close the Roanoke?

“I don’t think so,” Jack said. “He just talked about it a lot.”

Was his grandfather’s anti-alcohol attitude shared by the rest of the family?

“Oh, no,” Jack said. “My Mom and Dad often had a drink before dinner. They preferred McNaughton’s whiskey. Then Dad would read the newspaper while Mom did the dishes. I don’t think I ever saw Dad do the dishes.”

Good thing his grandfather didn’t succeed. Imagine Mercer Island without the Roanoke, established in 1914 and now almost everyone’s favorite spot on the island. “Where Friends Meet Friends” says the sign above the front door. The atmosphere is friendly, welcoming, comforting. It’s like the bar in the TV show “Cheers,” where everybody knows your name.

I was familiar with the Roanoke because when I first moved to Mercer Island in 1999, I lived right around the corner on North Mercer Way. I was single at the time and rented a tiny carriage house on the property of a larger waterfront home. I called it “the shackette,” and boasted that it was perhaps the smallest house on all of Mercer Island. But I could use the owners’ dock and kayak, and they were great landlords. Plus it was just a short walk from the Roanoke, where I probably had dinner at least three times a week. Okay, maybe a beer or two as well. Hey, I didn’t have to drive home. I could walk.

My residence there ended when a guy knocked on the door of my little house one day and said I would have to move out in a couple of months because he had bought the property and was going to demolish the place and build a brand new home. He was a fairly new MI resident who had just taken a job with a little company called Costco. His name: Richard Galanti, who retired recently as its chief financial officer. If I ever see him at the Roanoke, I’ll ask if he remembers evicting me.

But the Roanoke still holds a fond place in my memories. I had every one of their nightly dinner specials at least several times. The spaghetti was a favorite. And they had an English cream ale on tap, which I loved. The bartender knew my name.

A group of my friends once held a special gathering there, in the little oval back room behind the bar, to commemorate the death of Patrick O’Brian, author of the Aubrey-Maturin series of books that we all had read at least once. We went around the table and each read a favorite passage from one of his books. One member brought “spotted dog,” a classic pudding that is mentioned in the books. We toasted O’Brian and had several rounds of beers, as I recall.

Many Mercer Islanders can tell great stories of good times at the Roanoke. High school reunions, dinners with friends, drinks after sports events. Whenever I’m there, I often run into people I know.

When we finished lunch, I told Jack it was a good thing that his grandfather didn’t succeed in trying to shut the place down 80 years ago. He agreed, and we toasted his grandfather. After all, old friends are the best friends. Meet yours at the Roanoke. It’s where friends meet friends. Cheers!

John Hamer is a former Seattle Times editorial writer and columnist who has lived on Mercer Island for 25 years and goes to the Roanoke whenever he gets the chance.