At this writing I am at the Oasis bar, Menlo Park, California. As you know, I was fired here a year ago, but we are friends again. I have been put out of here a half a dozen times but they always let me back again, Cliff and Bernie, the bartenders.
I intended now to leave the Peninsula again for the mountains. I have been up there a lot of times but have gone broke. I even met a nice cop other night he was off duty. I was loaded in a bar. “Sharkey,” he said, “let me give you a free taxi ride home in my car.” “O.K.” I said, and this nice cop took me home.
Meanwhile my best old taxi customer got killed. He used to buy me gas, food and drinks to drive him around. The old guy kept me alive after some cops gave me a bad time asking me about my past. Was I ever in San Quentin prison? Questions like that. No, I was not, but I put on a boxing show for the prisoners at San Quentin in 1942, Fourth of July show. I got out after the show the same day.
Palo Alto, I’m long gone to the mountains, peace and quiet; no traffic bumper to bumper. Parkey Sharkey, who helped put Palo Alto on the map, is long gone.
Well, back to my best customer who got killed; he took care of me after I gave up my taxi permit for awhile. I would always drive him free. This night my best customer was killed, I was with him that night.
I had no car, it was broke down. So me and my old customer would walk around, or get a bottle or get loaded in his room. One night in his room we ran out of drinks. We decided to walk to a bar and get a bottle. When we got in the bar, we had a drink first. I said to my best customer whose name was Mac, “Let’s walk home.” I had no cab or car. If I had, he would never have got killed that night, as I always drove him home when he was loaded. He told me to go home to his apartment and wait for him. I did, and getting to his apartment, I had a phone call that old Mac had walked the wrong way home and crossed a dark street corner and a car came by and killed him.
It took me a long time to get over it, my best customer getting killed. We were the best of pals and when he would always buy me free beers, I would drive him in my taxi free.
Meanwhile, my wife got arrested in front of a Peninsula hotel we were living in for the time. I was in our room, my wife was screaming outside the hotel door. She had gone outside for some air. Three cops had a hold of her, she had been drinking, but not going anyplace.
All the cops had to do was put her back in the hotel, open the front door for her, but no, they handcuffed her and took her to jail. Swell guys! My wife got out the next morning with a ten dollar fine.
I keep trying and trying, I don’t know what the hell for, but one of these days I’ll get up to the mountains. Why I have drunk so much? I don’t know. I guess it’s just on account of having so many drinking customers, and I always have to get tight to put up with them.
About the San Francisco Peninsula, it’s a rat’s race now, all the towns grown into each other. People drive bumper to bumper to work. I really don’t know how they get there. There is no more old Palo Alto, they are tearing down all the old landmarks, churches and hotels for parking lots, to put meters on. Meanwhile the big E. Stanford shopping center next to Palo Alto has acres and acres of free parking. Park free all day; no parking tickets. How can Palo Alto compete with that?
Palo Alto, I’m long gone to the mountains, peace and quiet; no traffic bumper to bumper. Parkey Sharkey, who helped put Palo Alto on the map, is long gone. I would not go back even if they would give me a free taxi permit. I may come to visit to the Oasis Bar or the Gay Twenties in Menlo Park, California for a visit.
But meanwhile, old taxi of mine, let’s start up the mountains. If I get thirsty up there I’ll build a still.
This little book is an amazing piece of Californian history. Buy yourself a copy.

These excerpts from the book Whiskey Road by Parkey Sharkey are published by Powerless Press™ and Chapin & Wardwell Book Publishers.
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