Friends remember Hinckle — bar by bar
Cookie Picetti’s Star Buffet, Paddy Nolan’s Dovre Club, Morty’s, the Templebar, the Washington Square Bar & Grill, the M&M and Hanno’s. Gone are most of the San Francisco joints where Warren Hinckle practiced his daily journalism.
But there is still Gino and Carlo and there is still Specs’ and there are still survivors on barstools right now hoping to have their heads turned by the big man in the eye patch and necktie standing at the door.
“Hinckle took me to about 20 bars we never went back to,” said Publisher Ron Turner. “People greeted him like he was Patton returning from war in every one.”
Bars are for stories, and here are a few about Hinckle, the only writer who could get away with calling this town “Frisco.”
George Miller, retired mutual fund manager
“I first met Warren Hinckle on a Friday at the House of Shields. I went in to have lunch, and there was a place at the end of the bar, with an overcoat and a briefcase on it. I picked it up and put it on the table behind me. Warren comes out of the bathroom and says, ‘Somebody stole my stuff.’ I said, ‘It’s right there on the table.’ Then I ordered an adult beverage and introduced myself to Warren. That lunch ran until 8 at night and ended at a Thai restaurant on 12th Street. After that, we had lunch every Friday for many years.”
Jeannette Etheredge, former owner of Tosca Cafe
“It was Columbus Day and the parade came up Columbus Avenue from downtown and right by Tosca. Hinckle and Bentley (his basset hound) came to the bar, and I was not open. He pounded on the door until I came out. He said, ‘Let’s open the bar.’ I said, ‘Who will tend bar?’ He said, ‘You and me.’ We opened, and people were coming in. Neither one of us knew what we were doing, and Bentley was running around between us behind the bar. We ran the bar until the parade was over and tallied up the tips. Then we went out and spent all the tip money in every bar in North Beach.”
Tony Dingman, writer
“Warren and me and Francis Coppola and Frank Maniscalco, a bartender from Gino and Carlo, flew up to Tahoe in a private plane, spur of the moment. We were there overnight. Francis had paid for the rooms and the flights and all of that. As we checked out, the hotel clerk said, ‘Mr. Hinckle, the little refrigerator, all the bottles are gone.’ Warren never tried to cadge drinks. He was just oblivious to the fact that they might not be free.”
Carl Nolte, Chronicle reporter
“At USF, Warren was the editor of the Foghorn. He couldn’t get anybody to work the killer hours Warren put in himself. He was trying to put out a four-day-a-week paper and there was never enough news for Warren Hinckle. So he made his own news. It was strongly suspected that he and his pals set the wooden parking shack on fire. The next day the Foghorn had an Extra!: A headline all in capital letters — ARSON.”
Linda Corso, partner
“Warren and I spent the last 19½ years of his life together. We had four TVs in our apartment and when I came home from work he had each TV on a different news channel and would wander from room to room comparing the views of each newscaster and telling me who was right and who had their head up their ass.”
Frank Rossi, retired owner of Gino and Carlo
“Thirty years ago, we went up to Reno on a train and stayed overnight. The train back was supposed to leave at 10 the next morning. Warren and Paddy Nolan of the Dovre Club missed the train and took a cab back from Reno. They took it straight to Gino and Carlo. Warren and Paddy came in the front door and ran out the back. The driver comes in to get his money, about $700, and there is no Warren and no Paddy Nolan. Ten minutes later they came back in. They apologized and said they’d take him to the Mitchell Brothers. This guy couldn’t wait. He slept in his cab in the back of Gino and Carlo that night because he was too drunk to get back. They tortured him, but they finally paid him.”
Michael Stepanian, attorney
“A bunch of us went down to Stars (the fabled former eatery owned by Jeremiah Tower). Hunter Thompson demanded a salmon fillet, but didn’t
feel the kind of sauce he wanted. Jeremiah Tower came out from the kitchen. Hunter challenged Jeremiah for a sauce that was sweet, sour, bitter and hot. “No problem,” said Jeremiah. Twenty minutes later he returned with a perfectly poached salmon and 10 ramekins full of exotic sauces. Hunter and Hinckle toasted and high-fived Jeremiah. Hinckle got a steak for the hound. We tipped over bottles, knocked down chairs, stained tablecloths, and laughed all the way home.”