Drinking and Talking in a Quiet, Dark Place

"A plane is waiting, and I don't care."

—Journalist ordering a second cocktail.

Tucked deep in the corner of a shopping center on Woodman Avenue is a priceless, timeless lounge straight out of the days of Dick Van Dyke. The Chimney Sweep Lounge, 4354 Woodman Ave., has been in business in Sherman Oaks for over 30 years. It opened in 1964. It has had four owners. It has seen good and bad come and go. It smiles to the community everyday.

Ask for Stacy, if she is working that day. She has been there for nine years. She has a specific philosophy on bartending in Sherman Oaks. "Washington State Apple martini…." And then she moves to the shaker.

"It's about pouring cocktails." Stacy loves her job. She likes Abba and The Bee Gees. She likes Stevie Ray Vaughan. She loves the Sherman Oaks location and being the person who takes care of the people who walk in and ask for a drink.

"Diversity—Everyone Comes Here"

There is a reason this local bar has survived so many earthquakes and presidents over the decades. Earthquakes and presidents come and go. A good bar weathers all age.

Just look at the jukebox. Very good. Look at the décor. Classic. Look at your drink…. Sheddup and take a sip.

And look around at the clientele. These are people who show up early and get their day started with a screwdriver and a chat with their newspapers. Patron Silver makes the workday start with a shine of "Plata".

This bar lives for football season. It always has free food on holidays for those who come in. Being a Sherman Oaks staple, the entertainment types like to come in out of the harsh blue skies and 72-degree climate and sink into the comfy atmosphere.

There were two writer-producer types in a dark corner who I pushed myself upon a few weeks ago when I came into the bar and started asking questions. They told me the layout of the place is great for meetings and writing.

"No one bothers you here," one of them told me. "Free WIFI and snacks. It's not a coffee shop. Places like this are precious. They pay you to be family. The wage is appreciation."

I took that to heart. My photographer, Teresa, and I snuggled up into a corner and forgot about the writing job that we were here to do. We licked our cocktails and smiled, soaking in the ambience and the song "Change It" by Stevie Ray Vaughan that someone played on the jukebox. The bartender was rubbing a glass. The Hollywood geeks were taunting the Gods Of Creativity.

I was warm and appreciative that I had love and strength and fortune in America. My niche in life was here in Sherman Oaks. In a bar that my parents might have met in, if they lived here in California in the '60s when they were falling in love.

My driver walked in and reminded me that I had to leave and make a 1 p.m. flight out of Burbank Airport. I wrote down the first words of this article and ordered another drink.

"A plane is waiting, and I don't care."