Douglaston pub closes doors

Any time a business closes, there is a certain suffering in the neighborhood. But when the business is a local pub, feelings are even more intense - so it is in Douglaston.
On Sunday, March 25, “B.K. Sweeney’s Station Saloon,” formerly “F. Scott’s,” formerly “The Weeping Beech,” ended its more than 30-year run as the local Cheers-type bar, where everyone knows your name.
Tucked away on a 235th Street cul-de-sac, south of the Long Island Rail Road’s Douglaston Station, the place was hard to find. The locals liked it that way.
They had wedding receptions and baby showers in the back room. It was where you went after the wake. Many of the neighborhood kids got their first jobs there, as waiters or bartenders.
It had the look of a place that had been there forever, with wainscoting, an exposed brick wall and high tin ceiling. The bar was all carved mahogany, mirrors and brass, right down to the solid brass, antique cash register.
Originally named “The Weeping Beech,” after the stately tree in the plaza across the tracks, it opened in 1975. The only building across the street was the American Legion Hall, and relative seclusion made it a perfect spot for bikers and rock musicians, including Madonna, who rented a room nearby. It changed owners frequently over the years.
In 1992, “The Weeping Beech” changed hands again. The new owner, Danny Collins had been a gym teacher and coach at nearby J.H.S. 67 for ten years. After he retired from teaching, he got into the business, first as a manager, then a partner and finally an owner when he bought the business, because he loved it in Douglaston.
Collins changed the name to “F. Scott’s,” an homage to the novelist F. Scott Fitzgerald, and recognition that Douglaston was the inspiration for West Egg in “The Great Gatsby.” He added a baby grand piano and live jazz on Saturday nights.
As business slowed, Collins joined with the owners of a small chain of bar-restaurants in Nassau County, each some variant of “B.K. Sweeney’s.” Collins points to his age, declining business and a reported three burglaries as reasons for closing his doors.
“It was actually four,” he says, “they didn’t get anything that one time, so I didn’t report it.” Thieves broke in last Christmas night, and took the CD jukebox, two video game machines, and all the steaks. “When the cop asked why the gates weren’t down -the pub doesn’t have any - I knew it was time to go.”
On the last night of operation, Arnie, a burly construction worker sat next to Jay, who works for the State Department, remembering their head-on collision in Douglas Manor. It was with bicycles, when they were four. “It was all my fault,” Jay sighs, “I probably wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Life goes on.