They were a motley crew, these sawmill workers, loggers, farmers and factory workers who frequented a nondescript saloon in a small town in northeastern Pennsylvania in the 1950s. Their pursuit of love, riches and enough beer to get them over the edge led to some hilarious incidents witnessed and enjoyed by Johnny Sovich, the benevolent proprietor of The Club. There was Sammy Griney, a kewpie doll little man in pursuit of romance. There was Peg Cavanaugh, who walked tall among men and who had a couple of assets that kept them drooling. There was By God Harry Hollis, who could drink a quart of beer in less than a minute and keep doing it for three days straight. There was Rhymin’ Pete Williams, a poet laureate who never wrote anything that made any sense to anyone. There were Shake Keller and Ed Hooker, two ugly brutes with the dubious distinction of having never won a fight, ready to put their perfect records on the line. All were members of good standing in The Club.
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