In my 32 years in San Francisco, I have witnessed only two demonstrable miracles. The first was the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. I mean, if you are God, have a natural disaster in the queue and still want to minimize casualties, what do you do? You start the shaking five minutes before the first pitch of a World Series between the two Bay Area Major League teams.
   

The other act of divine intervention took place in North Beach, aptly under the shadow of the towers of Saints Peter and Paul Church. It was the 2002 decision by restaurateur Guy Ferri to return the restaurant on Powell between Filbert and Union that he had redone and named the Cobalt Tavern, to its once and future glory as the Washington Square Bar & Grill. Sadly, it seems even miracles have expiration dates. Last Thursday the always-hopeful Ferri shut the place down, declared bankruptcy, and a fair number of us find ourselves again confronting a universe that seems to want to sweep away the good, the true, the authentic.
   

In both its 1972-2000 and 2002-2008 iterations, the Washington Square Bar & Grill was arguably the best saloon in the world. You could look it up: From an anthropological viewpoint, it was a beloved San Francisco institution with the nicknames to prove it. It was called “the Washington Square Bar & Grill,” “WSB&G,” “the Square,” as writer Ron Fimrite insisted was its according-to-Hoyle name in his wondrous book by the same name, and “the Washbag,” as Herb Caen discordantly and conclusively named it. It was even, after an evening of heavy imbibing, simply “the ‘Bag.”
   

The WSB&G was fronted by hall-of-fame bartenders. There were heavyweights like Neil Riofsky, Bobby McCambridge and Michael McCourt. McCourt was Limerick, Ireland’s gift to hospitality, who shared with his brother Frank, author of Angela’s Ashes, a literary bent that added mightily to behind-the-bar erudition. In the music department, the bar hosted jazz greats including Stan Getz, Al Cohn, Michael Lipskin, Mike Greensill, and many others. The Square was a place where you would find yourself at a table next to Tom Brokaw, Walter Cronkheit, David Halberstam, Mario Cuomo, Phil Jackson, or Walter Mondale. The WSB&G was also the election-night gathering spot of choice for several generations of San Francisco democrats. It came naturally – WSB&G’s longtime manager, Lynn Kennedy, is Dianne Feinstein’s sister.
   

In the 1987 San Francisco mayor’s race, the WSB&G became an issue, with the winner, Potrero Hill’s Art Agnos, sniffing that you were never going to catch him nosing up to Herb Caen at that place in North Beach. Agnos, needless to say, was a one-term mayor.
   

The food … well, the place was a saloon after all, and founder Ed Moose wondered in print why anyone “would spoil a $10 heat with a $15 meal.” Actually, under Guy Ferri, the food at the WSB&G was far better than it had been under Moose or his successors, Peter Lomax and Peter Osborne. The improved cuisine was a plus, but food aside, the place stayed packed because of an aura that communicated without needing to shout, “San Francisco authentic.”
   

Of course, Guy Ferri’s “re-vision” of the WSB&G was motivated in part by necessity. Ferri had created his Cobalt Tavern in 2000 as a watering spot for the 20- and 30-somethings who had flocked to San Francisco to make their fortunes in the terra infirma of the Internet. They were the dogfood.com generation that had dreamt of Internet riches, and instead watched the bubble burst, picked up their technology marbles and seemed to leave San Francisco en masse one week in August 2002.
   

With the extinction of the dot-comers, North Beach grew exceedingly quiet. Until, that is, the locals stuck their noses out of their rent-controlled apartments and discovered that there was room again at the local bars and restaurants. When Guy Ferri welcomed back these North Beach irregulars to the WSB&G, he did so in breathtaking fashion.
   

Guy had somehow been able to track down the photos, artwork, and paraphernalia from Ed Moose’s famous Laupin Sauvage softball team, and the exact shade of cotto red to recreate the Washbag in exacting detail. The only thing that was missing was the framed front page of the 1938 Daily Cal hung off to the side of the men’s room urinal, and properly replaced by a Ron Fimrite sports essay. It was, it seemed at the time, a bona fide San Francisco miracle.
   

Although they deny it, it had been Ron Fimrite and his wife Linda who had gently worked on Ferri to bring back the Square. When the deed was done, Ron could be found hosting his informal literary get-togethers at one of the front-window tables, while Linda took over as lunch hostess. In September 2002, with the WSB&G back in its proper place, amity seemed to break out all over North Beach. Ed Moose even patched up the feud begun when he started Moose’s across Washington Square on virtually the same day his noncompete clause with the WSB&G expired. Moose found the original WSB&G front awnings and gave them to Ferri as a peace offering and good luck token. Back they came, whiter haired and slower of foot; the stockbrokers, advertising executives, journalists and real estate agents who had helped give the place its legs beginning in the early 70s.    

There were also those of us who arrived a little later and for whom the Washbag remained a window on a less surly, smarter, happier world than the one we were in the process of inheriting. In the end, however, neither the old guard nor their replacements could indulge in the three-martini lunches and two-bottle-of-Zinfandel dinners that once kept the place lively and profitable. Perhaps someone else will step in and take over the now-dark Washington Square Bar & Grill. Perhaps its time is simply past. Still, for Guy Ferri, who strove mightily to pull off his miracle, thanks ever so much for the trying.  

Richard Rapaport is a writer in Mill Valley. He aspires to someday live in North Beach. He can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it