Letter to the Editor May 2005

Charles “Scrib” Johnson, co-owner of the Ark Lounge on Grove Street from 1958 to 1998, passed away last week. He was seventy-five. Charlie pulled the tap for my first draft beer in the early sixties and my last in 1989. I figured I might as well stick with a pro until I was full. Scrib also poured thousands of Citadel cadets their first draft in the tiny building across the street from College Park. The Ark was the nearest access to alcohol when leaving campus, a short walk down the railroad tracks and a slightly longer stumble back. Many cadets who remained in Charleston after graduating became regulars while others placed the Ark high on their itinerary when coming back for a visit. The three generations of satisfied Scrib customers were a mixed bag of dockworkers, attorneys, politicians, salesmen, and construction tradesmen. There were also more than a few characters who had no visible means of support yet always seemed to possess or have the ability to hustle beer and cigarette money. Scrib had to be tough yet have a good sense of humor to deal with a clientele that included folks with names like Naughty, Gator, Coon, Strawberry, Hack, Grumpy, Horse head, and Wing nut. He was always up to the challenge. It also helped that he was smarter and better informed than most of them, although he’d insist that wasn’t much of a compliment. Scribby was not a warm and fuzzy sort of guy; it was just not in his nature. It can be safely stated that there was not a politically correct bone in his arthritic body. Whatever was on his mind came out of his mouth … unfiltered. What he was, however, was a good and loyal friend to his friends and customers. Over the years he loaned what must have amounted to thousands of dollars to those of us who always seemed to be running short. Most loans were five or ten bucks at a time and matured on payday. The Ark was as good a first stop as any for you and your Piggly Wiggly suitcase should you be banished from home by an irate wife or landlord, as long as you didn’t whine or cry in your beer, that is. More than once someone trying to start a pity party was given directions by Scrib as to where to locate sympathy in the dictionary. Those directions cannot be printed here. Over the last couple of years as his health deteriorated he had ample reason to complain but stuck rigidly to his own advice and chose not to. Although Scrib has had his last call and is off to meet the Ark angels who predeceased him, he’ll be remembered fondly and missed by the Johnson family and his family at the Ark. Pour me a short one Scrib.