My friends and I rounded the corner of Broadway at Columbus after having finished a truly stupendous Italian dinner in San Francisco’s famous North Beach district. We were stuffed, yet still full of energy, and decided to cap the night off with a drink or two. And wouldn’t you know it, we were standing directly in front of the historic Condor Club just as we made this decision.

Now, I’d never been in this particular bar before, but I was well aware of why it was indeed historic. San Francisco is the birthplace of television, the martini, and the fortune cookie - just to name a few. But other less, shall we say, noble inventions were created in the city by the bay; namely, topless dancing. The Condor Club happens to have the distinction of being America’s first go-go bar. On June 16th, 1964, Carol Doda appeared atop a white baby grand piano in nothing but a bikini bottom, and an era was born. (I wonder if she had an inkling of just how far the "art form" would come in a mere forty years.)

The Condor Club today is, I’m sure, nothing like it was back then. It’s now a bar, a restaurant, and a nightclub. The go-go booth still resides center stage, but no one goes topless anymore. And still, we ventured in, though there were plenty of topless options just a mere half block away. Proximity, you see, outweighed pruriency.

Anyway, the bar was hopping. Being surrounded by stellar Italian restaurants afforded it a great location. I’m sure the history of the place didn’t hurt none either. And that’s what caught my eye upon entering. The walls were lined with photos of the club’s past. So while my friends went and ordered our drinks, I perused the memorabilia. Ms. Doda, naturally, comprised quite a few of the black and white snapshots. Besides being an innovator in her field, she was also a pioneer in the use of silicon. And it showed. A knockout back then, I wondered what the queen of striptease looked like today. But my reveries were quickly cut short when I spotted one of the photos that was situated mid-wall.

In that picture, for all the world to view, was a face (and body) I wasn’t expecting to see; at least not in a nightclub, and certainly not topless. Though I could have been mistaken. I mean, really, it was forty years and many pounds earlier. Still, the resemblance was uncanny.

"Looks like you’ve seen a ghost," my friend Marc said, and handed me my drink. I downed it in one fell swoop.

"Yeah, John, you’re white as a sheet. What gives?" added my friend Charles.

"Oh, it’s nothing. Must be something I ate," I lied and veered them away from the wall to a table on the other side of the club.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, and an alcohol induced one at that. Still, nothing could wipe the horrific image from my rattled brain. Try as I might, I knew it would forever be etched in my memory. And so, I decided to piece together the puzzle of why my grandmother may have been a stripper at the Condor Club back in the sixties. (Oh please, dear Lord, let me be wrong on this one, I thought and prayed.)

***