At age 94, Seattle's oldest bartender announces 'last call'

Driving down Lake City Way, there's a warm light in the distance — a beacon calling you to a bar room full of beers and bands. The soft, yellow light that's been glowing decades is the sign for the Shanty Tavern, though it's known by another name to its owner.

“She is called Miss Shanty,” John Spaccarotelli tells KUOW. He's owned the place and poured drinks for “umpteen years.”

More precisely, John Spaccarotelli has spent 64 years at this spot on the edge of the road in Lake City, running what's referred to as the "last roadhouse" in Seattle.

This style of a neighborhood bar, equipped with a dance floor, used to be more common decades ago. John Spaccarotelli's patrons and family see it as a vanishing piece of Seattle culture.

“There’s just something special about this place,” says Lisa Casal, who comes in for music regularly and enjoys a front row seat at the bar. "These places are disappearing — and it’s sad.”

For the last few years, John Spaccarotelli has only been opening the Shanty Tavern on Friday nights for beer and live music. His three daughters and his grandkids are here to help him out through the busy closing night.

Many of the business's regulars live in Lake City and walk to the bar from their homes. Now they’re figuring what they'll do with their Friday nights once the tavern's doors close.

One regular, Eric Beam, has a “reserved” barstool at the far end of the bar, where he can always be found reading a thick book.

“I come here at the end of the week, sit here, and talk stories with John,” Beam says. “And I leave with a big smile on my face, feeling better. I’m really going to miss that.”

John Spaccarotelli doesn't plan to sell the land or building, but the 94-year-old said retirement is calling.

“I'm just going to take it easy for a while,” he says.

The Shanty Tavern has been home to longtime regulars like Michael Wansley, better known around here as Wanz, who's been coming since the 1990s.

“[I] come down here every Friday with a whole bunch of the neighborhood cats,” he says. “We hang out here, play pool, drink beer.”

On its last Friday night open, the Shanty Tavern is much busier than usual, Wansley says, because this is one of the last nights The Shanty Tavern is pouring beers.

People have come to pay their respects and give one last toast.

“I would toast the fact that the beer is always cold, the jokes are almost always dirty, and the asses are always smart,” Wansley says with a raised glass.

In the low, crowded barroom, the Rat City Brass Band wails in one corner. The dance floor is so packed, the floorboards bounce up and down.

John Noe books the bands here. And since the place is so busy on closing night, he's helping pick up empty bottles, too.

“Twelve years doing this, so it's the end of an era,” Noe says. “Kind of bittersweet tonight. You know, they've become a part of my family.”

It's an emotional night for the entire Spaccarotelli family. John Spaccarotelli’s daughter, Dayna, has been working with him here for the past 18 years.

“Lot of tears will come later, [I'm] trying to hold it together right now,” Dayna Spaccarotelli says. “My whole life has been here.”

She grew up here with her two sisters. The three used to come in to “help” their dad.

“We'd dance to the jukebox. We’d play shuffleboard and pool. We’d throw darts,” Dayna Spaccarotelli says.

A lot of old regulars made the trip on Friday to say goodbye to the Spaccarotellis. The hardest part, Dayna Spaccarotelli says, is seeing all these old faces and sharing memories.

“I just keep telling myself to just get through tonight. Just get through tonight. It'll be okay,” Dayna says. “It's not going to be okay.”

John Spaccarotelli says he plans to spend more time with his family after his retirement. He also wants more time to do what he loves: dancing. He even met a potential new dance partner at the bar's last call.

“She says she likes to dance,” he said. “Ao I'll find out if she likes to dance that much with me.”

By around 1:15 a.m., the Shanty Tavern crowd has slimmed down, but the bar's regulars, who don’t want the place to close yet, have stuck around.

Fulvio Longo, who has a favorite corner barstool, brought in some champagne and is singing goodbye songs with John Spaccarotelli.

Then comes the moment everyone's been dreading:

“Last call! Last call!” John Spaccarotelli shouts out above the noise. “That’s it, everybody. Last call.”

John Spaccarotelli insists this isn't goodbye, though.

He says he'll host one more open house in January and then maybe rent the place out.

But no matter what, the glowing sign isn't coming down, he says.

“Thank you for the good times with the people that I’ve met,” he says. “And hopefully I'll meet someone on the street saying, ‘Hi, John.’”