A Port Richmond bar where everyone knows your nickname
Show up regularly enough for Friday night karaoke at Donna's, and the owners of this Polish corner bar in Port Richmond will give you a nickname.
Show up regularly enough for Friday night karaoke at Donna's, and the owners of this Polish corner bar in Port Richmond will give you a nickname.
There's a retired mailman from down the street who steps into the narrow taproom and becomes Young Blood, a confident front man lacking only a band. There's Gary Bowie - named for his favorite rock star - who looks a bit like the Thin White Duke, if the Thin White Duke hailed from Salmon and Allegheny.
There's Coco, the Barbie, Bob the Builder, and Big Al. There's a woman who goes by Fiber One, her nickname the product of a very complicated inside joke.
They belt out everything - country, Motown, '80's power ballads, heavy metal, bubblegum pop - to rapturous applause.
"You don't have to be embarrassed," said Maryann West, a hairdresser from the neighborhood who rarely misses a Friday night at Donna's. "Everyone just cheers you on."
Over the last 10 years, Donna's has gone from a nondescript hole-in-the-wall to the river wards' worst-kept secret. Last year, Philadelphia Magazine voted it the best karaoke bar in the city.
Singers drive over the bridge from New Jersey for karaoke at Donna's. They shoot down I-95 from the Northeast and take Ubers from Center City. Some walk in from rowhouses around the corner, and take the same seat at the same table every week. All of them say Donna's is different - special - even if they can't quite put their finger on why.
"It just feels like you're part of a family," said Walter Kosierowski, a library assistant from Northwood better known inside Donna's as Wallygator.
A lot of that, regulars say, has to do with the emcee, Buck Jones, who assumes his place at the mike at precisely 9 p.m. Fridays and holds court all night, shoving karaoke slips into the hands of would-be warblers, calling on the room to cheer for even the most unfortunate performers, singing along with his favorite tunes.
He has emceed the karaoke nights for nearly a decade, watching as the regular crowd grew from three to five to 15 to 20 to standing room only.
"I feel like a kid in a candy shop," he crowed last Friday before launching into Engelbert Humperdinck's "This Moment in Time." There were 10 or so people inside Donna's, most of them crowded at the end of the bar, sipping Lech beers and speaking quietly in Polish.
By the end of the hour, there was barely room to move.
Sophie Zalewski, the bar's owner, frames photos of Donna's finest singers for her establishment's wood-paneled walls. She emigrated from Poland as a teenager with her mother, the eponymous Donna, who bought the bar in 1981, stocked the jukebox with Polish ballads, and sang to customers for 14 happy years before Sophie took over in 1995.
About 10 years ago, Sophie and her husband, Wes, decided to try a karaoke night to drum up business. There was nothing to do in Port Richmond on the weekends. Wes, like Donna before him, loved to sing.
Crowds were thin at first. Then, one night, a group of twentysomethings from a local Polish association showed up, Sophie Zalewski recalls. They were young and enthusiastic and they loved to sing. They kept coming back.
"The yuppies," she says seriously, "made my place."
Now, the crowd at Donna's on any given Friday features everyone from union workers from the Northeast - "I wasn't into singing at first, but [Zalewski] forced me into it," said plumber Dan Ward - to lawyers from Center City ("I love the local feel," said Assistant District Attorney Zach Wynkoop).
Last Friday night at Donna's, Wallygator was one of the first to grab the mike.
"I'm one of the star singers here," he confided. In a clear, carrying falsetto, he launched into Lionel Richie's "Hello," pausing after a woman screamed, "We love you, Wally!" from somewhere in the place.
"I love you, too, girlfriend," he acknowledged to cheers.
Wallygator and the neighborhood regulars were camped out at their usual spot in the corner. Big Al, swathed in a maroon sweat suit and a leather jacket embroidered with the faces of famous gangsters, took a seat near the DJ booth with a plate of pierogies. A group of recent college grads - musical theater buffs who discovered Donna's when they moved to the neighborhood two years ago - posted up near the door.
"Our picture's on the wall - no big deal," one said with a laugh.
The night wore on. Big Al duetted with Buck Jones. The theater kids clinked glasses with Wallygator. A coiffed young man in a crisp plaid blazer downed a vodka shot with one of the old-timers at the end of the bar, then pulled him in for a hug. Zalewski emerged from the kitchen with a cake for Basia, the bartender - who had spent the entire night staunchly refusing to admit it was her birthday - and passed out slices for everyone.
"Write something about the pierogies," someone hollered at a reporter. (The pierogies are $1 apiece, homemade, and delicious.)
By the DJ booth, Buck Jones was still cheering everyone on. "Buck Jones" is a nickname, too - his real last name is Crawford, and though he sang in a doo-wop group called the Common Pleas in his youth, the band never got big enough for him to quit his job selling cars.
He is 71 now, and walked into Donna's last Friday night with a cane, which he ditched almost as soon as the music started. He does the emcee gig for free. He tries to make each singer feel special.
"It's a night out for me," he said.
Ten years in, Sophie Zalewski still talks about her little bar's success with a hint of bemusement. "It's not us," she said. "It's the people who make the place."
She and Wes were surprised to receive the Philadelphia Magazine honor last year. But their regulars understand why.
"It's the atmosphere," said Buck Jones. "Everybody feels like they're home. Everyone feels like they're great."
215-854-2961@aubreyjwhelan