Alex Fofonoff Goes for the Bartender, Not the Bowling, at Melody Lanes

When I arrived at the Melody Lanes bowling alley, I accidentally woke a sleeping giant. In all my excitement, we began taking photos of regular Alex Fofonoff, and I forgot to ask the manager for permission first. That’s when Maryanne, the amped-up matron behind the shoe rental counter, shouts into the telephone receiver and blasts us over the bowling alley–wide speakers. “Stop what you’re doing! Stop right now!” Proverbial hat in hand, I approach Maryanne to apologize and quickly see this is less about me and more about Peter Napolitano, the bartender.

That’ll be a running theme, I’ll learn, when Alex, a young filmmaker who walks twenty blocks from his home to drink with Peter, devotes much of his interview to talking up his favorite bartender and grandfather figure. Maryanne and Peter have established a sort of old married couple dynamic; they’ve been working too long across from each other in this classic bowling alley (a dying breed). She has her desk, her shoes, her loudspeaker. Peter has his own “rectangle,” a walled-off bar with an open entryway, where he holds court. As I apologize profusely, I realize that Maryanne thinks we’re here to take pictures of Peter. “He thinks everybody’s here to see him,” she says. “He thinks he runs the place.” He doesn’t run the place. But a whole lot of people, including Alex, come here to see Pete.

Those who have come to see Peter include the New York Times, which profiled him in 2009. As the piece showed, Peter is known as a magnetic eccentric who will ensnare you in his web of jargon and theories fast.

Throughout our talk, Alex is amiable, genteel, and just a solid dude. The twenty-five-year-old deep thinker has a welcoming smile and a calming demeanor. “Just let it boil over,” he advises me as someone who’s seen this brawl between Maryanne and Pete many times. I see why his allegiance is with Peter; Alex first came here as a frustrated young man who wanted more out of life than the bureaucracy of film school. He wanted to be an artist, to find his place in the world, to understand what stories he wanted to tell. For Alex, Peter held the answers, however enigmatic. That’s what sucked Alex in and keeps him coming back. I talked to Alex about why he’s a regular at a bowling alley even though he doesn’t really bowl, what bowling culture is really like (not as trashy as movies often present it), and what the point of life actually is and where you can find it (hint: it’s at the bowling alley and quite possibly rattling around in Peter’s brain).

I came here thinking it would be fun to go bowling, and we didn’t know about Peter. My friend brought a beer in his pocket, and I said, “Dude, don’t do that. That’s not cool.” After he got served a beer, he tried to pour the new one in. And Peter noticed and said, “Don’t do that, man.” And then he made him throw it away. But then Peter was very engaged with us.

First time, we were here until 2:30 a.m. talking with Peter.

A lot of it is: What does art mean? What is art to you? And what is art to the person you’re making it for? That was suddenly all relevant while at the same time offering this perspective of somewhere we didn’t expect this to come from in an environment that is so different and so refreshing.

One of the best things he said to me that night was, “You gotta be on both sides of the red dot.” The idea when you make something, you make it for yourself first. That’s what matters. When you make something, it’s for you. That’s the issue I had in film school: How do you make a movie that’s going to get into Sundance? Or do you make a movie that people are going to want to find? That’s not a place to start from.

It gave me perspective on who was living in this city besides my goddamn classmates.

Peter has said, “Don’t come in here and ask me for a drink. That’s not what I’m here for. I’m not here to get you a drink. If you’re drunk, I don’t need to give you more.” And that kind of thing was nice. But I still come here and get ripped and chat with Peter.

There was a period where I started coming on league nights. All the people from the neighborhood were coming here years or decades. I came in at 7:30 and stayed until 11 just to hang out and chat. There was this guy that I met that grew up in New Jersey and Brooklyn in the mid-forties. I became friends with him, and I put him in my movie, and there are other people I know. That was a great experience too, and it gave me perspective on who was living in this city besides my goddamn classmates.

Growing up in the suburbs, you had this idea it’s unacceptable to go to a bar by yourself. Like, “Oh you are an alcoholic. You are trash. You are depressed if you go to a bar by yourself.” Having that myth debunked by going to a bar by myself was nice. To talk to the bartender, talk to other people without feeling like, “Oh, I’m an alcoholic. I’m worthless.” That stigma is just so strange.

I come here and get ripped and chat with Peter.

The thing that just floored me, I almost cried when he said it, was my job “is to slow down time enough to dance between the raindrops, so I can pull out the oxygen and give it to you to breathe.” And the idea is when you make something, you stop time for a moment for whoever is experiencing it; whether it’s a book, whether it’s a song, time stops for them, and you give them this oxygen. That was the weighty phrase that really hit me, and the idea was really powerful.

I’ve come in here depressed and blackout drunk and even without him saying anything, about twenty minutes later, I’ll not care about getting drunk. I just feel better because my friend made me feel better. So Peter is the reason I’m a regular.

He’s like a grandfather to me.

I know from Peter that [actor] Steve Buscemi came here to research his role for The Big Lebowski. It kind of lampoons bowling culture. I would say it’s dry and sarcastic about bowling culture. Bowling culture shows bowling as trashy, a little depressed. That’s not what this place is to me. The people I meet here aren’t like that. They’re very hardworking people who come here to unwind and have some fun, and, like, get ripped. The three guys that I became friends with that I put in my movie, one of them was just blackout drunk for the scene, and it’s amazing what he does. But they’re here to just let loose, and it’s cool. It’s still a family-friendly place. It’s so homey and safe. It’s not dangerous. Who knows what pasts people have here, sure. Peter has pointed guys out to me, like, “That guy did eight years for murdering a guy.” Maybe that’s true. People bring their families here. They bring their kids here. People know people’s families. Kids know Peter. That’s what it is. It’s a family institution. It’s not a seedy place. And I think a lot of bowling alleys are presented as seedy and kind of trashy in films—as much as I love The Big Lebowski; I think it’s an almost perfect movie.

If Peter wasn’t here I wouldn’t come here as much. He’s given me so much. I can’t even, y’know, I think he knows he’s given me a lot, and hopefully he thinks I’ve given him a lot. But I think he’ll never really understand what he’s given me.

June 4, 2015

(Photos by Phil Provencio)