You can sidle up to the counter with a head full of worry, not speak to a soul and no one would mind. On a happier visit, you could slide into an easy conversation with a stranger just as garrulous as you.

Pete's exudes friendly warmth that's heightened by the glow of aging neon beer signs against a dingy, smoke stained ceiling.
Kelly Robertson has been bartending at Pete's for six years and though young herself, she enjoys the job immensely.

"It's like I have 25 grandpas and they all love me," she laughs, "they give me advice about everything!"

But the Pete's Place crowd is fairly diverse. Says owner Karo Thom, "Right now I probably have people in here who are third generation customers."

While it's true that the 7 a.m. crowd is not the same crew that sips suds at 5 p.m, even during the weekday evenings you can find businessmen sharing the counter with housewives and machinists and mid-20s misfits.

One of Pete's loyal patrons, a husky 24-year-old heavy metal fan who identified himself only as Matt, refers to the establishment as a "bar plus one," and said that any discussion of the joint necessitates mentioning the food. The diner is a serviceable if not spectacular endeavor and has a menu with items that Karo insists are made from scratch.

At the bar, however, the "Mexican Monday" 50-cent taco is the most talked about item, for good reason. It's much better than anything at Taco Bell, but "homemade" isn't the first thought that runs through my head.

Matt is sitting with two other similarly metal friends, who make up names like "Tony Reagan." They sound like old guys already, complaining about all the new bars and the ever-changing scene. They moan about The Brick and the yuppie takeover of Salem, but say they consistently hit up Pete's on Mondays.

The three guys estimate they've been to Pete's well over a hundred times and aside from their appreciation of the humorous bartenders, Matt guesses why this particular bar has survived for so many generations, surmising "there's nothing trendy about it."

Trends don't last but solid, no-nonsense drinker's bars do. When pressed to describe Pete's in a nutshell, bartender Michael Steinke says only half-joking "it's almost like `Cheers' but not as goody-goody."

In fact, the comparison to "Cheers" was made by an astonishingly large number of people I spoke to about Pete's. If there is a mini-sitcom going on inside this classic watering hole, a fellow known as Dutch would be the favorite. He jokes with the owner and flirts with the female bartenders and complains about the color of his drinking straw.

You can get an idea of the polite but firm attitude at Pete's by the sign behind the bar that reads, "The customer is always right, but the bartender decides who is still a customer." Below that, in smaller print are the instructions, "Any questions ask Karo." Kicking customers out is a pretty necessary aspect of any bar, and Pete's has its fair share of disallowed patrons.

"Anybody that misbehaves and tries to start fights or whatever, they've been 86ed," explains the owner. "And if you've been 86ed, you're 86ed for life."

While Cheers may be the place where everyone knows your name, Pete's is where everyone knows your drink. At one point I forget the name of a woman I've been chatting with, an old gal who's been a regular for decades. I ask Michael if he knows her name, and he has a hard time recalling it, though he can list the exact proportions of how she likes her Madras.

Naysayers may moan that Pete's is "an old man bar," but older
folks know where the good stuff is, and you can't go wrong with getting what you want, served by someone who appreciates their job.