Big Weed and a Eulogy for a Neighborhood Dive Bar
On the closure of Mary Ann’s and looming consolidation in commercial marijuana.
The writing (among other things) had been scratched on the wall for some time, but on Wednesday, November 18th, 2020 it became official: the Boston Cannabis Board gave Happy Valley the green light to open a dispensary in the former location of storied Brighton dive bar Mary Ann’s.
In this fashion another local spot falls to the glut of commercial real estate cash fast flowing into American cities where the recreational sale and usage of marijuana has been codified under the law — a market which is expected to reach $22 billion by 2022 and will comprise approximately ¾ of cannabis revenue worldwide.
A business still in its infancy, the recreational weed game is a self-admitted “race to the bottom.” We are in the midst of a “green rush,” meaning that the market rate is high but falling fast. This is something we’ve seen before. Many times, in fact — just not with weed.
As with every other major commodity, there can really be only a handful of big players. In Colorado, it’s The Green Solution, Native Roots, LivWell, Green Dragon, and maybe one or two others. And even that relatively diverse ecosystem won’t exist for very long as competitors grow and undercut and buy each other out over the next decade. The market can’t sustain much more competition than that, and for that reason marijuana in the Boston area will become cheaper and cheaper until there is a dispo on every corner and — when the time comes — ruthless consolidation between them. Picture the McDonald’s of legal weed, because that’s just what investors are trying to identify right now.
As Dickens’s characters could not go far without inhaling the thick choking smoke of the factories, so will a Boston resident not go far without getting a whiff of the “wacky-tobacky” (objections notwithstanding). Redolent of Starbucks founder Howard Schultz’s famous declaration that there would one day eventually be two of his coffee houses on every corner — a pronouncement which eventually came true, and immediately led to mermaid-on-mermaid cannibalism — there will one day be a Green Dragon or NETA on every corner. Which it is, only time will tell.
For now, we’re still in the Weed Wild West, and its ravenous appetite for commercial real estate is expected to yield 56 licensed retailers in Boston alone when all is said and done.
As went the hundred-year-old example of classical revival Brookline Bank (occupied by New England Treatment Co. in 2016), another local landmark is gobbled up by Big Weed in Brighton dive bar Mary Ann’s.
So what is the profile of a run-down bar ripe for conversion to a gleaming dispensary?
Much has been made in the local press about Mary Ann’s’ “history.” It’s hard to say exactly what that means in this case. There’s been a bar in Cleveland Circle called “Mary Ann’s” open just about as long as anyone can remember. It’s had one foot in the grave for years, and operated
for the last few without a sign or any single outside indicator of its existence. That said, it didn’t really need one.
Towards the end, it was mostly a place for Boston College students to warm up after being turned away from either of the two more upscale and furnished establishments which cater to prospective drinkers in Cleveland Circle. It was a place for fair, lukewarm pours at modest prices, with a distinctly low-end flavor and decor. Drink names and prices (a favorite of which was the “Green Monster,” a cocktail of unknown ingredients which was named for its lurid color which, it must be said, didn’t really resemble Fenway’s outfield wall) were scrawled on a board in glow-in-the-dark marker.
The TV’s played sports, or whatever was on. There was a rickety pop-a-shot game, a big game hunting-style arcade console in the corner, and occasionally a karaoke machine rigged up next to it, all set against decades-old blonde wood decor that would be more appropriate in a local teamsters union or VA center than a bar for mostly well-off college students. As for the accommodations, nicer toilets could be found in the Middle Ages.
It was also, notably, an egalitarian space. Sure, bouncers always have favorites. There will always be a special few who do not wait in lines. But at Mary-Ann’s this was a pattern almost conspicuously absent. There was no favored section for the big-spenders. There was no cordoned-off VIP space or a corresponding basement for the plebs off the street. As for preferential treatment, everyone — once inside — was subject to the same whims and caprices of a seemingly unaccountable bar staff. They didn’t give a damn who you were or how much you spent on any given night — in other words, MA’s meant alcohol without access, favor, or discretion. It also meant occasional abuse of power, but such are the hazards of equality.
It was also a bar that was packed virtually every hour of every night during that infamous week in March where it seemed like everything was coming to an end — possibly its last week of operation. Miraculously, no one has yet come forward to admit they contracted the novel coronavirus from one of those gatherings, despite every inch of its 200-or-so-square-feet being packed with spitting, shouting, beer-soaked seniors.
In the words of one BC Interruption forum-user “Big Jack Krack,” MA’s in his day was just another crappy bar.
“OkIt’s [sic] funny” he begins.
“I’m a lot older, but I never liked MA’s. I remember being there for lunch and a beer senior year — and watching the MBTA guys drinking in their uniforms. And then getting on the trains to drive/conduct them downtown.
But it was a ‘bucket of blood’ [named for the quality of the sponge bucket while cleaning up after a night of brawls] and there were plenty of neighborhood bars in Brighton and Brookline where you could get inexpensive drafts — or as I called them, draftees.
I understand the close proximity and all that. But I preferred to drink beer, have many laughs and a chance to get laid — not sucker punched or stabbed, etc.”
“Eventually quit drinking altogether.”
So there it is. MA’s has always been a dive.
As for MA’s “storied” reputation? It seems history is to blame.
Here’s to you, Big Jack Krack, and everyone else who ever had the (mis)fortune of downing a pint in the old booze box.
Capitalism loathes wasted space. Whatever Happy Valley replaces MA’s with will generate more revenue in one day than MA’s could with twice its old capacity. Property values will go up, and so will taxes. From an empirical standpoint, the Cannabis Board’s Wednesday ruling can only be viewed as an improvement.
All the same, almost everyone who’s been inside will attest that there was an ineffable quality which made MA’s special. Call it atmosphere.
On an especially quiet night, I once saw the bartender turn the beer hose on a drunk couple kissing drowsily at the bar, while simultaneously on the other side a girl climbed up where her drink had been a second before and started kicking her boots to the country music dribbling from the corner speakers. Finishing my plastic cup of Bud Light, I slipped out into the cold and began the long walk home.
Requiescat in pace, Anna-Maria. I’ll miss you like all cleaned-up folks miss their chosen vice: half-sad and half-hopeful and with the knowledge that in the long run, they will be better off.
