The Story

In the summer of '68, Russell "Red" Whitlock opened the doors. He was a talkative, stubborn man in his late 30s.

Some say he did it for the people. Red never met a stranger, and he never turned down a wild night out. Others say a man told him he'd never pull it off. Red told both stories. Loudly. Usually on the same night.

He painted the door red so nobody could say they couldn't find it. Then he hung his star over the bar. Red swore so often that folks started calling it "a Whitlock." The name stuck, and so did the habit.

Today

Red's grandkids, Jess and John, run the place. Jess runs the business and does the talking. John runs the bar. Red always said John would end up paying for everything he broke. Red was right.

Honky-tonk bones, with rap and house on the speakers and strange paintings on the walls. The door's still red, and the star's still there.