photos/Jessie Banhazl
Mark Milligan
Age: 56
Hometown: South Portland
Bar of Choice: Commercial Street Pub
Drink of Choice: Bud and a #1
“Thirty years ago here, fishing was still predominant in Portland Harbor, and people were coming off boats with stacks of money,” recalled Emily Campobasso, a bartender at Commercial Street Pub in Portland’s Old Port. “It was absolutely wild.”
“We’re a neighborhood bar in the middle of all the action,” said Emily, who’s worked at the pub for over three decades, “but there aren’t very many crazy fishermen anymore. Now we have cruise ships. Ethan Allen. Starbucks. Back then we had ‘The Three Doors of Hell.’ There wasn’t anyone furniture-shopping.”
If that row of three rowdy fisherman bars had its own mythical Cerberus guarding the gates, one head would’ve been Mark Milligan’s, a chef and former owner of Angie’s who’s now a regular at Commercial Street Pub.
“Mark is super kind, he’s always looking out for the bartenders here,” Emily said. “He’s someone I can trust. He knows the bad guys and the crazy people, like, ‘You’ve got two guys over there who look like they’re going to face off,’’ or, ‘Watch out for Red-Haired Toothless Judy*.’ He’s just a great guy.”
How did you end up a regular?
Do you know where Sea Bags is? They sell gorgeous bags. It used to be my bar. It was called Angie’s. I don’t know if you’ve heard of The Three Doors of Hell down here? Back in the Eighties there was my place, this place — which used to be called The Range Light — and The Sail Loft. People just bar-hopped between the three bars. Wharf Street was where the kids went, and then you had the waterfront. There were many, many millions of times that we shared each other’s customers and shared each other’s company.
What does a “waterfront” customer look like?
Boy, the waterfront is the home of the day-drinker. You could be twenty-one, you could be eighty-eight. Back in the earlier days, there were more fishermen. A lot of these bars started as fisherman bars, which attracted regular locals. Bikers, too. You know, the young crowd with their dressing up, their rolling up their sleeves, the shoulder muscles. They’re wearing tighter clothes. That’s not what the waterfront is. It’s hoodies and jeans and camaraderie.
What makes the waterfront special?
A lot of us talk about the waterfront as a family. A person could be a moron or a jerk, but if they were on the side of the road, broke down, as part of the waterfront family, I’d pull over and help that person out. This is the kind of place [that] when you come in, you have to say hello, and when you leave, you have to hug. You don’t find that going to some other places.
I understand you left the area for a few years?
When I closed Angie’s in 2005, I bought the store on Cliff Island. I ran that for about four summers. Then, my now ex-wife got a job in the Department of Defense, so we went to the Azores, Portugal, and lived there for almost three years. Germany for a year, and then Tokyo, Japan, for four years. I was there during the big earthquake in Fukushima. Oh my god — the first ten seconds were pretty darn cool. And then for the next fifty seconds, frightening.
When did you come back?
To make a long story short, I got divorced, and I did a long trip across the country trying to find myself and get over the divorce a little bit. Kind of looking for that new adventure in life: Montana, Vegas, Hawaii. You know what I mean? I just went everywhere. But I was still alone. So I’m like, I need to go back to the waterfront. And that’s because when I walk in, people are automatically gonna go, “Heyyyy!” You know, that’s what I needed in my life. People didn’t even know I was divorced or sad, they were just happy to see me. That’s a nice feeling. I like being a regular here for sure.
I heard you’re friends with the bar owner?
John Guinn is my friend. I knew him before he owned the place. So, like thirty-five, forty years now. When I lived in the Azores, John put fifty bucks down on The Kentucky Derby on a long shot, and his horse came in. He got on a plane two days later and flew all the way to Portugal, and then called me and said, “What island are you on?” He was the only person who ever came to visit me.
What John and I talk about a lot — it’s kind of sad — is who is alive and who is dead. In your bar life, you tend to know more people who passed away than other parts of your life. Sometimes old age, sometimes drugs, sometimes cancer, sometimes accidents. A lot of horrible stories. But a lot of great stories, too.
Who is your favorite bartender?
Emily. I’ve known her for thirty years. She’s the most fabulous person in the world. When I came back, she was there for me. Every single person who comes into this place feels like Emily cares about them. I don’t know how she does it, thirty years behind that little bar. And she’s gorgeous, which makes the people happy and healthy, ha-ha!
What is your drink of choice?
Budweiser, and what the Commercial Street Pub calls the Number One. It’s Espolòn tequila, chilled. It says negative-seventeen degrees Celsius. A really cold shot.
What has changed down here in the past thirty years?
The buildings have changed considerably. This building across the street was just this dilapidated thing in the 1980s. There used to be trolley tracks down the middle of Commercial Street. When I first started here, the Bath Iron Works ships would come in [for dry-dock service]. The whistle blew at eleven-thirty and six hundred dudes would come running down the streets, coming into these places, because they only had a half hour, and run out. People have changed, too. There have always been tourists — Portland has always been a great town — but it feels like Portland all of a sudden got noticed.
What is the dynamic between tourists and regulars here?
Surprisingly enough, we actually enjoy telling people where to go and what to do. You would think regulars would be annoyed. The cruise ship people are a little different, though. They’re horrible streetwalkers — ha! They want to split a tuna sandwich and some water. They take up seats. There are certainly also passengers that are fun to talk to. They come in and enjoy that this place reminds them of their local bar, reminds them of home. You may not get that somewhere else in town. There are not too many people out of the thousands and thousands that have come in that have felt like, I hate that fucking place.
*See the laminated “Portland Prowler” nightlife column (written by Bollard editor Chris Busby for Casco Bay Weekly back in the day) tacked to the bulletin board for more about the colorful characters banned from this establishment.
Know an interesting bar regular? Recommend them to us by e-mailing theregularsmaine@gmail.com.
