Matthew's Mug: The Groove is in the Heart
It’s not easy to serve up an unpretentious draft beer, but this Lower East Side of the College Center hangout does just that. Sip a kamikaze alongside the likes of Mimi with her Whip, Mona, or Dingo and Togo and dance to the tunes of a DJ who spins hip-hop, funk, house, and techno six nights a week. Mondays through Thursdays draw a TH/TA crew, while the crowd on Fridays and Saturdays hails from the dorms. Known as Mug Rats, these clubbers are hip and well-educated. A word to the wise: bring your ID and come early to avoid lines reaching to the mailboxes.
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Without any fanfare, Matthew’s Mug quietly celebrated its 25th anniversary in 2000. As the central nightspot for the student body, many of us remember fondly, if not vaguely, times spent dancing the night away to David Bowie, Talking Heads, Madonna, or Puff Daddy. Although Vassar prides itself on its reverence of archiving history, it was surprisingly difficult to chronicle the history of the Mug — there are no watercolor renderings of the Mug hanging in the Frances Lehman Loeb Art Center, no papers archived in Special Collections. Instead, the history of the watering hole is pieced together by the experts themselves — Mug Rats past and present.
Opened in the fall semester of 1975, Matthew’s Mug was not an immediate success. The nearby Pizzatown vied heavily for students’ attention. However as the local nightspots changed names or disappeared altogether — Squire’s East, Frivolous Sal’s, Pete’s, and MacAuley’s — the Mug flourished. By the next school year, Tobias Bisharat ’77 wrote in The Miscellany News (March 31, 1977) the "Mug, with its ridiculously long lines, is a social phenomenon." Mug bartender Sandra Jean Glorian ’76 said that students would often decide to "Mug it" at 11 p.m. and brave the lines for the opportunity to dance. Although the Mug was equipped with a TV and tables and chairs, "from day one it was all about dancing," recalled Glorian.
Of course, the ever-innovative Vassar students found ways to avoid the long lines. Students would go early to study before lines formed. "But you were just kidding yourself," said Thomas Higgins ’84. Higgins and students in the classes before and after him found alternate "entrances" to the Mug (which to protect the innocent shall remain nameless). If all else failed and you had to sit in those dreaded plastic chairs lined up facing each other, competition for your spot was fierce. "There was more pushing and shoving in the Mug line than down in the Mug itself," added Higgins.
Once inside, while customers were grooving to "Hot Tramp," "It’s Raining Men," "It Takes Two," "Like a Prayer," or "Mo’ Money, Mo’ Problems," behind the scenes students were running the show as managers, bartenders, and bouncers. To the delight of sociologists everywhere, Mug logs are maintained by these student managers — and archived in Director of Marketing for Campus Dining Ken Oldehoff’s office. These dusty, beer-stained logs offer a record of the events on any given night. "We’ve been giving out proverbs for every drink and people are becoming much more enlightened spiritually," reads one entry on Sept. 16, 1984.
Dating back to the Mug’s debut, these logs show that the problems managers encountered span the decades to crop up for today’s crew: kegs with no pressure, growing banned lists, and sticky floors. "Well once again the Mug opens and tonight there’s a formidable list of banned individuals," wrote one manager on Sept. 15, 1982. To compound these problems, in the mid-80s the New York State drinking age changed to 21. The administration struggled with the decision of keeping the Mug open. "There was talk about making it a seniors-only venue to avoid the problem of underage drinking," said Oldehoff. "Then one day, as a student boycott, a master lock was anonymously placed on the front doors." Happily, the Mug remained open to all and from then on started the ever-changing, over-21 identifiers ranging from hand stamps to drink tickets to colored bracelets.
Mug Rat \’mg, ‘rat\ n; adj –like; (1975) 1: A Mug Rat can be seen in the Mug at least three nights a week. A Mug Rat knows what day it is based on who is bartending, not the other way around. A Mug Rat never waits on line to get in. A Mug Rat sits at the bar all night because the thought of giving up their stool to someone who hasn’t paid their dues is atrocious. A Mug Rat studies at the bar before it gets crowded. A Mug Rat carves their name into the bar with the full authorization of a manager. A Mug Rat simply has to gesture to order. A Mug Rat has actually mopped the floor at the end of the night on occasion. And, most importantly, a Mug Rat always tips. — Brian "Dingo" Grosz ’99
With all of these obstacles, why would a student want to work at the Mug? "I have to admit that I did do it for some social clout," said James Schenck ’01. Alizon Hull ’91 added that she actually chose to manage Thursday nights because it was "hellish and a lot of fun. I was paid to drink, dance, and hang out with friends." Sharon "Mona" Jensen ’91 tended bar at the Mug for most of her college career. When asked about the Mug’s draw, Jensen explained "It’s something about the vibe — dark, smokey, music blaring — the Mug’s inherently cool."
Regardless of diligent ID checking and minor hiccups behind the scenes, customers, which often includes returning alumnae/i and college trustees, make the Mug a social, if not financial, success. "Well, those golden gates were opened and the shrieks of delight rung out into the night," reported one Mug manager on August 26, 1982. Although gone are 40-cent drafts, a jukebox, and student bouncers — replaced by $2.00 drafts, a DJ booth, and Vassar security — little has changed about the Mug, including its popularity.
Much to the dismay of current students, the Mug was closed for renovations for the majority of the fall ’01 semester. Commiserating with the students, Jensen recalled being "devastated" when the Mug was closed for several weeks during her sophomore year. "It affected the whole social scene. What was the alternative? The Aula?" Now back in business, the average night sees the bar and dance floor filled to capacity, music blaring, and long lines at the front door.