EDITORIAL

Like a veteran but still graceful ballplayer saying farewell to his

adoring and always-forgiving fans, the Cannery Restaurant is taking its

final bows.

And there are those in town who believe the seafood restaurant is

still in its prime, too good and too special to be closed up, retired,

sent to the showers.

Regardless, Bill Hamilton is resolved. He will lock up his Cannery

Village restaurant for the last time Sunday. And, by and by, the wrecking

crew will come, knock down the historic structure and clear the land for

a small housing development.

Opinions vary on whether this is progress.

The restaurant’s demise rings with conflicting emotions. On one hand,

it comes with a touch of melancholy. The Cannery has been in business

since the early 1970s and, in architecture and style, reflects the days

when boats laden with sardines, tuna and mackerel came sluicing up the

Rhine Channel to the humming canneries. And on the other hand, there is

the lingering sense that the city itself played a hand in putting the

restaurant under.

The restaurant is a slice of history. It stands where the Western

Canners Co. once did business. Along with the fine food and cheerful

ambience, the restaurant has been part museum, a wistful reminder of a

time when Newport Harbor was a working port where fishermen ruled the

docks.

Through the years the Cannery has been five-star enough to satisfy the

town’s more discriminating taste buds and down-home enough to name a

sandwich after a former city manager who had a hankering for having his

calamari served on a bun.

The closing, then, marks the end of a time-tested restaurant and a

final curtain for the area’s salty, blue-collar past.

Could the restaurant’s closing have been prevented? Some think so.

Indeed, Hamilton approached the city two years ago, seeking a permit

for live entertainment. His reasoning was simple: To be competitive he

had to offer more than fresh halibut and shrimp cocktails. He needed the

financial infusion that music and dancing would likely bring.

The city said OK. The Police Department said OK. But the City Council

said no.

And that set the table for the restaurant’s future. Hamilton, stung

that the council would rebuff his request, decided to close up.

Even now, the council’s decision makes little sense. Hamilton, after

all, personified good business. He was active in town, active in the

Chamber of Commerce, involved in charity, always the guy who would help

out when someone needed that help. And if he couldn’t get a fair shake

from the council, well then, who could?

In addition, Cannery Village -- the quaint community where Hamilton’s

restaurant has flourish all these years -- was designed in the European

tradition of mixing business and residential. If there was any place in

town for dancing and enjoying the night, wasn’t this it?

The council answered that by rejecting Hamilton’s request for a live

entertainment permit, perhaps sealing the restaurant’s fate with that

vote.

But that’s a footnote now. The restaurant will close. Life will go on.

The memories will linger.

Thanks for the good times, Bill.