Quirky Clermont will continue to dance to its own beat

It’s 4 p.m. outside, but inside the Clermont Lounge it’s always half-past midnight.

A smattering of barflies hover over their drinks, barely distinguishable in the dimly lit tavern. The pending sale of the Ponce de Leon Avenue building that houses the 44-year-old tavern isn’t part of the conversation.

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Charles Jeffress / Special

The building housing the Clermont Lounge and Clermont Hotel is for sale.

Did you know?

• The Clermont Motor Hotel has 108 rooms and five floors

• Constructed in 1924 as an apartment building, the Clermont was transformed into a hotel in 1940. Rooms usually start at just over $35 a night.

• Al Capone reputedly leased the top floor of hotel in a failed attempt to muscle local racketeers.

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“Every six months, I hear a new rumor about the bar closing,” said bouncer Chuck Jeffress, who’s worked here for five years. He was a regular for 10 years before that.

Jeff Notrica, who owns the building that houses the basement saloon and the Clermont Hotel, is asking for $6.5 million. The agent handling the sale said there are no plans to close the bar, one of Atlanta’s last refuges of authenticity.

“This is the place where you come not to self-destruct, but to rebuild from self-destruction,” said Tom Thiessen, 49. “You either go with the flow or flow out the door.”

All kinds imbibe here, from junkies to celebrities (or both).

“Woody Harrelson came here three times when he was in town,” said Jeffress, 38. “Spent most of his time playing Galaga.”

The dancers — some barely old enough to drink, others old enough to retire — are the Clermont’s calling card. Blondie, famous for crushing beer cans with her cleavage, may get all the publicity, but there’s no stars at the Clermont.

“I want to correct something,” said 53-year-old dancer Cathy Lankford, aka “Lil’ Cathy.” “People say this place is where old strippers come to die. That’s not true. I’ve been here more than 20 years.”

The Clermont dates back to 1965, when the Jungle Club opened in its current space. About the only change since is the name, in 1968. Oh, and there’s some faux brick now covering the walls.

It’s about all that’s “faux” in the Clermont, where only pretense is unwelcome.

“You’ve got some of the younger kids coming in here that don’t understand the tip process,” said a diplomatic Lankford. The Clermont, named one of the best bars in America by Esquire magazine two years ago, is suddenly hip, to the chagrin of some of the regulars.

“This is the one place where people I knew wouldn’t be caught dead,” said Jeffress when asked what first attracted him to the Clermont. “Now I get to kick those people out.”

He was joking, though one shouldn’t forget an unofficial rule of bar hopping: Always take the bouncer seriously — even when he waxes sentimental.

“This is my second home,” said Jeffress, who moved to Atlanta from Houston 15 years ago.

For Lankford, the Clermont is “a good friend to the ear and a good friend to the spirit.”

And, like Lil’ Cathy, the venerable dive plans on hanging around a while longer.

“I still have a few years left in me,” she said.

—Kevin Duffy contributed to this report.