Syracuse native Jamie Crouse returned home from New Orleans in 2016 to own a bar. His original timeline sought to open what he called The Night Drop in spring 2019, but two events sent that plan sideways — a motorcycle accident and the Covid-19 pandemic. Those personal and global challenges pushed the opening to June 2020, and by that time, The Night Drop and its owner were inseparable.
The accident happened first. Just a few months after returning to Syracuse, in July 2016,Crouse was riding his 1988 Harley-Davidson Super Glide at the intersection of Midland and West Ostrander Avenues – just over a mile up the road from The Night Drop – when something happened. He doesn’t remember any details, but the accident left him with a fractured skull, a broken collarbone and ribs, and the loss of hearing in one ear. It took three surgeries to restore his balance, and six years later, he still does his best to avoid loud noises and bright lights.
Crouse recuperated from the crash living inside the building that would become The Night Drop, formerly a popular bar known as The Remedy. And before that, 363 W Seneca Turnpike operated as a branch of the Bank of Onondaga. During his recovery, Crouse says he slept inside the vault. “I’ve always skimmed just above poverty,” Crouse, 57, says, but living in a gutted tavern was new for him.
The area, though, is familiar. Crouse attended Corcoran High School, which sits less than two miles from The Night Drop in the Strathmore neighborhood. The bar itself is in the Valley, next to a Jreck Subs and across the street from famous ice cream shop Gannon’s. What the area doesn’t have much of, Crouse says, is bars. But that wasn’t the primary impetus for choosing this location. “The building speaks for itself,” he says.
Inspiration for the bar, Crouse says, comes from New Orleans. While in the Big Easy, Crouse worked as a cook – he corrects himself after initially saying “chef” – and his experiences there inform The Night Drop’s distinctive vibe. “I wanted it to look like a New Orleans whorehouse,” he says, but really it feels more like a speakeasy than a brothel. That said, Crouse christened an aging, black spray-painted trailer with an enormous attached Citgo sign, the “No-Tell Motel.” And the bar’s Facebook page tagline is “Lovers lounge. Haters don’t get laid,” dripping with Crouse’s characteristic voice and tone.
The material result of Crouse’s inspiration: Night Drop patrons laissez les bon temps rouler in a single wide open, dimly-lit (due to Crouse’s sensitivity to light) room anchored by a squared U-shape bar sitting in front of the open bank vault, which now houses a small kitchen. A heavy black curtain separates the front door from the bar, hiding the eclectically-decorated deep red walls from passersby. Only a few neon beer signs in the front windows suggest the building’s true purpose, but they give nothing away of the Night Drop’s character.
That’s because Crouse is also an artist with a taste for recycling and repurposing. Beyond the trinkets and tchotchkes, unique artwork covers every surface in the bar. Crouse himself created some of it, but even if he didn’t make a piece of decor with his own hands, he curated each item. The bar features a difficult-to-define aesthetic (one which includes Crouse’s signature feathered, wide-brimmed white hat). The easy interpretation of the bar’s decor is that the bar doesn’t just reflect Crouse, it is him. “You know, it’s not just about making a piece of art to hang on the wall. It’s really about his life, his lifestyle. He’s all over that place,” longtime friend and chef Steve Morrison says.
Night Drop regulars come for Crouse just as much as they do the bar itself. “You never know what you’re going to get, but no matter what, it’s probably going to be fun,” Morrison says. Crouse frequently bartends, tossing anecdotes, no-nonsense advice, and cutting quips back and forth with regulars, sitting like an empresario with an audience surrounding him. Crouse also refuses to play news or sports on the bar’s lone TV in favor of old movies and conversation.
But far from being a one-sided relationship, the bar and its patrons give back to Crouse in equal measure. “Everyone takes care of Jamie,” says Lindy Stark, who comes to the bar every Wednesday with her husband Jim, a commitment that continued even after they moved away from the Valley to a neighborhood further afield. As an example, Stark says that when Crouse needs to step away from the bar if the noise and stimulation become too much, regulars will step in to make drinks and collect tabs.
It’s clear from his passion for the bar and its regulars, and from the time and care spent on creating its particular feel, that Crouse knows what makes his bar unique. But ask him, and he’s more inclined to tell you what it isn’t: “This ain’t no Applebees.”
