As of last weekend, the Andy’s Pet Shop neon sign has returned to life on Bascom Avenue, making San Jose a much more interesting place.
The grand re-opening party brought out tremendous community support, with several nearby businesses and friends all contributing to the festivities. Even in the blazing sun, the neon made it all worthwhile.
Sometime in the ’50s or ’60s, before I was born, a reporter wrote that Bascom was entirely dark at nighttime, except for the neon signs. Why? Because the only places open were the taverns. Now that was a version of San Jose I could brag about.
From San Carlos Street, all the way to Los Gatos, dive bars and roadside drinking establishments sprouted from the landscape in this part of town, all with neon—total noir vibes, just screaming for a hard-boiled novelist to capture the drunks, the murder sites, the feral cats or the drifters who wobbled along the side of the road, especially the portions without sidewalks.
Maybe it wasn’t quite like the neon wilderness of Chicago that Nelson Algren captured, back in whatever decade he did that. Or Dashiell Hammett in San Francisco. Or Raymond Chandler and Ross Macdonald in Los Angeles. You know, real cities with real underbellies. But it must have been amazing, that era.
In those days, Bascom wasn’t even called Bascom. It was called San Jose-Los Gatos Road. If you know where to look, a certain curb, maybe two or three, still says San Jose-Los Gatos Road. And those are just the sections with curbs.
Other parts of Bascom still don’t have sidewalks. If you tackle those areas on foot, people peg you for a madman. If a driver sees a person start to jaywalk a few blocks up the road, the driver thinks, “Ah, he’s going to try and make it. We’ll see about that.” And then he floors it.
Since I can’t seem to let a year go by without another column about Bascom, maybe I am a madman. That’s what gentrification does to a person. Thankfully, Andy’s occupies a stretch of Bascom that refuses to gentrify. The “land use consultants” can’t touch it. At least not yet.
That said, the struggle of Andy’s Pet Shop is one of the greatest independent business stories in San Jose history. It’s one of those classic “never say die” tales.
This has nothing to do with nostalgia, by the way. It’s pure cinema.
During the initial years at 1280 The Alameda, young canaries were $1.75 each. A cage with baby parakeets was $9.45. A scarlet macaw named “Pretty Boy” oversaw the action. A deodorized skunk sat in a cage with a sign that said, “Don’t annoy Sweet Pea.” Boxers and German Shepherds each sold for $17.50. All this from old newspaper ads.
In those days, the store became such a waymarker that ads for nearby businesses said things like, “across from Andy’s Pet shop,” or “down the street from Andy’s Pet Shop.” Apparently The Alameda was such a wasteland that nobody knew where anything was except in relation to Andy’s Pet Shop. The joint was jumping.
Also jumping were the monkeys. That’s right, at one time, back when it was still legal, the store also sold monkeys. You could drive over to The Alameda and Julian, park your car, and buy a monkey. To this day, people remember walking out the front door of Andy’s Pet Shop with a monkey.
But perhaps the best thing of all is that the original neon sign is now restored after being out of commission for a long time. For several years it just sat there on the floor. Customers still saw it, but it wasn’t used except for parades. Now it is finally attached to the outside of the new address at 425 S. Bascom.
Without exaggeration, thousands of people retain fond memories of Andy’s Pet Shop. It is one of the most loved and cherished businesses that San Jose has ever known. Restoring that sign and moving it to Bascom Avenue, where old-school neon signage once thrived, is a master stroke, especially in a town that constantly slaughters its own history.
Don’t just go for the beef bones. Go for the neon.
