Pints, Paintings, and a Piece of Old San Pedro

There’s much to celebrate this First Thursday of August. There’s San Pedro’s First Thursday Artwalk, an event known for the artists who arrived from the outer reaches of the LA metropolis in the late 1980s, seeking refuge from high rents and restrictive creative spaces—now partly supplanted by the open-air market happening tonight. And then there’s the fact that this First Thursday is also National India Pale Ale (IPA) Day—an ale that all but vanished after the early 20th century until beer enthusiasts and vloggers revived it more than a decade ago.

So I figured, why not mark the occasion with the story of Freddie the Hat, a fixture of old San Pedro whose kind is disappearing almost as fast as the city can swap out the old for the new.

It was another slow night at Godmother’s Saloon, the kind where the hum of the neon sign outside mixed with the sound of waves lapping against the docks. The regulars were hunched over their drinks, and the air was thick with the scent of salt, whiskey, and a lifetime of stories. That’s when old Johnny behind the bar leaned in, wiping down the counter, and said, “Boys, let me tell you about Freddie the Hat.”

Freddie wasn’t just some guy in San Pedro—he was San Pedro. He came with the tides, rolling into town with a sharp eye, a quick wit, and a Cadillac that could outlast a shipwreck. You’d see him all over, from Cannetti’s to the fish market, from Mannino’s to the Sunshine Market, always with that little dachshund of his, munching carrots like it knew something the rest of us didn’t.

He didn’t suffer fools. If a man wasn’t straight with him, he’d cut him down with a glance and a grumble: “They’re all a bunch of phonies.” He’d been through the wringer—worked the shipyards, done some longshore gigs, even taken an unexpected stay in the county’s less glamorous accommodations. But he never let it break him. “Trumped-up charges,” he’d say with a smirk, and you almost believed him.

Freddie had a shop—called it a jewelry store, though most folks figured it was as much a front as a storefront. But that was Freddie. Maybe it was legit, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, nobody with any sense asked too many questions.

The Hat, as they called him, played it like he was a tightwad, but he had a soft spot for the down-and-out. More than once, someone on hard times would whisper their troubles, and Freddie would peel off a few bills with a gruff, “I know what it’s like to be without.”

He logged more miles in that Cadillac than a trucker on a double shift—honking, waving, even blowing the occasional kiss if he was in a playful mood. You couldn’t cross San Pedro without crossing paths with The Hat.

Freddie belonged to a different San Pedro—one of old bars and whispered deals, of fog rolling off the harbor and ships that came and went like ghosts. He was a walking contradiction: tough as nails but soft where it counted, a cynic who still believed in looking out for folks when it mattered.

Then one day, the Cadillac sat still. The coffee at Mannino’s went cold without him. The streets felt a little emptier. On June 23, 1990, Freddie the Hat tipped his last brim and left town for good.

But in the taverns and street corners, in the stories and memories of those who knew him, he’s still there. And on a night like this—when the Artwalk spills into the streets and pints of IPA are raised—you can almost hear him laughing, hat tilted just so, daring you to take another sip and toast the San Pedro that was.

Visit the following water holes to grab a pint of your favorite IPA:

San Pedro Brewing Co
(310) 831-5663
sanpedrobrewing.com
331 W 6th St, San Pedro

Godmother Saloon
(310) 833-1589
302 W 7th St, San Pedro
Iron City Tavern
(310) 547-4766
589 W 9th St, San Pedro