Karaoke in a bait shop? This NC small town with a big heart tackles life with laid-back fun
When the sun goes down on Saturday nights, locals in Vandemere parade down the town’s one street for a rollicking night at Squidders Bait & Tackle — the only karaoke bar on Earth that sells finger mullet and mud minnows.
There, while the party lights flash across the Moon Pie sign on the cash register, they can belt out Tanya Tucker and Merle Haggard songs, dancing close while a hometown boy croons “Wonderful Tonight.”
In a coastal town of 240, where the fishing trade is vanishing after a string of punishing hurricanes, Squidders serves as a floating buoy, where a Vandemere local can buy charcoal or toilet paper in a pinch and then hobnob over a Budweiser on the tables outside, maybe enjoying some pickled eggs from the jar on the counter.
On a good night, Squidders will draw 45 people — five fewer than the fire marshal’s limit — and a half-dozen karaoke singers will tell you about working at the fish house across the street when they were young, and how the boats would come in from Holden Beach with a different set of crewmen every week, and how the girls would swoon over them until the next set of boats arrived.
It’s a town where Russ and Debbie Hudson grew up in sight of the tackle shop they now own, where they’ve stayed married 44 years, and where their Saturday night karaoke singalong has grown into a community gathering powerful enough to draw newcomers from three counties away.
The stories never get old, and you can’t sing out of key.
“It’s crazy fantastic,” said Jamey Thomas, who has just finished singing “Blue Bayou.” “I don’t even care about the tackle.”
‘Lightning Strikes’
Karaoke night at the bait shop traces its origins to Hurricane Florence, which flooded Squidders with 28 inches of water. You can still see the water line drawn across the door frame, with the mark from Hurricane Isabelle 8 reaching inches higher, and the line from Hurricane Irene rising 8 inches higher than that.
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In 2018, when the Bay River waterfront got deluged by Florence, Vandemere got crowded with volunteers looking to bail out victims in their half-submerged houses.
One night Russ Hudson, who had beer for sale inside Squidders but no electricity to keep it cold, met up with some thirsty volunteers who had plenty of coolers and ice.
Then nature took its sudsy course.
“Before long,” Hudson said, “we were singing karaoke. Lightning strikes.”
So for the last five years, as soon as the weather turns warm, he fires up the karaoke app on a big screen TV that hangs right over the display case full of reels, running the sound through a Marshall amp and running a microphone stand to the center of the floor.
Last Saturday, Hudson kicked off the night with a duet, singing “One Horse Town” by Blackberry Smoke along with Jamey Thomas — a regular who moved to nearby Oriental from Minnesota. Everyone cheered when they hit the chorus:
“This little bitty town, oh yeah, it ain’t nothing new
We all stick around ‘cause they all tell us to ...
If I didn’t think that it would shut the whole thing down
I’d saddle that one horse and ride it right out of this town.”
One-Horse Town
To get to Vandemere from Raleigh, you’ve got to drive two hours down U.S. 70 to New Bern, then hang a left over the Neuse River, which at that point seems as wide as the Chesapeake Bay.
The entire population of Pamlico County totals just over 12,000, or slightly larger than Wendell, and the road to Vandemere takes a highly rural wind around the rivers that feed Pamlico Sound. Hang a right into town and Pennsylvania Avenue will dead-end at Squidders’ door.
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Debbie Hudson describes half-century-old history like it happened last week, recalling that the bait shop she and her husband own used to be a store run by Mr. Joe Morris, who smoked a cigar and put penny candy on display in the window.
She adds that Russ Hudson is missing two toes from an accident working at the ice house when he was 18, when a 400-pound block of ice fell on his foot. These recollections are all accompanied by a wave of her hand out Squidders’ front door.
“He grew up right over there,” she said, motioning to where her husband’s childhood home stood. “I grew up five doors down.”
When he was 15, Hudson played drums in a band called The Devious End, and he was so young that his mother had to sign the band into the Shrine Club in Havelock when they played.
So not only does Squidders’ owner hand-tie his own drum rigs, he knows his way around a Marshall amp, and he brings a mean repertoire to the karaoke mic. And he still plays drums with a new band, Signature Blend. His favorite tunes to sing:
“Most anything,” he said. “Elvis.”
Honor System
On karaoke night, Squidders patrons serve themselves drinks from the coolers and save all the pull-ring tabs, turning them in at the end to pay.
“We work on the honor system,” Hudson said. “Sometimes I lose money ...”
By the end of the night, the mood is turning mellow as James Eldridge sings Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight.” When Debbie Hudson hears the opening notes from the tables outside, she ducks back inside and grabs her husband, joining him for a slow dance.
As they twirl and the party lights flash on their shoulders, the one-horse town they refuse to leave seems as big as any.
This story was originally published July 3, 2023 at 6:00 AM.