'The tavern was operated by Cliff Whitney and later a second generation, the Chamberlain family. The building burned in 1951 and was resurrected in concrete in 1952.... Lila Goakey ran the Wig Wam with husband Loren from 1973 through 1996.... The Goakeys sold out before Loren's death in 2001. Buying the tavern was a woman who changed the name and got rid of the iconic tepee on the sign. The place did not thrive, and closed in late 2009. There was a foreclosure. The Wig Wam sat empty and disheveled.'
'Business partners Erik Sweet and George Wood bought the 1.44-acre property late in 2011 with no intention of operating a tavern. They wanted to start a brewery for George's craft beers and may still do so out back where the cabins used to be. As they started cleaning it up, people kept stopping by and saying, "Are you going to open up the old Wig Wam?" said Mike Sweet, Erik's dad, who moved up from Texas to manage the tavern.'
'The new sign, modeled after the old yellow and red one, bears a tepee like those used by Plains Indians, not a wigwam, the traditional housing of tribes from the Great Lakes eastward. The Great Plains motif is picked up on new wood-carved restroom signs, with a chief in feather war bonnet. There's a "liars corner" — a vestige of the old Wig Wam — and a quilters' corner. Yes, the Wig Wam has a nicely appointed area, where ladies ply their craft. Rumor has it the old Wig Wam had ladies who plied another craft in the second story, now gone. "That was something everyone laughed about," Goakey said, dismissing the colorful story as hearsay.'
"Pam Kruse Buckingham of the Kitsap County Historical Society said the facts don't support that story. Buckingham's research showed the building was built in 1913 and it housed Flieder Bros. Grocery until the late '30s. The building remained vacant until 1941, when it became the Rendevous [sic] Beer Parlor, she said. Segar died in 1938, according to his biography on the King Features Web site."
"Not afraid to over-serve. I once had a Jägerbomb with each of my first nine beers and the barkeep never batted an eye." (Skattman)Thankfully, so far it has been able to resist the people and forces that seem to think that urban renewal calls for the elimination of all vestiges of charm and character. It's not the kind of place I would be likely to go to regularly if it were in Seattle, but its jumbled themes seem to work here, and I might be here often.