Most people remember their Phyrst time.

Behind a shackled wooden door and down a stairwell of nostalgia lingers an ethos of people. Pinching cigarettes while clenching pints o' stout high in the air, patrons sing along with the Phamly.

Phor those unaware, The Phyrst, 111 1/2 E. Beaver Ave., lights up with the lights low every Saturday night. After 10 p.m., student and alumni frequenters wrap around the stage, where the Phyrst Phamly splashes folky polka onto an audience of about a hundred.

"I was a student here too. I just never left State College," said Jen "Dixon" Hesketh, guitarist and singer for the Phamly. The band has been carrying on a weekly tradition since 1969 when Ernie Oelbermann formed the Phamly at his former bar.

Pulling songs from the Nick at Nite archive, the Phamly inspired sing-a-longs to the themes to Gilligan's Island, the Brady Bunch and the Beverly Hillbillies. Even commercial jingles were covered as the audience spelled out the first and last name of their bologna.

"The people, the atmosphere, the music . . . the audience is just as much of the show as anything," Hesketh said.

She's right. Their rendition of Neil Diamond's "Sweet Caroline" induced a roaring sing-a-long — but only during the refrain. Few were singing the remainder of the song, either because they didn't know the words or they were too busy drinking.

But those who sang did so loudly, especially one woman by the stage who started her own quartet, which sang into her cell phone.

Preceding the Phamly jam are the Phyrst's exclusive table wars. Veteran table war soldiers, Bob Timmons (senior-accounting) and Greg Paul (senior-history) are well-attuned to the informal procedures of this collective drinking game. Starting between six and seven o'clock on Saturday nights, each full table randomly chants who they are and call out for another table to represent itself by yelling back, pounding their fists and stamping their feet.

"We are table number four, number four, number four! We are table number four, number four, number four!" Paul, Timmons and friends at their table yelled. "Where the hell is table number one?"

But a table must chant loudly and in symmetry to avoid getting booed. But sometimes nothing will please the crowd.

"You can get booed anytime for anything; being too soft, uncoordinated." Paul explained, noting that after getting booed, those at the table must chug their beverages. "Anything goes."

Another way to end the chanting is for a called table to stand up and sing a song. If successful, the singers designate another table to drink. If not, they must suck it up and "cheers."

"Every once in a while, a song will be screwed up so bad, the table will get booed the rest of the night," Timmons said.

Sporadically, the cowbell hanging behind the stage is banged with a drumstick at the request of a chant from any table. After toasting and drinking to the bell, the crowd then turned their shouting back onto the improv percussionist as they chant, "Bellringer chug! Bellringer chug!"

Three hours and many pitchers later, Timmons, Paul and the rest of the table war participants call it quits. Their voices need some rest to sing along with the Phamly.

Overall, the ambiance of the Phyrst is a comfortable one. Despite music and thunderous off-key sing-a-longs, it's still possible to hold a conversation with friends or strangers under the ting of banjo and acoustic melodies. Lounges lay on both sides of the bar, with room for about six on each table. Problems arise when nature calls, however. Patience and about 15 "pardon me's" are needed to bull through the stage crowd and into the men's room, but the Andy Capp and Doonesbury comics above the urinals rank high in State College's restroom entertainment enterprise.

On the other side of the bar, between the pool tables and video solitaire is the ladies' room, where longtime patron Dan Walters (a.k.a. Uncle Jed) mingles with the women waiting in line.

"This is why I come down here," Walters said with two young women resting their smiles on his shoulders. After kissing their cheeks and wishing them a good night, he turned and said, "Being around young people makes you young."

Walters has been a patron of the Phyrst for quite some time, 25 years to be exact. He's seen patrons come and go, but the jokes he's heard haven't left his memory.

"You know, there's two things you lose as you get older," he said. "The second is your memory and the first . . . I forget."

But another aptly applies to his waterhole. "It's not who buys the Phyrst drinks, it's who buys the last drinks," he said, pointing to his faded blue T-shirt that sports the complementing phrase in chipping white lettering, "No one's ugly at 2 a.m."

Phor Phyrst time patron, Rachel Dillon (senior-secondary education), Jed's presence "made the experience."

"After he asked me if I wanted to dance to 'Twist and Shout' with him, I knew it was going to be a good night," Dillon said, giggling.

All this is a typical Saturday night scenario at the Phyrst. Regulars and table war participants are generally the ones next to the stage, conversing with the Phamly between songs. For outsiders, it's a weekly event sure to entertain the eyes and ears of those who don't mind kicking back and having a few beers.