He became the bar’s owner before he could legally drink, taking it over at 16 years old when his dad died. The two-room corner bar with wood paneling and a jukebox soon became the place to watch the Kansas City Chiefs, a South Philadelphia haven to watch a Midwestern football team just a few blocks from where the Eagles play.
But many of the people who packed Big Charlie’s Saloon every Sunday had a secret: They weren’t really all that crazy about the Chiefs.
“I get heat for being a Chiefs fan,” said city councilman Jimmy Harrity, who does not miss a game at 11th and McKean Streets. “But I wasn’t a Chiefs fan. I’m a Paul Staico fan. If I could name three players, that’s a lot. I was there cheering for him. Some are there to watch the game. But for the most part, they were there for Paul.”
Mr. Staico died suddenly Sunday morning, a few days after his bar stayed open on Thanksgiving night because the Chiefs were playing. He was 59.
“It was sudden,” Harrity said. “Nobody saw it coming. He had no problems. No issues. The bar did well. I was with him the day before. I knew he wasn’t right, a little depressed. But I didn’t think it was like this. It was shocking to everyone. It’s so tragic. He didn’t deserve to go out like that. He protected people. He didn’t let bad eggs around.”
Mr. Staico was born on March 10, 1966. He attended Bishop Neumann High School, boxed as a teenager, and stayed in shape as a bodybuilder. He looked like a linebacker but was as gentle as a kicker.
He became a Chiefs fan as a boy when his dad — Big Charlie — hit on a bet in 1970 for the Chiefs to win the Super Bowl. Big Charlie told his boy he would buy him a bike if the team in red won. The Chiefs won, giving Big Charlie’s boy a new ride and a new favorite team.
The Chiefs fell off after that championship, but Mr. Staico remained loyal to his team. The South Philly Chiefs fan bought a satellite dish in 1986 to air games at Big Charlie’s, slowly converting his friends from the neighborhood like Anthony Mazzone to cheer for the red and gold instead of the Birds.
The bar was dubbed “Arrowhead East” as Mr. Staico covered the walls in Chiefs memorabilia, turning the corner bar into a shrine for the team that helped him land that bike.
Mr. Staico’s bar was packed shoulder-to-shoulder for big games (a back room is invite-only) and even shut down 11th Street a few times to watch the Chiefs outdoors on a projector screen.
He paid a guy from the neighborhood to sweep the sidewalk every day and offered wisdom to anyone who sat at his bar.
“We make people feel at home,” Mr. Staico said in an NFL Films feature about the bar. “It’s not like it’s just our thing. Everyone is invited.”
Harrity moved into the neighborhood when he was 18, living in an apartment on Emily Street. He was an outsider — an Irish kid from Southwest Philly dating an Italian girl in deep South Philly — but Mr. Staico made him feel welcome. Harrity would walk his dog past Big Charlie’s and talk to Mr. Staico outside.
“I didn’t drink. I was sober,” Harrity said. “The reason they have water in there is because I didn’t drink. He bought spring water so I’d have something to drink when I went in to watch the games. That’s the kind of guy he was. If you met him once, you were his best friend.”
The guys at Big Charlie’s root for the other Philly teams but not the Birds. They have Chiefs tattoos, Chiefs jerseys, and raised their children to be Chiefs fans.
Charlie Staico’s winning bet spawned a generation of Chiefs fans. The allure of Big Charlie’s continued to grow, almost like a quirky roadside attraction. Is there really a spot in Eagles country devoted to a team from 1,100 miles away?
NFL Films stopped by occasionally, TV news trucks pulled up whenever the Chiefs were gearing up for a Super Bowl run, and even some Chiefs players and coaches sat at the bar. The regulars made pilgrimages to Arrowhead Stadium and wore Big Charlie’s sweatshirts with pride. Mr. Staico’s South Philly bar was known as a place to watch the Chiefs, but the brick building was more than that to the people who filled it.
“It started out with 10 of us in the back bar crying every game because the Chiefs stunk,” Harrity said. “Then it grew to 300, 400 people for the first game every year. That’s not because of the Chiefs. That’s because of Paul. He made you feel at home. He made you feel like part of the family. One time in there, and that was it. The kind of place where you walked in there, threw $20 down on the bar, bought a round, and didn’t pay for another drink all day. It was just a friendly place.”
Mr. Staico is survived by his longtime girlfriend, Gloria Quinone; his sister, Linda Staico; and brother-in-law, Mark Mancini. A funeral service is planned for 11:30 a.m. Saturday at Epiphany of Our Lord Church at 11th and Jackson Streets.
