A sage’s advice: Everyone should have a watering hole they can walk to. It was true when the local tavern was a meeting place for America’s early revolutionaries. And it still holds for many city and small town denizens.

Before it closed several weeks ago, for 29 years The Dizz in Remington was such a tavern. Imagine the classic TV show “Cheers” transferred from Boston to Baltimore. You witness the sassy bartender insulting babbling drunks. You overhear those blubbering know-it-alls, experts on all facets of life except their own failures. Admittedly, it is a small honor to enter the front door, and the bartender is already pouring your favorite elixir of the gods.

Three decades is a long life for any bar or restaurant. The owners bought the bar in 1990, when it was a corner dive called Igor’s, a desolate and dark dungeon. They transformed it into a colorful, spacious and hospitable pub, and initially christened it Buckley’s, in honor of a pet dog.

When its doors opened, residents suddenly had within walking distance two pinball machines, a dart board, a pool table, and a jukebox that played vinyl records — from country and gospel to the blues and rock ’n’ roll. If it was your lucky day you could imbibe your favorite drink while nestled in one of the two barber shop chairs. The owners also exposed a wonderful fireplace that was previously covered up.

When schools were canceled due to snow, my kids and their friends went sleigh riding. Afterward, we visited what had then become known as Dizzy Issie’s (a 1997 name change) to have their wet shoes and socks dried by the fireplace while sipping hot chocolate, gobbling burgers and fries, and thawing their frozen little toes by the crackling flames. For a couple of hours these urchins were treated like royalty.

Like any good watering hole, the place featured an array of sundry characters. There was Lester, so inebriated that he once left his false teeth on the bar (it took him a day to recall where he might have left them). There was Lynn, who mocked the know-it-all dolts while on occasion delighting the crowd with her operatic version of “Break It to Me Gently.” For several years the bar offered a football pool for regular customers; it was fun (and probably illegal). The fanatical men would read arcane details in sports pages from three or four newspapers before making their picks. Gaye, another character, sipped her beer and chose the team whose city she felt sorry for or whose quarterback seemed most handsome. Turns out that Gaye won more often than the guys.

Then the bar got discovered. Our secret was out. Favorable reviews from The Baltimore Sun and The City Paper turned this nearby watering hole into a trendy “place to be.” The pub got renamed for a third time to “The Dizz” in 2008, and we regulars witnessed a virtual invasion. People from all over flocked to our little niche and transformed it. Bar food no longer sufficed; the place was edging toward artisan meals. Gone were the pool table, pinball machines and jukebox. The dart league on Wednesday nights ended. Displacing these entertaining devices were dining tables with reservation cards and patrons dressed in business outfits. The place was soon packed, even during weeknights.

For 29 years this is how a local watering hole welcomed area residents: Bring your friends, neighbors, colleagues and children and have fun, talk about trivial or important things, momentarily forget your worries, have some laughs.

The Dizz reflected a slice of Baltimore. It welcomed all types — residents and TV personalities and City Council members — to exchange anecdotes and thoughts with friends or strangers. Amid drinks and snacks, patrons circulated their stories on attending Eastern or Poly, the glory days of Pennsylvania Avenue or Lexington Market, sports events at Memorial Stadium or Camden Yards. And yes, after one or two drinks too many, some ranted about neighborhood disputes, corrupt politicians or the latest gossip.

Let’s hope an ambitious proprietor revives this local watering hole. It would sustain an American and Baltimore tradition.

Alexander E. Hooke (ahooke@stevenson .edu) is a philosophy professor at Stevenson University. His latest book is “Alphonso Lingis and Existential Genealogy” (Zero Books).