Cunningham’s Court: Memory #43: What’s on Tap for Happy Hour?

Cheers to Happy Hour at Cunningham’s Court–it’s the series where everybody knows Dad’s name! And, if you don’t know his name, yet, grab a drink and catch up with the series introduction in Memory #75.

Why chase the extraordinary, when sometimes it’s just waiting for you—hidden in the places you least expect. Like my Dad’s old bar, with its boat-deck walls, friendly stools, and a fresh story always on tap.

In Billy Cunningham’s basketball journey, there’s a side court many fans might not know about—the time he became a bar owner. In 1987, at 43, hence Memory #43, Dad and a few partners opened Cunningham’s Court. Transitioning between coaching the Sixers and founding the Miami Heat, Dad founded a community where people hang out with their friends and tell stories.

And I’m retrieving this memory because writing Memory #75 which helped set off this series wasn’t enough. I still needed to explain where the name Cunningham’s Court came from.

From Sidelines to Bar Lines

Two years after coaching, Dad was unwinding from what he called “the gypsy life of pro basketball.” In a 1987 Philadelphia Inquirer interview with reporter Marlene A. Prost, Dad explained, “Coaching is a totally consuming job. You wake up in the middle of the night, you’re constantly playing tapes in your head and designing plays.”

Those were not easy years for Dad. Mom would nudge us and say, “Look, your Dad’s on TV. Look how pale he looks.” She couldn’t wait for him to come home so he could get a home-cooked meal.

Dad wasn’t one for slow transitions. He quit coaching, ownership was on the horizon, and in the meantime, owning a bar didn’t hurt.

He still had his two-year contract with CBS Sports as a “color man” for professional and college basketball. Dad appreciated having something to do that wasn’t so stressful, saying, “It’s a nice way to stay close to the game and…not be emotionally tied to either team. And still be able to sleep.”

It also helped that Mom had two years to point out how good Dad looked on TV, or that he was wearing the tie I had picked out for him. (Dad would always ask me which tie to wear).

When asked if he might combine his roles as athlete, TV personality, and bar owner by appearing in a beer commercial, Dad revealed, “Someone contacted me in 1976 about Miller and made an offer. I asked for some more money and never heard from them again.”

Dad would have been in if he could get more money (and free merch).

Conveniently, he had already forgotten all those times he won Miller Lite Coach of the Year Awards—and received enough Miller Lite to last a lifetime. Most of it piled up in our outside garage refrigerator before he eventually gave it to the trash collectors! (Happy Hour at the Cunningham’s house started a decade before the bar’s official opening in 1987.

What Made It Special

Cunningham’s Court wasn’t just the name on the bar sign in West Conshohocken. It was our real-life version of Cheers–where everybody knows your name. Fittingly, Cheers first aired during the Sixers’ 1982-83 championship season, making the connection feel even stronger.

Through high school, college, and even into my twenties, it always felt cool that Dad owned a bar like that. He wanted Cunningham’s Court to have the best burgers in town, and he believed he had found them.

Walking inside for the first time was surreal. Seeing Dad’s memorabilia on full display felt strange at first. At home, his awards lived in basement closets or the attic. But here, at Cunningham’s Court, his story lined the walls, larger than life.

One of my favorite finds? I came across this photo of Cunningham’s Court’s interior online. You can spot Dad’s framed #32 jersey “retired” right into the wood paneling above the bar.

Times change, but memories stick around. That same jersey now hangs out back in our basement.

And speaking of treasures tucked away, I found a copy of the original Cunningham’s Court menu while digging through old boxes. I’ll include it here because nothing says “happy hour” like burgers, beers, and a little family history.

Beyond the burgers and memorabilia, two images from Cunningham’s Court are forever etched in my mind (because I found them in the basement, my memories not that good):

One was a photo of Dad as coach — arms thrown up in the air, a perfect “what’s next?” look on his face — that hung inside.

The other? A life-size mural of Dad in his Sixers uniform, custom made for the front entrance. Even though I usually snuck in through the back door to pick up our burgers, every time I walked through the front, Dad was right there — larger than life, ready to pass you the ball. Completely unforgettable, especially when you have the original there to remind you.

Happy Hour at Cunningham’s Court

To this day, people approach me with fond memories of Cunningham’s Court. “I used to love going there!” they’ll say, their eyes lighting up with nostalgia. For our community, it was a place that brought everybody together. It was our family’s version of Cheers, where everybody knew Dad’s name.

Cunningham’s Court Lives On

What started as a business venture became woven into our family identity. In 1996, nearly a decade after Cunningham’s Court opened, I found my grandpa at his 80th birthday reunion proudly sporting a Cunningham’s Court t-shirt. Even Grandpa couldn’t pass up free merch (especially when it came from Dad). And when Sam turned off the light and closed the doors to Cheers in May 1993, Cunningham’s Court was still open for business until it finally closed its doors in 2005.

That was the magic of Cunningham’s Court—it wasn’t just a bar or a real-life replica of Cheers. It was a place where people gathered and shared stories. It lives on in every memory that I share.

You’ll never know where these stories might take you.

It reminds me of one of this 5 foot photo of Dad that hung in the bar (not even sure where)—caught mid-game, hands in the air, looking completely perplexed, like he was thinking, “What are you thinking?”

But, when I told Dad my idea that I’m basing my series on the Top 75 Cunningham’s Court memories, he gave me a fist bump and a big smile, and that’s all the encouragement I needed.

Dad, I know you hate it when the players still call you Coach, but I secretly love it. You’ll always be the coach to me, too. And there will be Happy Hour at Cunningham’s Court for the rest of us–as long as I can keep the lights on.

This is Memory #43 in “Cunningham’s Court: 75 Basketball Memories” – a daughter’s collection preserving the legacy of Billy Cunningham, one of the NBA’s Top 75 Players of All Time.

Cheers from Cunningham’s Court!

P.S.Speaking of memories unfolding in unexpected ways…

Did I have to bring up the number 32?

Related Memory: Billy Cunningham’s Iconic #32 Learn how Dad ended up with #32 (if you’ve ever played a sport, it might remind you of how you got your number)… or trust me, it’s not what you would think.

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