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When I was in college, there was a bar near the campus. Actually, there were a ton of bars near the campus. But this one was called the "Crazy Horse Saloon." You could get in if you were eighteen, even if only to drink 3.2 percent beer (a popular watered-down substitute in Ohio back in the day). As a senior in high school, I'd overhear the girls talking about meeting college boys during "Drink and Drown Night" over the weekend at this establishment.

It changed names at least once while I was in college, when it became a disco club -- like damn near everything else in the mid-70s. It's probably gone through several more name changes since then.

But they lost the Native American tag in the nick of time, as shown in this dateline from Paris:

"The headdresses worn, with little else, by dancers at the Crazy Horse club in Paris have provoked a complaint from descendants of the Sioux warrior after whom the cabaret was named without their permission... As admirers of the nude cabaret muttered about 'politically correct killjoys,' the Crazy Horse management met last night to consider its response. After 53 years, a name change for the nightclub off the Champs-Elysees seemed unlikely..."

Whew!