On the dark street of Homestead’s Eighth Avenue, past the excitement of the Waterfront and the… On the dark street of Homestead’s Eighth Avenue, past the excitement of the Waterfront and the dreariness of Chiodo’s and Dukes, a telephone receiver protrudes from a dusty gray string of buildings. The bright yellow, flashing lights draw attention to a well-lit area where a sign reads “Alexander Graham Bell Cafe.”

Two women in their early 20s rush into the bar. They look around at their surroundings, which include extravagant mirrors that would put Snow White’s “Mirror on the Wall” to shame. The old-fashioned telephones and paintings of men on horses and half-dressed women dancing around a glass of Penn Pilsner add to the ambiance.

They find seats at the end of the bar. After spending awhile conversing about last night’s South Side extravaganza and playing a few games of “Mega Touch,” a bar-side game played on an electronic screen, they hear a phone in front of them ring. It’s not a cell phone, though many of the patrons’ phones rest on the glossy cherry wood bar, next to their cash and cigarettes. In fact, the phone is in no way a piece of modern technology.

The loud, rattled ring comes from a telephone that looks as though it has been salvaged and restored from the early 1900s. The hand set is slung over a wooden box with a rotary dial at the bottom.

One of the two woman answers the phone and scans the bar and restaurant area.

“Who is this?” she asked.

Two men in their early 30s, sitting at the gold-painted, Victorian-style tables, smile as the two pairs catch each others’ attention. The phone at the men’s table looks as though it has come straight from the television series “Lassie,” in which Timmy would stand on a chair, pick up the ear piece that rested on the side, and be connected to an operator who sat in front of a switchboard with blinking lights and wires going in every direction.

The man at the table phone chats with the woman, shares a few laughs and hangs up. Just then, a phone rings behind the bar and a young blond bartender, wearing a purple tie-dyed shirt with “Alexander Graham Bell Cafe” written in shiny silver letters, answers.

She hangs up, walks over to the two women and sets two bottles in front of them.

“These are from table 39” she says.

They look over their shoulders to the same two men, who have a light hung above their table with the number “39.” They smile and thank them from across the room.

This is not a dark, dim bar with walls yellow and musty from the cigarette smoke. There is no rack with bags of chips set against the wall. No cigarette machine exists in the building. There is also no dance floor — or any open area that may be confused for one.

Three stained-glass windows welcome guests through the thick, wooden doors. Just inside stands the “Shot Bar,” which resembles a hotel registrar, thanks to the same cherry wood used for the bar, the bouquets of flowers and the bottles of wine set on the shelves.

Toni and Sonya Sailor, and their partner, Sheron Sullivan, opened The Alexander Graham Bell Cafe during the last week of November last year. Having recently purchased Victorian homes in the Munhall historic area, they hoped to rebuild the area once known and appreciated as the steel center, not only for Pittsburgh, but also for most of America.

“Why not put your money where you live?” Sailor said, explaining their choice for the site of the new bar.

The three hope that their efforts will inspire others to do the same. They plan to work with a tanning salon and an Argentinean Deli, which will join a retro furniture store to fill the once boarded-up shops that line the streets.

At the bar, 24-year-old Chris Waters sits, drinking a Miller Lite from a foot-high flute glass and staring at the four flat-screen televisions showing “Law and Order” and ESPN. He grew up in Munhall, just up the hill from the new bar, and he says he is excited about the new addition, and that he hopes store owners will continue to build up the area.

The owners say that they got the idea from a bar that used to be in Pittsburgh’s Market Square during the 1970s. They asked that bar’s former owner if they could use the phone concept and the name, and he agreed.

But this bar includes many new additions.

Beyond the bar, the tables and the bathroom is a staircase, carpeted with a leopard-print pattern, that leads to an area for a different experience. In this section, there are no phones.

A group of men dressed in shirts with the top two buttons open and sweaters stand around a league-size pool table. Against the wall stands a jukebox with 99 compact discs, playing Ozzy Osbourne’s “Mama, I’m Coming Home.” A chandelier, which lights the green velvet table, is unlike the classy, glass designs that hang from the ceiling of the first floor. This one matches the moose, boar and buffalo heads that decorate the walls — it is made of racks of antlers intertwined to give a rustic outdoors look.

A group of eight friends sit in front of a fireplace talking and laughing. Two of the four men sit on opposing love seats with their arms stretched around people who appear to be their girlfriends, judging by the way they embrace one another.

The rest of the area is filled with the same Victorian-style tables as downstairs. Some face the 42-inch, plasma-screen television that is showing a Penguins game, while the others face the stage of the disc jockey, who is usually there from Thursday through Saturday. The number 10 hangs on the wall.

“That’s so people can call the DJ and make requests,” supervisor Chris Sullivan explained with a smile.

Sheron Sullivan said that the food at the cafe is one of their main attractions, along with their Chocolate Martinis and Long Island Ice Teas, which are served in mason jars the size of milk cartons. The cafe offers everything from burgers and wings to shrimp and scallops served in penne noodles, she said.