Tales

Told by Thor on December 29, 2006

I had lived in the great city of San Francisco for several years without finding one of things I missed the most from back home: a decent local. My old watering hole (in Trondheim, Norway) is a fantastic place -- run by an English expat who truly knows his stuff -- so it's safe to say that I had been spoiled rotten and was very picky.

Months into an intensified quest for a good pub, my buddy and I got it into our heads that The Front Room looked promising. Unfortunately, it turned out not to be quite what we had in mind; while it's a great pizza place, it isn't a pub.

While we were debating our next move, I happened to notice a little place next door. We peered through the window and decided it was worth a try. Larry greeted us as we walked in and sat down for what was to be the first in a long series of pints.

I have found my local now. It's not exactly next door -- it's a 12-block hike to get there -- but it's the only place I go. The JB has everything I missed from back home, and then some. We simply cannot let it close.

Told by Sally on December 29, 2006

Many years ago I was sitting in my usual spot at the bar, when an older gentleman walked in the door. He chose a stool in the middle of the bar. He looked over at me and said hello and I replied hello. We got to chatting and it turns out he was from New Jersey, was in town visiting his son who was ill in the hospital, and, coincidentally, was staying in his son's apartment which was directly above my own. Mr. Nolan ended up flying back and forth between the coasts for over a year tending to his son and the Barleycorn became his West Coast living room. When the whole family came out, he brought them down to the bar to meet all his new friends. When his son was out of the hospital, he did the same.

Mr. Nolan always expressed how thankful he was that the John Barleycorn was there for him during a very difficult time of his life. His son also expressed how thankful he was that there was a place for his dad to go and have a burger, beer and a conversation while he was out here far from family. I often think how thankful we were to have met Mr. Nolan - a truly outstanding individual.

One can only imagine how many lives the John Barleycorn has touched and this truly only happens at a neighborhood place like the John Barleycorn with its wonderful friends and staff.

Told by Tom Brown on December 28, 2006

Some time in 1974 or 73 The city had just tucked the sun to bed and pulled up it's blanket of fog. I just brought a date to her home at her pad on Larkin Street. She made it known that overnight company was not on the menue so I left pulling my coat collar up for protection against the chill or a wounded ego. At any rate; the lights were glimmering and there was a murmer of friendly voices comming from this bar across the street. I was lured in for it was a long walk home and a distraction was welcome. On entering I was embraced by a warm atmosphere, a glowing fireplace surrounded by happy faces of a number of lads and lasses. I sat at the far end of the bar where one had to squeese in past a wonderful jukebox with some wonderful songs on those old 45's. I played many of those songs many times over many years. Larry the barman and as I found out later the owner was a pro. Quick, poliet, not nosey, though well informed he had a quick eye a sharp sense of hearing and a rifle shot of an arm as I would find out when I came to play soft ball on the Barleycorn co-ed team and made the mistake of hitting a ball anywhere near Larry. There is an expression that the city has a thousand stories; well the Barleycorn has ten thousand stories. I could and some day might fill up a book or two with some of them. In the meantime for all who may read this The people both past and present who have been fortunate to have visited the Barleycorn just once or who may have become a steady have found within it's walls warm friendships, passionate loves, hearty sports fans, and the intertainment that open minds, a free spirt and a touch of the grog will provide. They may take away the sign, the bar, even the building but never, never shall they take away the memories. Love ya all, Tom Brown

Told by Emily on December 28, 2006

One night I came home to find my beloved pet rat had gotten into some poison. I stayed with him while he died a rather painful death and then wandered down to the Barleycorn. Danny looked at my face and poured me a shot out of a bottle I had never seen before, let alone tasted. It turned out to be a miraculous whiskey, which imparted great comfort. He told me it was his "sudden shock" whiskey.

It didn't change anything but it was nice to be given exactly the right thing I didn't even know to ask for.

Told by CHANDLER WHITE on December 27, 2006

Years ago, I was laid up with a broken leg and feeling pretty down in the dumps in my Tenderloin apartment. One night, Ron Bell and Bill Walsh hired one of the many cab drivers who frequent the JB to drive down to the Alhambra Apartments, pick me up and haul me up the hill for an evening of friendship, conversation and adult beverages at the John Barleycorn. My spirits were lifted on that evening, and, again, every time I think of the thoughtfulness of these kindly fellows. We are friends to this day. At evenings end, it can't have been easy for the unlucky cab driver who had to get my big ass and full-leg cast into and out of the homebound taxi. Although I was too "happy" to remember who drove me home, I'm quite sure that the cabbie was another John Barleycorn gentleman. Gentlemen are rare elsewhere, but they are not rare in the John Barleycorn.