Tales

Told by Ruth E. Young Goen on July 03, 2007

Wow - I have so many wonderful memories of my time at the Barleycorn -- mostly spent drinking and occasionally working for Larry. Dennis Sullivan was one of the bartenders I remember fondly. Spent many a night sitting there and absorbing the conversations going on around me -- same old people but different topics -- not the usual boring stuff heard in most bars. Hung out there in the 70's; went back with my 3-year old in 1989 and felt right at home sitting by the fireplace. Please leave JB as it is, there are millions of memories of this place from people now scattered around the world. Even if I never return, I want to know my old friend is still there.

Told by Jack London on June 16, 2007

It all came to me one election day. It was on a warm California afternoon, and I had ridden down into the Valley of the Moon from the ranch to the little village to vote Yes and No to a host of proposed amendments to the Constitution of the State of California. Because of the warmth of the day I had had several drinks before casting my ballot, and divers drinks after casting it. Then I had ridden up through the vine-clad hills and rolling pastures of the ranch, and arrived at the farm-house in time for another drink and supper.

"How did you vote on the suffrage amendment?" Charmian asked.

"I voted for it."

She uttered an exclamation of surprise. For, be it known, in my younger days, despite my ardent democracy, I had been opposed to woman suffrage. In my later and more tolerant years I had been unenthusiastic in my acceptance of it as an inevitable social phenomenon.

"Now just why did you vote for it?" Charmian asked.

I answered. I answered at length. I answered indignantly. The more I answered, the more indignant I became. (No; I was not drunk. The horse I had ridden was well named "The Outlaw." I'd like to see any drunken man ride her.)

And yet--how shall I say?--I was lighted up, I was feeling "good," I was pleasantly jingled.

"When the women get the ballot, they will vote for prohibition," I said. "It is the wives, and sisters, and mothers, and they only, who will drive the nails into the coffin of John Barleycorn----"

"But I thought you were a friend to John Barleycorn," Charmian interpolated.

"I am. I was. I am not. I never am. I am never less his friend than when he is with me and when I seem most his friend. He is the king of liars. He is the frankest truthsayer. He is the august companion with whom one walks with the gods. He is also in league with the Noseless One. His way leads to truth naked, and to death. He gives clear vision, and muddy dreams. He is the enemy of life, and the teacher of wisdom beyond life's wisdom. He is a red-handed killer, and he slays youth."

And Charmian looked at me, and I knew she wondered where I had got it.

I continued to talk. As I say, I was lighted up. In my brain every thought was at home. Every thought, in its little cell, crouched ready-dressed at the door, like prisoners at midnight a jail-break. And every thought was a vision, bright-imaged, sharp- cut, unmistakable. My brain was illuminated by the clear, white light of alcohol. John Barleycorn was on a truth-telling rampage, giving away the choicest secrets on himself. And I was his spokesman. There moved the multitudes of memories of my past life, all orderly arranged like soldiers in some vast review. It was mine to pick and choose. I was a lord of thought, the master of my vocabulary and of the totality of my experience, unerringly capable of selecting my data and building my exposition. For so John Barleycorn tricks and lures, setting the maggots of intelligence gnawing, whispering his fatal intuitions of truth, flinging purple passages into the monotony of one's days.

Told by jeff hardman on June 09, 2007

looking for sanctuary to nurse a most extreme hangover,

i chanced upon this joint...called a friend to meet me.

this joel bartender played vhs tape...night of the hunter.

first time i saw it. amazing.

continued to visit...overheard intelligent banter...

loved it...

spent some time...met some wonderful people.

prob drank too much at times, had a tab which was easy

to deal with. i loved ed !! he was the soul of the place.

ive never met such a saint since. larry knew how totally cool ed was. not to mention at this point..leslie.

words cannot even describe. the tear in my eye...she was so cool. skip was a handful, jerry was tolerable at moments,

dan rocks...clint is clint.

larry...you are so gq..but major love and props...

Told by David Hulshouser on May 23, 2007

I stumbled upon JB by chance while foraging for Thai food during a layover with the airline several years ago. I saw the sign from across the street and was immediately compelled to stop in and investigate. After all, the Traffic song has long been one of my favorites. How could I go wrong?

Immediately upon entering I knew that I had found a hidden gem. The setting suit me perfectly. But the best was yet to come.

As I enjoyed my drink at the bar I listened to the discussions between the patrons (obviously local regulars) and Larry. I was amazed at the depth of the discussions; not the usual trite, self-absorbed small talk I was accustomed to hearing in such places. The seemingly simple, blue collar folk were obviously complex, well-read and informed individuals with very interesting insight and the ability to articulate them. Larry's retorts were as often profound as they were comical and entertaining.

It was also a Memorial Day weekend and the news was reporting on several celebrations nationwide. As a retired Naval Officer the holiday holds special meaning. As the discussions shifted in response to the tv's subject, my heart was warmed by the deep sense of patriotism and nationalistic pride these salt-of-the-earth folks felt and readily expressed. This was not the blind "sheep-like" kind of patriotism so often displayed by the small-minded. These folks understood just how fortunate we all were to have been born into a society where free exchange of contradictory opinions was valued and an individual voice could effect change.

I reflected on what just such a place as JB meant during our Revolutionary War period. The Public House was a place where our Founding Fathers gathered and forged the foundation or our great nation.

As Memorial Day approaches and I reflect on its deep personal meaning, I also celebrate the anniversary of my discovery with similar emotions. Both bring a sense of pride as well as sadness. I am saddened by the loss of my comrades in arms, then and now, as well as the impending loss of JB. JB is a true Public House in every sense. As such, it should take a prominent place in our thoughts as an icon of honorable mention woven inextricably into the fabric of this great society. It is so much more than just a Pub. I am proud that such a place still exists amidst a sea of apathy, where so many of our citizens don't even care enough to vote let alone involve themselves in political discourse.

Though I live 2600 miles away on the opposite side of this great country and have not been back in far too long, John Barleycorn has had its impact on me. In pondering its demise I feel the same melancholy I felt after I heard two adults say "Who's that guy?" while watching Dick Cheney during the Vice Presidential debates in a local pub near my home. I dare say, such ignorance and apathy would never be encountered in John Barleycorn.

Told by Noah Fimple on May 02, 2007

The Denizens of the Barleycorn were kind enough to give my Uncle Noah, a burial at sea.

With Affection

Fenton Fimple