By Deno Gellepes 

The Blarney Stone, 05/2024 

Many years ago, in the drunken and idiotic days of my 20s, getting thrown out of bars was embarrassingly frequent for me. It was like a rite of passage among my friends and similar to a baseball manager getting tossed by an umpire. My run of ejections, however, ended one night at the Blarney Stone where I found myself ousted not for my antics, but by association. 

That night, trouble brewed when my friend ran his mouth to the wrong guy, sparking a fight that eventually got us kicked out of the staple Irish pub in the Outer Richmond since 1985. 

As I settled my tab pleading my case with the bartender, an intriguing figure caught my attention. Sitting next to me was a man about 5’6″, clad in a black leather jacket, his greying hair and aura reminiscent of ’90s era Jerry Garcia. He stared right through me and then laid a calming hand on my shoulder and said in an extra-relaxed tone, “Brother, this is a neighborhood bar, and you can’t act like that here. Everyone’s welcome, but not that friend of yours. Take him downtown or something.” I nodded, understanding the unspoken rules, and in a moment of youthful audacity, asked him for a smoke. He handed me a Camel Blue with a simultaneous shake of his head and a look that said, “Now get lost, kid.” 

While I’ve been part of much worse ejections, I didn’t step foot in the Blarney Stone again for nearly a decade after that night. Over that time, I was mostly North Beach’s problem, but as years passed, I grew up. Now, you might say the Blarney Stone is my “local,” but nobody knows my name there, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. 

I still geek out every time I pass through the bar’s spacious entryway because a wave of memories transports me back to the bowling alleys and Chuck E. Cheese birthday parties of my Butte County childhood. It’s a pre-entryway that serves as a moment to pause and take a deep breath of anxious anticipation before all the fun and possible regret begins. 

The bar is well-equipped for a fun night or day out as it features shuffleboard, a small performance stage and plenty of high-top tables if you’re unable to find a seat up at the bar ­– or under all the TVs and humorous “horses ass” caricature that serves as an unofficial reminder not to run your mouth! 

High ceilings allow natural light to come through the skylight that hovers over the small stage. I always imagine it there for the Monday night comics to look up and pray for their material to land. The high ceilings also allow for plenty of wall space for Guinness signs and lots of sports memorabilia celebrating the Giants’ three World Series championships, alongside classic American beer signs featuring the Giants and 49ers logos – just in case you thought the Richmond wasn’t in the City. 

One of the bar’s more mysterious features is a little booth perched in the back. It always reminds me of a public address announcer’s booth at a small-town high school football field. It’s intriguingly placed, seemingly accessible only by a hidden staircase. I often imagine it springing to life, with some guy in a headset narrating the bar’s nightly antics like a sportscaster might commentate a game: “Here comes Deno, whiskey-walkin’ his way to the patio for a smoke he’ll undoubtedly regret tomorrow morning! Will he do it, folks?” Yet, despite my frequent visits, the “announcers booth” has never been used and I have no clue what in the hell its purpose is. 

The bar’s Instagram and Yelp pages showcase two standout features. First, they freshly squeeze the fruit for their cocktails, a practice that, while great, should really be standard everywhere. Second, the bar boasts an inviting back patio. Once you’ve enjoyed one of their freshly squeezed Greyhounds on the patio, you’ll immediately understand why these aspects are so proudly emphasized. 

During my latest visit, I didn’t venture outdoors; I settled comfortably at the bar with a pint of Guinness and a shot of Jameson. My friend opted for a fresh Grapefruit Gimlet. As we sipped our drinks, the bar’s diverse clientele unfolded before us: Couples young and old with dogs at their feet enjoyed leisurely cocktails, a couple of individuals immersed themselves in books over beers and some red-eyed regulars slurped down vodka sodas while surely checking their watches for the 6 p.m. opening of the Nags Head. The ambiance was tranquil, just as a good community bar should be. 

On our way out, I brushed past the Jerry Garcia look-alike, still a regular presence at the bar, but oblivious to our shared history, and rightfully so. It’s more of a personal memento of growth and my youth that I’ve tucked away. He wouldn’t recognize me now anyway. Time and all those ejections have peppered my hair with more gray than his! 

The Blarney Stone is located at 5625 Geary Blvd. between 20th and 21st avenues. Learn more at: yelp.com/biz/the-blarney-stone-san-francisco. 

Deno Gellepes is a 14-year San Franciscan originally hailing from Chico, CA. He’s a sales professional at a leading tech company and has a passion for music, writing, and sports – especially as they pertain to the history of San Francisco. He spends his weekdays sounding like Rick Steves and his weekends like Mick Jagger. He can be reached at denogellwriting@gmail.com and followed via Instagram at @thegellstudio.