Steve Sullivan

[Johnwha]

Not certain that this is exactly a JB or 'Corn Tale as you younger folks call it but but here 'goes. I first stuck my head in the door of the Barleycorn in 1972. I was visting friends from Southern Calif who lived in Hayward. Two of us came into The City, saw a great free magic show at Ghiradelli by none less than Harry Anderson, later to be of "Night Court" fame. Anyway we were new 21 year olds so searched for a pub to our liking. The Barleycorn looked pleasant enough but crowded. There was a harpist playing. We were however "shocked" by the age of most of the crowd. We said to each other: "Most of them look to be 30 (years old) or so." Horrified at the thought of rubbing elbows with the aged we went to the Front Room instead for pizza and beer. The next year I was living in SF and going to SF State but hung out on the Avenues mainly with my own tribe at the Blarney Stone. Guess it was about '78 when I moved to North Beach and finally being nearer the age of the old farts in JB went in. I was immediately hooked. Steve Sullivan was a great bartender and we became fast mates, at least in the pub. 'Round about '82 Sullivan took his pilgrimage to Ireland (which those in our tribe must do at least once) and promptly disappeared. I took my sabatical as well in the winter of '83 and began hunting him down. His last known address was " Above Duggan's Garage, Dingle, Co. Kerry" (No kidding that was his official postal address!). Anyway Duggan hadn't seen him for awhile. Back in Dublin I checked with the GPO (General Post Office) and discovered that he had been receivecing mail there for awhile but suggested that I try Dun Laoghaire where he was last known to be "on the Strand". Privacy Rights is evidently not an Irish Government strong point. So I tried that. I stopped a Guardai on the street figuring that if anyone knew where Steve was it would be the local constable. The seargent did in fact know the "Yank" and directed me to his flat, indeed on the beach but I found no one home. The nosy neighbor (there are no other kind there) informed me that he had moved back up to Dublin. After listening to her life story and those of her clan I finally got the next tran back to Dublin. Frustrated I went that night to a well known Dublin pub, O'Donohue's. I checked that and other pubs for many nights, the bartenders believing that they knew who this peripatetic roving Yank was or that "you just missed him Sullivan just left." Being in such a great city with lots to do and after a week having more friends that I had had in my entire life I went about my business and figured that if it was meant to be that I'd just run into him. I found myself back at the aformentioned popular pub and decided to leave a note for Steve with my name and the number of the dive hotel I was staying at on Great Danmark Street on the North Side. I gave the barman five quid if he'd shout it out from time to time in the near future. He didn't wait long. "Sullivan! Steve Sullivan! Is there a Steve Sullivan in the house?". The loud barkeep was right infront of me and I felt totally naked. "Yeah, that's me, I'm Steve Sullivan." a voice from not more than three feet behind me called out. "Here's a note for ya Sullivan." The barman gave me a wink while stuffing the five note quid in his pocket, the easiest money he had ever made. I felt like an idiot. Steve's arm reached in through the thick and smokey crowd, inches from my face and retrieved the crumpled slip of paper. I turned about on my stool and wathed him read it as he said to his three mates "Oh shit, I've got to get to a pay phone and call this guy." "Good luck with that mate. Calling the Nort' Side is like tryin' to phone the moon." As the phone system in Dublin at the time was installed by Alex Bell himself and you had to go to the GPO to use a pay phone I would long await such a ring so I saved him the trip and the coin. I can't remember too much of the rest of that night. Okay, none of it but within days I was sharing his flat with an Irishman who shall remain nameless except to the Devil with whom he will one day reside. There I began an adventure in pub crawling and alien culture that would last a few months before I finally got some sense and went over to Denmark for some serious fun. Steve on the other hand was "stuck" in Ireland and didn't escape until perhaps a year later. I believe a U.S Special Forces Delta team rescued him or was he deported? I can't remember which.