The Iron Door Saloon in Groveland, California is the longest continuously liquor-serving establishment in the state of California. It began in 1852 as “The Granite Store” built by Peter King, operating as a general mercantile while also serving liquor to thirsty miners. In the 1860s Postmaster Jim Tannahill bought the store which also functioned as the town’s post office for 25 years.
In 1896 Giacomo DeFerrari turned the building into a full-fledged saloon, calling it “Jake’s Place.” The bar was renamed “Iron Door Saloon” in 1937 because of its hefty iron doors. Manufactured in England, they were brought around the tip of South America by ship and sold to the saloon as a fire protection device. The historical institution was purchased in 1985 by Peter and Bettike Barsotti.
It was a beautiful day when I walked through the open iron door of the saloon, an invitation to come on in and have a drink despite the noon hour. Allowing a few seconds for my unadjustable eyes to adjust to the change from bright sun to darker conditions, I immediately noticed something on the ceiling. I asked my husband what it was and he said dollar bills. We later learned that the bartender will give you a tack to stick through your bill, along with a quarter to tape to the bill for weight. The rest is up to you, can you throw it hard enough and at the correct angle so that the tack and therefore the bill sticks to the ceiling? I couldn’t help but think about inebriated patrons, projectile tacks and flying money on a crowded Saturday night. What would the miners and cowboys of old think?
Taking two seats at the empty bar, the bartender handed us a menu and took our beverage order. Mister Rain chose an Around The Horn beer, made down the street at the brewing company of the same name. I went with my old pals Rum and Coke. We asked for an order of fries, which were served with a side of ranch dressing, a favorite condiment in California. My salad dressing of choice, I never thought to dip my fries in ranch dressing. In this historic saloon, I learned the error of my ways.
We talked to the bartender, Mike, looked around and took pictures. I tried to imagine all who had walked through the door in the past 128 years. The saloon was very clean yet I could feel the dust from the dirt road of long ago all around me. I heard the whiny of a hose tied to one of the posts out front, spurs going jingle-jangle, boots on the planked floor, the distinctive rickety creak of carriage wheels as it passed the open door. And cowboy hats, lots of cowboy hats.
My husband purchased a t-shirt before we left. The front says, “Where The Hell Is Groveland?” The back of the shirt has a map which provides the answer to that question. As for what Groveland is, it is the Gateway To Yosemite. And the home of the Iron Door Saloon.
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