New York City is all about change

...But not in our bar, so get off my barstool!

We all come to New York looking for something—opportunities, adventure, excitement, glamour, culture, cuisine—and that’s all here. But sometimes you get a little homesick, a little lonesome—the city can be overwhelming. That’s when old- school bars offer more than just a good pint of Guinness. People walk into McManus for the first time and immediately feel at home; maybe there were bars like this in the town where they grew up. It’s not slick, not sophisticated, things are slightly askew. You might spot an old Christmas decoration that was hung too high up in a corner; a few of the tables need coasters shoved under the leg to keep them from wobbling; the clock above the bar is always wrong (but what is time, anyway?). McManus opened back in 1936, and you feel a sense of timelessness as soon as you walk through the door. People have commented that it’s a time-warpy kind of place—you pop in for a quick one, but before you know it, three hours have passed. (Or in my case, about 38 years—after taking a part-time waitressing gig in the late 1980s.)

Time taking a hiatus isn’t the only quirk at McManus; jukebox etiquette is another. Under no circumstances are you allowed to play Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin.’” Last Monday I was mixing a margarita when I heard the opening chords; I had to put down the shaker, scramble to find the remote for the jukebox, and mute it before “she took the midnight train going anywhere…” reverberated. In the sudden silence, I had to explain it was a house rule. It’s just one of those songs that, over the years, got played way too often at the bar. I think the breaking point for Justin McManus came when it was used in the finale of The Sopranos; after that, there was absolutely no respite. That’s when the sign went up and the rule was strictly enforced. (In January of 2024, Forbes Magazine called it The Biggest Song of All Time, but you won’t hear it at McManus.)

For all its idiosyncrasies, the best thing about McManus is the people. One guy (I don’t even know his name) comes in maybe once a month, makes his way to his stool and says, “Give me a Coors Light… I’ve heard good things.” He sits down, orders a plate of wings, two more beers, and pays his tab. As he heads for the door I always call out “Have a good day!” and he stops, turns around and snaps ”Don’t you tell me what to do!” and storms off. Predictable, and always hilarious.

Another regular comes in on Saturdays, and if someone is sitting in his preferred spot, he is furious. He’ll sigh, roll his eyes, and, picking up his Wild Turkey (on the rocks) will position himself as close to the coveted stool as possible, and glare until whoever had the temerity to sit on it finally leaves.

There are two factors at play here regarding the seating situation: the stool itself, and its position at the bar. All the stools are red, but they vary in height, age, and foot rung. (It matters, if you’re settling in for the long haul.) As for positioning, that’s purely circumstantial. Watching a game? You’ll want get yourself close to the biggest TV. Weak bladder? Park yourself opposite the restrooms. Owe somebody money or dodging an ex? Sit in the corner of the bar where you can keep an eye on the front door and slip out the side one, if need be. (I wrote a story remembering McManus regular, Carlton, and his fondness for a particular seat at the bar—you can read it here.) I often see customers move the stools around like they’re rearranging the furniture in their living room. I guess the butt wants what it wants.

In the end, though, it’s really the human connection that most people crave, even more than the chicken wings and beer. We’re looking for memories, and music, and conversation. And some laughs. A feeling of belonging, for the brief time we’re here. Maybe Journey got it right—we’re all just small town girls, living in a lonely world. (Sorry, Justin!)