When my marriage disintegrated in 1995, I went to see my friend of four years, Barbara Douglass.
She had been staying in Arizona thinking about her own marriage which had disintegrated earlier that year, and had come to a conclusion, based upon a song that she’d heard.
When she played it I knew this was somebody who “got it”, I signed up immediately for the tour and from that point we were inseparable until 2018. No pussyfooting around. I shall forever respect her for that.
She was incorrigible, contrary, opinionated, notorious and blunt. Once or twice, she was even wrong.
Didn’t matter. As her daughter said, I understood her. Maybe not-so-much without the Prozak (weak grin).
I thought I knew something about music – I really did. I was born at exactly the right time to be thirteen in 1964, I had various transistor radios and tried to memorize the top 40, I became old enough to drive a car and listen to the radio, I joined a record club, I went to college and discovered that I knew nothing, started over again and memorized the top 100 FM lists, I bought a big stereo and started a record collection, ultimately accidentally starting a record store that I ran for 14 years, went to a lot of Grateful Dead shows, did all the stuff.
Then, after decades of training I discovered Byron’s Bar, Pomeroy, IA (pop. 700) and once again came to believe that I knew next to nothing.
The Rolling Stones have never played at Byron’s Bar, the crown jewel of Iowa listening rooms, located in Pomeroy, Iowa, population around seven hundred.
None of those stadium acts have ever played there, including the Grateful Dead, despite the fact that the Des Moines Register deemed the place “the Deadhead capital of Iowa” in 2015, because the venue boasts a large collection of Grateful Dead memorabilia everywhere you look. Of course, the Dead were never going to play there anyway, since Byron opened the place roughly a year after that band ceased to exist.
Don’t let the Deadhead thing fool you – a few Dead-inspired bands have performed there over the years, but the listening experience there is much broader than that, featuring weekly shows by troubadours ranging from singer-songwriters, folkies, rockers, blues artists, country types, and some who defy categorization, from all over the country and some international destinations. And “listening experience” is emphasized. You’re likely to get scolded if you’re accustomed to disrespecting the artists while they’re playing. Many of them remark that they’re rarely afforded the attention that they get at Byron’s.
The bar itself, at about 1500 square feet, occupies a building that’s over a hundred and twenty-five years old on a street where there’s virtually nothing else except a post office. If you can FIND Main Street, which is a couple of blocks off the highway where many of the local businesses are, Byron’s is on the north end at 112 Main, easily identifiable by the dancing bears on the sign outside, and by the only cars parked along the curb.
Despite seating for around a hundred people, national acts have been known to stop there – Byron likes to mention Todd Snider, Canned Heat and Kinky Friedman to name a few. Well known Iowa artists appear there somewhat regularly. Sunday 5 P.M. shows are the norm, but Byron recently mused that he needs a secretary because sometimes he books additional shows on Saturdays, Fridays or even Thursdays although Thursdays are usually reserved for local singer-songwriter nights or informal jams.
The atmosphere is what now seems to be called “Iowa Nice”. Newcomers will usually be spotted and identified as “Byrons virgins” (in a nice way of course) and will soon discover that the place holds “drawer-ings” during intermissions, at which time Byron awards small prizes, perhaps the most popular of which is the wooden back scratcher, dated and signed by Byron. Also highly sought after is the green plastic Menard’s bucket, often autographed in black Sharpie by nearly everybody in the place.
Hungry? Don’t expect designer burgers or other fare that’s going to drive up your (usually) fifteen dollar investment to get into the place. Byron’s offers Pasquales (a local brand) pizzas from up the road a piece, microwave popcorn and potato chips. It’s all about the music, but if you do go after the pizza, it’s likely that somebody nearby will offer you some of theirs whether they know you or not.
If you’re new, come early and Byron will probably personally greet you, fill you in on some local history about the venue and others will pick up where he left off as he begins to get busy.
It’s all about the music. It’s easy to hobnob with the bands, and if you’re inclined to pick up a souvenir, most of them bring merchandise consisting of CDs, records and t-shirts and the like which they’re almost always happy to autograph. Whether you’re spending money or not, it used to be possible to pick up a poster by the late Mark Gerking, the area artist who provided them for every show for years.
Traveling to get there (and many do)? Accommodations can be found about 20 miles north or south. REALLY traveling (and some do)? Some fans have been known to charter flights into the Fort Dodge airport, about 30 miles away.
Byron’s is a church of sorts without a denomination or sermons outside of the shut-up-and-listen sermon, and the spiritual experience among the regulars and the artists is truly unusual.
When you’ve been there once, you are forever left without an excuse for failing to repeat that. It’s the center of the Universe.
