Old Town Ale House is Chicago’s Best Dive Bar
Learn about this one-of-a-kind bohemian saloon, its eclectically famous history, and my experience visiting a true gem in the rough.
Oh, to be a resident fly on the wall at the Old Town Ale House. You’d be privy to over sixty years of enthralling drunken chatter, sad-soaked laments of existential crises, perhaps a Eureka! moment or two, and epiphanies abound after a few belts of booze and a chat with a friendly bartender or brooding regular.
I’ve been to the Old Town Ale House twice and have now vowed to ensure my patronage upon every visit to Chicago moving forward. I’m still kicking myself for only finding out about it AFTER it was featured on Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown back in 2016.
I lived in Chicago a few years beforehand. I worked in Lincoln Park on Halsted on the same street as Steppenwolf Theatre and was only a couple of blocks away.
WTF!? How did I miss out on this hidden gem?
Old Town Ale House is probably one of the most unique spots you can find, especially in the surrounding area these days. The old dive has an incredibly storied history, complete with old-school saloon-style benches and tables, non-conformist beatnik vibes, and an unforgettable score of quirky characters fit for a raucous ancient Roman comedy.
The Origin Story: Old Town Ale House’s First Days
A guy named E.J. Vangelder established the original joint after finding inspiration at San Francisco’s famed saloon in North Beach called Vesuvio’s, which opened a decade earlier in 1948. Vesuvio’s is also a historical relic and is known for its monumental time during the 1950s when Beat poets like Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and the like made the divey cafe their proverbial clubhouse.
The offbeat Ale House in Chicago first opened its doors in 1958 on North Avenue in Old Town Neighborhood. Part-owner and resident artist Bruce Cameron Elliott compares the neighborhood (back then) to Greenwich Village during the ’60s and ’70s, full of similar artists, musicians, and the bohemian types who frequented the NYC scene.
The Old Town Alehouse had been resold and passed to several different owners over the years. In 1971, it caught on fire, but impressively the bar didn’t skip a beat or even miss a day. A rogue group of approximately forty regulars and local buddies helped rip out the original bar in the burned-out space. They carried it in the middle of North Ave to a new “temporary” location across the street at Pete’s Butcher Shop, where it was transformed into the site we know and love today.
Bruce Cameron Elliott, part-owner and resident artist, has been a regular since 1961 and took over ownership with his wife, Tobin Mitchell after owners Arthur and Beatrice Klug (the only ones who never sold it) died a few months apart in 2005 and bequeathed it to her.
Famous Patrons, Portraits, and Political Satire
Ever since, Elliott has been painting portraits of the famous, infamous, and not-so-famous regulars. More recently, he has painted wonderfully vulgar and hilarious political pieces inspired by the erratic circus nature of today’s political climate.
The most controversial one that landed him death threats and coverage in the news is a painting featuring a buck-naked Sarah Palin holding a shotgun while standing atop a bearskin rug with a lovely window view of scenic Alaska and a smirking moose. The political humor is as dark as the bar is at 4 am, and I love it.
There’s been a mixed bag of patrons on those barstools over the years. Blue-collar workers would stop in after work and still do. The late-night crowd has consisted of a melting pot of artists, jazz musicians, and other quirky folks, including a hoard of the many now famous comedians who came out of Second City, located directly across the street.
Naturally, the Alehouse became the local watering hole for legends like Gilda Radner, Dan Akroyd, John Belushi, Bill Murray, and later Chris Farley, Tina Fey, among many others. Michael Shannon pops in when in town for something for Steppenwolf, I’d imagine. (He also occasionally ordered food at Pizza Capri for pick up when I worked nearby, along with Gary Sinise.) Bill Murray is known to still come in on occasion.
When Walls Tell Stories
You’ll find everyone mentioned above and a considerable ensemble of more paintings hung in every corner, nook, and cranny. You can still see the original mural on the wall beneath the many portraits from decades ago; old-school regulars who had also put in long hours on the worn barstools.
And, of course, ol’ Tony Bourdain’s portrait hangs among them. His spirit remains as another permanent barfly on the wall listening to the continual ramblings of drunken comics, locals, and whoever else finds their way in.
There are so many stories of the characters that have frequented the establishment that Roger Ebert (another long-time regular) convinced his close friend, Bruce The Artist (or “The Genius,” if you ask him), to start a blog.
The Geriatric Genius has been active since 2009 and is how Anthony Bourdain found out about him via Ebert. Bourdain even helped Elliott publish a book of some of these stories featuring his controversial Sarah Palin painting as the cover.
Gentrification’s a Bitch, but Old Town Alehouse is a Stubborn Ox
I found myself walking through the renowned threshold for the first time with my husband around Halloween three years ago. We walked down from Weeds Tavern on Dayton Street, where I used to read poetry and where they first started gentrifying the area not long before (and after blowing up Cabrini-Green). Now that entire area has been whored out to chain stores and car dealerships. The neighborhood is now home to an Apple store, Nordstrom Rack, and expensive condos and townhomes.
The Old Town Ale House is smack dab between the affluent Gold Coast neighborhood and the gentrified Near North neighborhood. The bar has seen its fair share of change in recent years but has survived the neighborhood’s transformations since the 1970s when the city first widened North Avenue. Needless to say, the rock-ribbed dive is adaptable and continues to be so.
We showed up on a weekend night, maybe a Friday. It was reasonably early, around nine or ten pm, but the place was packed. We found a couple of empty stools and squeezed in between an old punk and a couple of other folks who seemed to be pretty familiar with the divey nuances of the lively weekend vibe the old alehouse emitted.
We dug a good conversation with the old punk, about music mainly. We checked out the many portraits lining the sepia-stained walls in no particular way, pointing out who we could recognize. The funny paintings of political leaders made us giggle. We pushed our way to the back to hit up the restrooms and the ATM so we could grab the cash and pay our tab (It’s cash only, FYI).
The Most Recent Visit — September 2022
The weather was great, and we spent hours walking around the northside from our Airbnb in Boystown off of Broadway and managed to find ourselves all the way down to Weeds Tavern, but they were closed, so we continued down North Avenue to pop into Old Town for a beer and a shot.
It was early, and the bar had just opened about an hour before. We walked into the narrow empty joint, which felt like a much different atmosphere than the packed weekend night, and I was stoked. It was calm, and the yellow light of the setting sun shot in prisms that illuminated certain corners of the barroom, the torn upholstery now more visible in the back of the room. The jukebox seemed to glow in this low light that wasn’t quite dark enough, but shadows cast in a particular way surrounding it.
At the door, the old man checked our IDs. He immediately struck up a conversation with my husband about his last name, Mckenzie, reminiscing about beautiful Scotland and highly suggesting that we take a visit. The warm, quiet welcome was starkly different from the exuberant party we walked into last time.
I pulled up a couple of stools and ordered our drinks. The bartender recommended the pre-prohibition pilsner they had on tap, which hit the spot. We settled with our beers and bumps, and the old man (who said he was not the artist) grabbed his writing utensil and continued working on a crossword puzzle. The bartender settled in with his own [digital] crossword, and Tom Waits crooned in the background.
I felt very much at home.
We even got to meet the friendly local crackhead, Street Jimmy, who’s been living in the neighborhood forever and has befriended the proprietors and barkeeps. He politely came in asking if they could hold on to a sandwich for him. He promised to come back for it later. The old man obliged with an endearing headshake and soft laugh, and Street Jimmy went on his way.
The Time Traveling Jukebox
This time, we actually got to see the jukebox because the floor wasn’t packed to the brim, elbow to elbow. The pricing was absurdly perfect, with three songs for a dollar or two, but if you pay five bucks, you get, like, twenty songs. The latter price was the obvious go-to.
The best part about the intricately curated selection on the jukebox is that there is absolutely no modern pop or rock music. It is chockful of old-school jazz records from musicians like Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong and blues legends like Bessie Smith, Howlin’ Wolf, and B.B. King. You’ll also find The Animals and other classic garage band records to rep the rock vibes. There’s even an opera album or two to really weed out any rowdy assholes who don’t fit the bill (on occasion, it’s necessary).
E.T. certainly enjoyed the jukebox, so as you can see, aliens are welcome. Although, he is still waiting for his portrait to appear on those famed walls. Perhaps next time, Bruce?
As I get back to reading my new copy of Last Night at the Old Town Ale House, I’ll leave you with these parting words from Tony Bourdain, and I couldn’t agree more with his sentiment.
There is something about the Ale House — its willingness to accept all who stagger in its doors (though there is, famously a NO SHOT list), it’s morbid sense of humor, it’s never ending flow of opinions, well formed and not, its willingness to scrap — that serves for me, as a happy metaphor for a city I love.
A Gem in the Rough That’s Totally Worth Visiting
If you’re ever visiting Chicago or live there and have never stopped into this wonderfully eccentric saloon, GO! NOW! Or at least between the hours of 3 pm-4 am every day (with a bonus hour available on Sunday mornings until 5 am). Just don’t get yourself on that NO SHOT list.
Thanks for reading! If you happen to visit Old Town Ale House, drop a line in the comments and tell me about your experience.
