An Ear for Authenticity
Real Music and Real People in New York City

One of New York City’s oldest bars is located in a house that was built in 1817 for a man named James Brown, an African-American who had a lucrative cotton trade down South and some say is pictured in the Cass Gilbert painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware River. It was put on the National Historical Register, the last of a few surviving Federal Houses. And it’s that historical register business that turned a bar into an ear. After James Brown died, his home got around, so to speak. At various times it was a speakeasy, a brothel, a boarding house and a smuggler’s den. In the mid-1800s, then-owner Thomas Cooke brewed beer and sold crocks of corn whiskey to sailors. After Prohibition, the bar remained nameless and became a sort of clubhouse for sailors and longshoreman known as The Green Door.

The Age of the Ear
Martin Sheridan, who became the owner in the late 1970s, recalls what it was like right up until he took over the place. “I was a musician and managed bands,” Sheridan recalls. “The place would open at 4 in the morning and close at 11. All the longshoremen were out of work then, but they’d come around to sign papers to keep their pay coming. Then they’d stop by for a drink. I was told that if I sat in the corner and kept quiet I could stay.” Sheridan hails from Ireland, and since the late ‘70s, he’s seen an amazing transformation in his part of the city. The Meatpacking District is now a tony drawing card for celebrities. The entire West Village, once a no-man’s-land, has become a quaint, exceedingly expensive hot spot. Maybe the only thing left to remind someone of the old days is the bar that came to be known as The Ear Inn, down at the end of Spring Street just before you hit the water. “There was just nobody around here,” Sheridan says. “It used to be, if you saw someone around here, they were almost certainly coming to the Ear for a drink.” It would be hard to miss. From blocks away you can see the sign. Huge red neon letters: “EAR.” Actually, when you look closely, you see it’s a neon sign that spelled BAR, but the bonnets on the B have been blotted out, rendering the B an E, and so BAR reads EAR. “Well, because it’s on the historical register, we couldn’t change anything,” Sheridan explains. “The neon sign just said BAR. There was a music magazine we had going upstairs called The Ear. We just blacked out part of the B, and the rest is history.”

Island of Authenticity
While Manhattan has become the poster boy for gentrification, The Ear remains an island of authenticity, history and down-home coziness that is frequented by artists, lawyers, doctors, construction workers, writers, wannabes, hangers-on — you name it, all are welcome. There are poetry readings once a week, and live music four times a week. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, bands jam from midnight until 4 a.m. “It’s one of the last places people can come in and just play their tunes,” Sheridan explains. “We’re committed to the arts. Our poetry readings have been going for 27 years. That’s the longest in the city.” The atmosphere could accurately be described as food for the soul, whether you’re an artist or not. Bottles and jugs from the mid-1800s that were found in the basement are lined up behind the bar. The wood of the floor is so worn it’s almost spongy. The construction is all wood posts and beams set with pegs. The dining room is intimate and buzzes with conversation. There are daily specials, lots of comfort food and a fantastic cheeseburger. If there’s no live music, you may hear a tape of Billie Holiday playing. People sit at the bar and talk or read books or the newspaper. Drinks are made without ostentation and they’re made well. There’s rumored to be a ghost that haunts the upstairs named Mickey. Long ago, when you’d walk outside, if you looked to the west and the water, you’d see ships. Behind you, coming from the bar, you’d hear the sound of sea songs. Today, it’s hard not to just head back inside and have another beer. At The Ear, it’s always old times and good times, and that’s a combination that’s hard to come by.