The Danny Mann Pub in Killarney

In this edition of Perspectives, join our Founder & Chairman, Sam Baker, for a little Irish craic and a memorable visit to The Danny Mann pub in Killarney.

In the winter of 1991-92, the first year H&B was in business, I traveled to Ireland to vet accommodations we might use for our groups and to develop mutually beneficial relationships with them. While in Killarney, I was told a fellow named Padraig Tracey was building a new hotel, The Killarney Park, which was to open sometime in 1992. I reached out to Padraig and arranged a show round. Although much remained to be done before the hotel could open, I was impressed with what I saw and even more impressed with Padraig’s vision and commitment to providing exceptional service.

My first impression turned out to be spot on as the hotel has received rave reviews from our travelers over the past three decades and Padraig in 2023 received the lifetime achievement award from the Irish Golf Tour Operators Association.

When our tour finished, I asked Padraig where I might go that evening to hear some traditional Irish music—not the stuff they play for American tourists but the stuff the Irish listen to. He said the locals tended to go to a place on New Street called the Danny Mann. Go out the front door, he directed, turn right on Main Street then left on New. It’ll be just a few paces down on the left.

I found it, walked in and instantly knew I’d come to the right place. It was about as traditional as an Irish pub can be. Stone walls, u-shaped bar in the center of the room surrounded by tables and chairs with banquettes along the walls except for the spot that hosted a giant fireplace. The banquettes were filled with apparently local families including their children and there was no sign of a single tourist in the place. In front of the fireplace were two musicians. A large middle-aged man with an enormous belly, a bulbous nose, shaggy graying hair and the map of Ireland on his face was playing the guitar and singing in a whiskey baritone. He was accompanied by a younger, lanky man playing the squeeze box and singing harmony.

I went to the bar, sat on a stool and ordered a large (double) measure of my favorite whiskey–Midleton Very Rare, which naturally is very expensive—and began to listen. Out came the songs of protest and loss which few Americans would ever hear on a visit to Ireland. The Fields of Athenry. Erin Go Bragh. Come Out Ye Black and Tan. The families sang along and added a few choruses of more familiar authentic Irish tunes like Mally Malone, The Wild Rover and Danny Boy. I was enthralled!

As I finished my first Midleton, the bartender, at my request, sent over a large measure to each of the singers. The big guy took a sip, seemed to know at once what it was and looked at the bartender as if to ask from whence this golden nectar came. The bartender pointed to me, and the big guy gave me a thumbs up as if to say thank you.

After about a half hour as the glorious music continued, my glass was drained again and so were theirs, so I sent them another round. With this the big guy nods to his partner who puts down his squeeze box and walks over to me. As he leans in, I’m thinking he’s going to say thanks. Instead, he says...

“Paddy and me was wonderin’, where is it you’d be tomorrow night?”