Byron’s Bar is one of those places where the tale of the tape doesn’t measure up: a Grateful Dead haunt in a tiny rural town in western Iowa. I had to check it out, especially now that its future is in doubt. More on that later.
The dive sits on a mostly abandoned, rundown Main Street (in name only) in Pomeroy, a town of 500 people that lost 21 percent of its population in the past decade. OK, that part checks out.
Inside is where it gets complicated.
My wife and I were visiting Perry for the BRR Ride (Bike Ride to Rippey) the first weekend of February. Coming from Iowa City, we decided to tack on the last hour to Pomeroy not knowing when we would next be this far west, about 100 miles east of Sioux City.
Modest homes dot the eight-square-block town surrounding a desolate business district. Torn up sidewalk and fencing guard empty store fronts before reaching an old timey sign with “Byron’s” in green lettering and two dancing bears above the door.
A few men are sitting at the bar. A large round table with a custom tie-dye surface holds a half dozen middle aged men and women. The wooden floor stretches to a small stage area in the back. Mementos cover the walls, shelves, and ceiling. Portraits of the Dead’s legendary guitarist and 1960s counterculture icon Jerry Garcia, Steal Your Face etchings, a Wave It High and Wide flag behind the bar, concert posters, colorful tapestries, and even tie-dye toilet seats. Some are gifts from musicians who have played at Byron’s over the past 28 years.
Artists — mainly blues, rock and folk — come from across the region and beyond to play Sunday evening shows in front of up to 80 people. Grateful Dead music is not the prevailing sound at Byron’s, although Iowa’s wonderful Dead cover band, Winterland, plays periodically. Near the stage a sign implores, “Shut the Fuck Up, PLZ.”
They are strict about listening to the music here.
‘This is my church’
Behind the bar stands a man with a grey beard and glasses, denim overalls and a tie-dye T-shirt. It is the 71-year-old owner and chief employee, Byron Stuart.
“Hi Byron. I’ve been messaging with you on Facebook about writing an article. Do you mind if we sit at the bar and chat?”
“Hold on a second,” Stuart responds, hustling the length of the bar to greet us each with a hug. “Peace.”
Stuart grew up in Pomeroy and studied telecommunication arts, speech, and drama at Iowa State University. During his time in Ames, in the early 1970s, his love of live music grew. He recalled traveling to hear the Allman Brothers Band at Iowa City’s Field House not long after founding member, Duane Allman, died in a motorcycle crash. He instantly fell in love with his favorite band, the Grateful Dead, after listening to their music reel to reel for hours. He would see them live nine times.
When his father had a heart attack in 1978, Stuart returned home to work the farm, then the grain elevator, and then bars. When 112 Main Street came available, he and his brother went in on it together and opened Byron’s in 1996 with live music as a focal point.
Byron’s reputation as a live music destination spread. Bands started contacting him to play on their way through. Todd Snider, Canned Heat, Malcolm Holcombe, Kinky Friedman and Greg Brown are a few of the names who have stopped in.
“I think the bar has been able to have success as a music venue in this tiny conservative town because people travel from Des Moines, Minnesota, and other nearby markets to see the high-quality artists that Byron brings to the stage,” said Stacy Webster, a founding member of Winterland. “This room has a very special energy. The people that show up are there to actually listen to the music, and that makes for really good performances.”
On Sunday evenings, Stuart sits at the end bar stool to absorb the live performances. The space has great acoustics, he says. Each show is as unique as the energy created by the different mix of bands and audience members.
“Some people go to church,” Stuart says. “This is my church.”
A Deadhead pilgrimage
Webster speculates a hunger for good live music exists because there is not an abundance of venues or bands in rural western Iowa.
Kyle Munson, the former Des Moines Register columnist, once wrote that Byron’s is the “Deadhead capital of Iowa,” a label Stuart embraces. TV stations and newspapers have marveled at the unexpected music venue among the cornfields a handful of times over the years.
I first learned of Byron’s 10 years ago or so, likely during a conversation about the Grateful Dead. “Did you know there’s a Deadhead bar in western Iowa?” someone asked. I probably responded, “Well, no, but let’s go.”
With me, it is not whether you like the Dead. It is, “Do you like Bobby songs or Jerry songs? Do you like ’60s Dead, ’70s Dead, ’80s, ’90s?” For the record, Jerry songs and mid-’70s to mid-’80s is my sweet spot — the Keith and Donna Godchaux and Brent Mydland years.
No, I did not see Jerry Garcia perform live. When I was coming of age, I opted for a Phish show one summer rather than a two-night stand with the Dead a few days later because I had a shift washing dishes. Stupid work ethic. The following summer, 1995, it was the Allman Brothers instead of the Dead. Jerry Garcia died that same summer, probably a year or two before I really understood their cultural and musical significance.
Over the next seven or eight years I crisscrossed the country seeing live shows, primarily the later incarnations of the Dead (Further, the Other Ones, Dead and Co.), Phish, Widespread Panic, music festivals and who knows who else. That was when I discovered the power of live music, and many of the attributes Stuart and Webster describe.
‘In need of major rehabilitation’
I intended to visit Byron’s years ago but being so far away it fell down the list of priorities and I eventually forgot about it until last month. First, a story by Art Cullen was being shared among my friends on social media, and then I heard Charity Nebbe on Iowa Public Radio interviewing Stuart about the predicament.
“If you have not been there, it is the best live music venue to play and hear live music in Iowa,” a friend posted. “We must keep this alive.”
The Pomeroy city attorney sent Stuart a dangerous buildings notice in early January, casting doubt on the future of the establishment. An engineer’s inspection had found the 1893-built structure was “at minimum, in need of major rehabilitation.”
Byron’s is at the end of a row of dilapidated, connected buildings which are vacant or being used for storage. I am told bricks began falling from the façade at the far end last year, which prompted the inspection. The fatal Davenport apartment building collapse was also fresh in mind. The far end of the row is in worse shape, but it is unclear how Stuart’s building would withstand the demolition of the others.
Stuart has until early April to obtain a thorough building inspection and provide the city with a written report. He is waiting to hear back from an engineer about conducting the costly inspection. Stuart disputes that his building is at risk of collapse but does not know what work is needed, much less what it will cost.
Stepping up for Byron’s
My family thought I was crazy for wanting to drive to Pomeroy. “Why do you want to drive three and a half hours to sit at a bar for an hour?”
Even if there was not a 1976 “China Cat” transitioning into “I Know You Rider” playing in the background, it was worth the trip. Quirky spots off the beaten path are reminders there are unique spaces and special people in unexpected places, if you take the time to look. Unfortunately, places like this are becoming fewer and fewer, and I wanted to check out Byron’s while I still could.
Friends have stepped up. They launched a “Save Byron’s” GoFundMe that raised $20,000 in the first four days. An all-star lineup of Iowa musicians are holding an “Iowa Roots for Byron’s” benefit concert in Fort Dodge on March 3.
As for Stuart, he is not sure how things will resolve. Relocating anywhere nearby is unlikely given what’s available in Pomeroy. City leaders appear open to showing grace in allowing time to produce a plan, but what that may look like Stuart has no idea. He just wants to keep the music going.
That will be the legacy of Byron’s: a place where the music never stopped, to quote a Grateful Dead lyric. In fact, shows are booked nearly every Sunday into October.
Maybe take a drive to Pomeroy to listen while you can. Think of it as an adventure.
