He's dead, but Wilmington bar owner still picked up the tab for his final party

When The Barn Door in Wilmington closed 15 years ago, the tiny restaurant and rock club held a farewell party with an overflow crowd that spilled onto the sidewalk of Tatnall Street.

Little did everyone know that it would not be owner Art Callahan's final bar bash. 

The 70-year-old, who died Dec. 28, left strict instructions with his family to not hold a funeral service.

Replacing tears with tall tales was more Callahan's style. The quick-witted Irishman requested an Irish wake. 

Callahan preferred that mourners raise a glass in his honor at Wilmington's Dead Presidents Pub & Restaurant. And on Jan. 16, that's exactly what friends, family, former patrons and local band members who kept them entertained ended up doing.

Callahan, known for his sarcastic charm and penchant for one-liners, even had one final surprise for everyone. No one was going to argue over the check. Callahan had already picked up the tab.

Before his death, Callahan had set aside enough money to cover the entire party, paying for everyone's drinks and the buffet spread of roast beef sandwiches and appetizers.

The crowd, a "nice combination of the old bankers, lawyers and punk rockers," were totally surprised, says Brian Raughley, owner of Dead Presidents, whose father was a close, longtime friend of Callahan.

An urn containing his remains sat on a table along with a photo of the beloved bar owner. A vintage green milk can that he always sat on near The Barn Door's front window was placed on the bar for the farewell.

"It was a great send-off. People were trying to help pay for it and I told them, 'It wasn't me,' " Raughley says. "He probably would have made fun of everyone there for something. But he would have really loved it."

Raughley was approached two years ago by Callahan's brother George with Callahan's plan to pay for his own beer-stained farewell.

Art Callahan had been living at The Antonian high-rise in Wilmington's Little Italy neighborhood before spending his final years at a Smyrna nursing home, Raughley says.

After Callahan's death, his brother George stopped by Dead Presidents to set a date for the get-together.

Raughley is unsure of the official cause of Callahan's death, but says Callahan was diagnosed with cancer last fall.

Lots of musicians got their start at The Barn Door

Ever since its opening in the early '70s, The Barn Door had a split personality.

By day, it catered to city office workers, lawyers and executives who liked its rough-hewn, wooden barn-like interior, soft lighting, piped-in jazz music and generous portions, whether it was a bowl of spicy red chili, homemade soup or the Barn Door Burger. 

At night, it was a haven for all sorts of musicians who played the bar's tiny stage, which patrons had to walk across to get to the restrooms in the back. A refuge for basement bands playing original music, it also was once one of the most popular stops on the annual Halloween Loop bar crawl.

Over the years, everyone from Tommy Conwell of Tommy Conwell & The Young Rumblers and Scott Birney of The Sin City Band to Andy King of The Hooters and Mark Kenneally of Dr. Harmonica and Rockett 88 performed there.

Callahan once said he even played host to Perry Farrell of Jane's Addiction – not for a performance, but rather as a bar customer.

The Barn Door was the first establishment many young rockers in town played, including Wilmington singer/songwriter Tommy Murray in 1992.

He was 14 at the time.

"Art would stamp the hands of underage kids and say, 'Have fun, but stay away from the bar or I’ll break your legs,'" Murray wrote in a tribute to the longtime friend of his family.

"If a band played a song that was not original, Art would get off of his stool, walk up to the band and implore them to play something else – to play something that they wrote."

Murray added that Callahan's small club almost demanded that you not put on any airs once you walked through the doors.

"Not only did you have permission to be yourself, being yourself was required. In a credit card banking, corporate, cover band state, The Barn Door was a safe haven for original music from near and far," he wrote. "During my years at The Barn Door I was witness to great music, strange side-show acts and some of the most unique people I would ever come to meet."

Motorcycles parked next to Mercedes-Benzes

When Callahan closed The Barn Door, the first person he thanked was Gregg Kirk, editor of the monthly entertainment magazine Big Shout, who long supported the indie club.

Kirk, who broke his leg at the club one night stage diving during a set by The Rubber Uglies, says there's a reason why just about every original band of that era got their start at The Barn Door: "He didn't really have a filter."

Or as former Barn Door bartender and music booker Robert DiGiacomo puts it, "It didn't matter if you were the worst band ever or one of the greatest, he just loved the scene."

"If it was your first gig, you were probably underage, but you were able to play there because they had a restaurant license," says Kirk, now 57 living in Connecticut, who penned a tribute to Callahan earlier this month at friendsofbigshout.com. 

"You would literally invite your mom and dad, friends and extended family and play your set. It was a great proving ground. You always had home-field advantage there."

During the day when bands weren't playing, the show was at the bar as judges and lawyers ate (and sometimes) drank their lunch.

Out front, motorcycles were parked next to Mercedes-Benzes.

"I could be in a tank top covered in tattoos sitting next to a judge and the guy next to him could be a garbage man or construction worker," DiGiacomo remembers. "We would all sit there enjoying ourselves having a drink. And that was all because of Art. He loved everybody."

The Darn Bore

If you rested your elbows for any length of time at 845 N. Tatnall St., affectionately known to regulars as The Darn Bore, you could watch TV or flip through one of the seven newspapers stacked upon the bar.

But the best sport of all was the conversation in the eatery, which had 20 ketchup-red tables. It flipped between local gossip, politically incorrect humor ("Ray Charles died and he never saw it coming") and sarcastic zingers.

DiGiacomo, also a musician who played at the bar for years with his band Mother Nature's Black Light Rainbow before working there, remembers one of Callahan's favorite lines. 

When DiGiacomo and his friends would ride their motorcycles to the bar, Callahan would see them coming from his perch atop the milk can and yell as they walked in, "Watch your wallet!"

It always got a big laugh.

Tribute concert in the works at Oddity Bar

DiGiacomo, whose band was the final act to play on The Barn Door's closing night, is helping to organize a concert in Callahan's honor featuring bands that played there way back when.

While a date is not yet set, it will be held on a Sunday at Oddity Bar in Wilmington. Details will be announced in the coming months, DiGiacomo says.

Before closing The Barn Door for good in 2004 after more than 30 years in business, Callahan told The News Journal, "Business has been horrendous. I ran out of money. I don't want to leave owing anybody money."

Instead, he drew family and friends back to a bar one last time for a party that lasted seven hours. 

After a few words from his brother George at Dead Presidents last week, the crowd raised glasses and toasted Callahan and The Barn Door one final time – on Callahan's dime. Just the way he wanted.

Contact Ryan Cormier of The News Journal at rcormier@delawareonline.com or (302) 324-2863. Follow him on Facebook (@ryancormier), Twitter (@ryancormier) and Instagram (@ryancormier).