header The Point

Serving up camaraderie and techno
at Don's Irish Pub

From afternoon potlucks to late-night dance parties, new ownership only strengthens the personality of this St. Petersburg bar.

AMBER J. ADAMS

You won't find Irish beer at Don's Irish Pub.

No fish and chips, no bread pudding, no O’hara’s Celtic Stout on tap. The bartenders who fill your pints aren’t O’Malley or Murphy, but Strakal and Hoselton, and what they pour is usually Budweiser or Miller Lite. About the only hints of Irish here—besides the name—are a shamrock-shaped string of lights and two ceramic leprechauns.

What you will find at Don’s Irish Pub in south St. Petersburg is a sense of friendship. For almost 20 years, the pub has served as a neighborhood oasis where an unlikely community has been cultivated over cold bottles of brew, potluck dinners and secrets shared between long drags on cigarettes.

But change is inevitable at this corner tavern, perched on a dusty corner lot between the Southside and Coquina Key neighborhoods. Last month, longtime owner Don Hubert sold the business to John "Gunner" Strakal and Annie Hoselton—patrons who found their way here a year ago and kept coming back, like so many of the customers.

The couple plan to keep the business alive by adding late-night techno pop parties and karaoke on the weekends to attract a younger crowd.

And they plan to change the name—to Scootz, biker slang for motorcycles.

But they pledge to protect the character of Don’s Irish Pub, continuing to host midday potlucks and offer a comfortable drop-in for the regulars who have remained loyal to the bar.


The squat, lemon-colored building stands out from its weedy patch at Sixth St. S and 30th Ave. A small pot of purple flowers hangs from the outside awning in defiance of the heat. A scattering of plastic chairs fills the small wooden deck. But that hominess can’t mask the green metal security door, where patrons have to be buzzed in. It’s one of the only businesses for several blocks around.

The bar doesn’t attract many visitors from the street, says Strakal; new patrons are usually urged on by friends who know the place.

“We had a guy say he had been driving by for a year before he finally came in,” Strakal says. “He’s a regular now.”

Before it became Don’s, it was the Beer Box, a neighborhood bar turned biker hangout through the 1960s, ’70s and ’80s. Hubert bought it and reopened it as Don’s in 1989.

Inspired by an uncle who owned an Irish pub, he named the bar Don’s Irish Pub to recast it as a friendly neighborhood bar.

And for almost 20 years, that’s what he did, until he grew weary of running the bar. After Strakal and Hoselton threw a successful costume party there in October, Hubert, now 57, asked them to buy the business from him; he still owns the property and building.

“I felt like they are the right age,” he says. “You need to have a lot of energy to make it in this business.”

The wall around the inside front door frame at Don’s carries this warning: "What happens at Don's, stays at Don's." Beer posters and a U.S. flag decorate the walls. Songs by Johnny Cash, the Beatles and Santana rotate on a red jukebox in the corner. The wooden bar was made by a local friend of Don's who left his mark by inscribing "Get Al free beer" on the inside cabinet door.

A glass-protected case in the back of the bar displays photos of customers over the years. The hairstyles and clothes change, but the faces, though aging, remain the same.

On a humid Friday in June, Strakal opens the bar just before noon. He wears a camouflage baseball hat pulled low on his head to shield against the sunlight streaming through the rectangular windows. He wears a black T-shirt and blue jean shorts with a chain running from his hip to his back pocket. It’s a big change from the suits he used to wear in his job as an analyst. He doesn’t miss the suits, but he’s still getting used to days that don’t follow a set routine. He often doesn’t get to bed until 4 a.m., so he really doesn’t feel fully awake until mid-afternoon.

But when Ron Graham hits the buzzer on the security door, Strakal instantly becomes alert, ready to greet the day’s first customer.

Graham, 68, a retired U.S. Coast Guardsman, has been coming to Don’s at least three days a week for the last 12 years. He often brings his Shih Tzu, Precious, with him during the early hours when there is less cigarette smoke in the air. A photograph in the display case shows Ron and Precious wearing matching hats for St. Patrick's Day. Bottled water has replaced bottles of beer for Graham, who no longer drinks because of the medications he takes. But he remains a faithful at Don’s, coming back for the company.

“There is nobody putting on any airs,” Graham says. “Everybody is who they are and the dress code is a minimum. As long as you are covering up your ass, you’re OK.”

Jennie Smith, 68, has been a regular Wednesday and Friday customer for five years now. After her husband died, friends invited her to the bar to get her out of the house. A former bar owner herself, she found she liked the atmosphere and the people.

“You sit home, it gets lonely,” she says. “You get to come here and talk to people.”

Two years ago the regulars at Don’s threw Smith a surprise birthday party, complete with cake, balloons and presents—a gesture that made her cry and that remains her favorite bar story.


Business at the bar picks up around 12:30 p.m. It fills with an older crowd of regulars and with workers from the neighborhood. They take their places at the bar, sipping beer and telling stories from their youth. Some linger for hours, stuffing the jukebox with dollars and singing along in loud off-key voices.

Strakal deftly maneuvers around the bar, refilling drinks and asking the universal question, “Whadda ya think about those Rays?”

As midday gives way to early evening, the last of the older patrons filter out. There’s a dinnertime lull, but by 9 p.m., the barstools are filled again, this time with younger faces, many of them new to Don’s. The poolroom in the back of the bar morphs into a hazy, smoke-filled dance lounge where patrons rest on velvet-covered loveseats between dance moves. Techno music vibrates off the walls. The DJ drapes the pool table with black velvet cloth, using it as a makeshift booth.

Larry Guerrero didn’t have high expectations when his friends talked him into stopping by the pub one Sunday evening. But Guerrero, a dance choreographer, soon found himself swaying to the techno beats.

“The music is pretty decent,” says Guerrero, 38. “You wouldn’t expect it in this little hole-in-the wall bar.”

The two generations rarely mix at the bar. But in mid-June, Strakal and Hoselton threw a party—something of a grand opening under their ownership. Young and old, regulars and newcomers stopped by to raise a glass to the bar’s future. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, draped, Mardi Gras-style, with red plastic beads as they shared stories and homemade hot wings.

"It's a community bar," Graham says. "You don't see that in any of these franchise places like Hooters."