After the railroad brought newcomers to St Petersburg in the late-1800s, advertisers were quick to promote the city as a destination for rejuvenation that rarely saw a rainy day. The Sunshine City enjoyed an economic boom and at one point struck the perfect balance of a tight knit community and big city ideas about inclusivity and preservation.
As St. Pete continued to grow in population, many local businesses struggled to maintain their identity and popularity in a landscape where consumer tastes were constantly evolving. For the Emerald Bar, located at 550 Central Ave., the secret to resiliency seems to be in sticking true to its roots as a classic dive bar where everyone is welcome.
Michael “Mikey” Brinkmann, who’s retiring from the bar after 18 years on June 17, says that it’s even more inclusive and diverse than any of the gay bars he worked at earlier in his career. On any given shift, a patron might be amongst punk rockers, museum curators, contractors and retirees who hold the high score on the bowling arcade game.
Brinkmann got his start in bartending in 1995 at a neighborhood bar called DT’s that was located in the yet-to-be named Grand Central District (the space at 2612 Central Ave. is now a yoga studio) . DT’s owner, Wayne “Dallas” Palmer, was a fierce supporter of the community and notably wrote the first check to St Pete Pride before it was even incorporated.
He continued to bartend and cultivated a “lowercase leather” persona at the Golden Arrow and Suncoast Eagle. He even had a brief stint as a truck driver, but the reality of being on the road didn’t compare to the stage that bartending gave him as a natural introvert.
Brinkmann frequented a regular downtown bar circuit in the mid-90s, including Mastry’s and The Emerald. He remembers his first drink at the latter was in 1996, back when the bar was closed on Sundays out of respect for the founding Marano’s Italian-Catholic heritage and last call on weekdays was 8 p.m. Since Mikey had become friends with the staff, he was one of the lucky few who got to stay late Monday nights after the rest of the crowd got the boot.
When a barback spot opened up, Brinkmann began moonlighting on Friday nights at The Emerald while keeping his shifts at Suncoast. His employers soon got wind of his second job and put the kibosh on it, but he continued his tradition of Monday nights with his new family.
The Suncoast Resort closed for good in 2007, and Mikey was eventually invited to barback three nights a week at the Emerald. Within a year, he was given his first official bartending shift on Wednesdays, and soon acquired enough bartending shifts that he could give up barbacking altogether.
Brinkmann, a natural storyteller with an uncanny recall for dates and details, is full of enough stories about the Emerald’s past to fill an entire book. What sticks out the most from his tales are themes of tradition, friendship and love that are no doubt a huge part of how the bar has transcended the years.
The Emerald has been owned by the Marano family since 1950 and was originally located at 841-843 Central Ave. The family—including second-generation owner George Marano—held tight to preserving the bar’s identity when they relocated in the early-60s, and today it’s easy to see the lasting effects tradition holds in the fabric of the place. If you want proof, look no further than the story behind why PBR has never been sold in the bar.
In 1969, a PBR rep approached George Sr. but he declined, as he was happy enough with the Olde Style he had on draft. When the rep kept pushing him and said the bar wouldn’t stay in business without PBR, George Sr. banned the beer from the bar indefinitely. When he retired in 1982 and passed the bar on to his son George, he did so under the condition that there would be no PBR sold, ever.
The Emerald has, however, certainly evolved over time, thanks in large part to the eclectic cast of bar staff through the years who have infused new life into the wood panelled walls. Brinkmann fondly remembers when bands like Nervous Turkey and Car Bomb Driver played their hearts out to appreciative crowds who only occasionally broke house rules and danced on the bar. Even though he joked his parents were rolling over in their graves, George was happy to be making money, and bands continued to play at the bar until the Covid shutdown.
Art found its way back in when the Vitale Brothers had a successful art show and started collaborating with the Gerow twins to feature local artists’ work on a rotating basis. Brinkmann curated his own art show one year, using band flyers and setlists he acquired from local music venues over a ten year span to completely cover the length of the display wall.
He gets emotional when he thinks about leaving this special place and considers it a great honor to have come up in the era of St Pete that he did. While he has a deep appreciation for the natural beauty of old Florida, the overdeveloped reality of his chosen hometown has finally broken the spell.
He is hitting the road at the end of June with his partner Doug and dog Violet in Doug’s beloved Honda element. They plan to tow a camper through the Panhandle and follow the Mississippi River, alternating between Airbnbs and campsites along the way. They’ll return in November so that they can vote and will eventually settle in a more rural part of the state.
Brinkmann plans to return at some point as a guest bartender, and his family at the Em’ will be there to welcome him back to the office.
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