Old Boston Taverns and Tavern Clubs

In Short

This volume is a meticulously researched chronicle of the taverns and public houses that defined the social and political landscape of old Boston from its founding through the close of the eighteenth century. It documents the evolution of these establishments—from the early "ordinaries" to the legendary meeting places of Revolutionary leaders—by tracing their physical locations, ownership records, and the customs that flourished within their walls. It endures as a vital historical resource for those seeking a granular, localized understanding of how colonial society actually functioned.

The Story

The narrative begins with a meditation on the tavern as an indispensable institution of colonial life. In a town where community life was often mandated by custom, the tavern served as an extension of the home and the council chamber. The author paints a picture of a society where even the most pious figures, such as Cotton Mather, acknowledged the tavern’s centrality, despite their own conflicting views on the moral hazards of drinking and tobacco. These early houses, like the one kept by Hugh Gunnison, were not merely places for lodging; they were centers of political debate, where rooms were often named for the purpose they served, such as the "Court Chamber" or the "Exchange."

As the colony matured, these houses became barometers for the shifting political winds of the era. The book illustrates how the naming of a tavern—flipping from the "King’s Arms" to the "State’s Arms" and back again—mirrored the fluctuating loyalties and the eventual break with the British Crown. The narrative moves through the daily operations of these inns, highlighting the personality of the "mine host," that quintessential figure who acted as a newsmonger, banker, and social glue. Through the eyes of contemporary observers like John Dunton, we see the landlord as a pillar of the community, whose jovial presence made the tavern a place where even the most rigid colonial leaders could relax and engage in the human fellowship of the punch-bowl.

The arc of the story naturally deepens as it reaches the Revolutionary period. The taverns ceased to be merely social hubs and became the staging grounds for insurrection. The "Bunch of Grapes" emerges as a site of immense historical consequence, not just for the revelry following the victory at Bennington, but as the birthplace of the Ohio Company. The narrative captures the raw reality of the times, detailing the intense political rivalries, the physical scars of patriots like James Otis, and the quiet determination of men who gathered in rooms filled with pipe smoke to forge a new nation.

The book concludes by grounding this sweeping history in the concrete details of property and survival. By methodically tracing the deeds, sales, and shifting ownership of these buildings, the author demonstrates the physical transformation of the city itself. Many of the taverns, once the height of local sophistication, eventually succumbed to the demands of commerce, becoming dry goods stores or private residences. The final chapters serve as an expansive gazetteer, ensuring that the legacy of these landmarks—from the "Golden Ball" to the "Green Dragon"—remains anchored to the specific geography of Boston, preserving a world that, while physically vanished, remains etched into the foundations of the city.

How It Unfolds

The Tavern as an Institution The author establishes the social necessity of the inn in a colonial world where public gathering was the only way to disseminate news. He contrasts the strict morality of the Puritans with the reality of daily life, where taverns were ubiquitous and essential to the machinery of government.

The Early Ordinaries The narrative dives into the specifics of seventeenth-century life, focusing on early landlords like Hugh Gunnison and the naming conventions of rooms. These early chapters explore how the "ordinary" functioned as both a place for lodging and a center for legal and commercial arbitration.

Revolutionary Ferment The focus shifts to the era of political crisis, showcasing how taverns provided the privacy and camaraderie necessary for organizing the resistance. The author details the legendary meetings held at the "Bunch of Grapes" and the "Green Dragon," framing them as the true classrooms of the American Revolution.

Signboard Humor A brief, lighter interlude highlights the cultural character of the tavern through its signage. These descriptions of "The Good Woman" or the "Dog and Pot" provide insight into the wit and artistic life of the period, illustrating how these signs were both functional beacons and symbols of communal pride.

The Gazetteer of Sites The final section transitions into a comprehensive, record-heavy appendix detailing the history of specific properties. This serves as a definitive reference for readers interested in the lineage of Boston’s physical space, tracking properties from their original land grants to their eventual demolition or repurposing.

The People

The human element of the story is anchored by figures who represent the diverse functions of the tavern. Hugh Gunnison appears as the archetypal early landlord, managing a house that accommodated both the common traveler and the high-ranking legislator, setting the standard for the tavern as an official space. George Monk, the landlord of the "Anchor," stands out as the quintessential publican—brisk, jolly, and the spirit of his company—whose personality defined the hospitality of the age.

The political life of the taverns is represented by James Otis and Molyneux. Through their interactions, the author reveals the personal toll of political agitation, contrasting Molyneux’s complaints about minor inconveniences with the profound physical and mental exhaustion of Otis, whose "monstrous crack" in his skull serves as a chilling testament to the cost of his public service. Finally, the narrative is populated by a cast of persistent, if less famous, individuals like Samuel Cole, the first ordinary keeper, and Morris Keefe, a "lemon dealer" whose ownership of the "Hancock Tavern" shows how these legendary sites were often the modest, hardworking enterprises of ordinary citizens.

In Its Own Voice

"The famous remark of Louis XIV., 'There are no longer any Pyrenees,' may perhaps be open to criticism, but there are certainly no longer any taverns in New England."

The author uses this provocative comparison to emphasize the total disappearance of the colonial tavern culture he describes.

"There was no one house in all the town more noted, or where a man might meet with better accommodation."

This quotation, drawn from an account by John Dunton, highlights the high reputation of George Monk’s "Anchor" tavern.

"The men were broken down with fatigue, bespattered with mud, famishing from hunger."

This stark observation underscores the desperate reality faced by the soldiers who encountered the "Ship in Distress" tavern sign.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is an argument for the tavern as a fundamental, if underappreciated, architectural and social structure of American liberty. It explores the tension between the Puritan desire for a controlled, moral society and the natural human urge to congregate, debate, and share a bowl of punch. The underlying question concerns the origin of political consensus; the author suggests that if we look closely enough at the layout of a room and the membership of a drinking club, we can find the genuine origins of the Revolution. It is a study of how physical space—the "common victual house"—shapes the collective identity of a city and, eventually, a nation.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy architectural history, local lore, and the minutiae of colonial life will find this book deeply rewarding. It provides the kind of thick, ground-level detail that larger histories often overlook. The experience of reading it is akin to walking through the streets of old Boston with an expert guide who knows exactly which building once stood where and which patriot sat in which chair.

However, prospective readers should be prepared for the book's density. It is not a light, narrative-driven history; it is a scholarly, archival compilation. The prose is precise and dignified, reflecting the sensibilities of an author writing at the turn of the twentieth century, and the long lists of property deeds and license dates require patience. One must also be prepared to encounter the period-specific attitudes and the occasional, jarring references to colonial-era social hierarchies. Despite these hurdles, the book offers something rare: a sense of time and place so firmly established that the reader begins to feel the weight of the timber and the warmth of the hearths of a Boston that is otherwise lost to history.