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Irish Guy Is Smiling
Dave Magrogan’s Kildare’s empire is coming soon to your town — and you can’t stop him
By A.J. Daulerio
- Photo by Paul Pugliese
ST. PATRICK'S DAY IS HEADING INTO ITS 15TH HOUR for Dave Magrogan when he arrives at the West Chester Kildare’s, for what’s scheduled to be his final, most relaxing stop.
This bar, one of six Kildare’s Irish pubs that the tiny, five-foot-six Magrogan has opened in the Philly region in the past four years, is the one he considers his baby. It was his first. It’s where most of his hangers-on and good friends congregate. It’s where he can pretty safely get hammered and not feel like he’s abusing his power too much.
So far today, Magrogan has been to each of his bars — some more than once — popping on the air for quick segments with every live radio broadcast, jumping up onstage with every band, checking in with every general manager to ensure that they’re all executing the Kildare’s “vision.” The first part of the day, he was in his Hummer, negotiating the slippery roads caused by last night’s sleet storm. But he was always upbeat — even when it appeared the lousy weather and sparse crowds might set him back $50,000. “Once it gets later in the day, if people can get some babysitters, they’ll be out here,” he said. “And if we don’t get them tonight, those people will come tomorrow for Sunday brunch. People will come. You’ll see.”
He was right. By evening, the bars did pick up — the Manayunk Kildare’s had a line around the block and a bar full of Car Bombing college kids who probably would’ve been there even if there’d been a terrorist attack on Main Street. And by 12:30 a.m., everything is in full swing here in West Chester. Magrogan is never without a Guinness the whole time he’s here, and even throws down a few of his own Car Bombs. His only problem is the hernia that’s begun poking out of his groin due to the fact he’s spent the day on his feet.
Then, right in the middle of the drunken revelry, Kildare’s is invaded by local police decked out in blue nylon jackets and shining their flashlights. In tow is notorious West Chester zoning board stickler Mike Perrone, who’s there to shuffle the rowdy crowd out into the icy parking lot, hoping that most (if not all) of them will end the night early because the bar is “over capacity,” according to the borough’s zoning laws. It’s the ultimate buzz kill.
Some of the revelers do leave. Most don’t. And 30 minutes later, after arguing with the cops in the parking lot, 90 percent of the crowd is back inside. Magrogan stands in the middle of the stage with the punky Irish band Hit the Bottle Boys, microphone in hand, apologizing to the crowd for the inconvenience. And then he unloads:
“Fuck Mike Perrone!”
This bar, one of six Kildare’s Irish pubs that the tiny, five-foot-six Magrogan has opened in the Philly region in the past four years, is the one he considers his baby. It was his first. It’s where most of his hangers-on and good friends congregate. It’s where he can pretty safely get hammered and not feel like he’s abusing his power too much.
So far today, Magrogan has been to each of his bars — some more than once — popping on the air for quick segments with every live radio broadcast, jumping up onstage with every band, checking in with every general manager to ensure that they’re all executing the Kildare’s “vision.” The first part of the day, he was in his Hummer, negotiating the slippery roads caused by last night’s sleet storm. But he was always upbeat — even when it appeared the lousy weather and sparse crowds might set him back $50,000. “Once it gets later in the day, if people can get some babysitters, they’ll be out here,” he said. “And if we don’t get them tonight, those people will come tomorrow for Sunday brunch. People will come. You’ll see.”
He was right. By evening, the bars did pick up — the Manayunk Kildare’s had a line around the block and a bar full of Car Bombing college kids who probably would’ve been there even if there’d been a terrorist attack on Main Street. And by 12:30 a.m., everything is in full swing here in West Chester. Magrogan is never without a Guinness the whole time he’s here, and even throws down a few of his own Car Bombs. His only problem is the hernia that’s begun poking out of his groin due to the fact he’s spent the day on his feet.
Then, right in the middle of the drunken revelry, Kildare’s is invaded by local police decked out in blue nylon jackets and shining their flashlights. In tow is notorious West Chester zoning board stickler Mike Perrone, who’s there to shuffle the rowdy crowd out into the icy parking lot, hoping that most (if not all) of them will end the night early because the bar is “over capacity,” according to the borough’s zoning laws. It’s the ultimate buzz kill.
Some of the revelers do leave. Most don’t. And 30 minutes later, after arguing with the cops in the parking lot, 90 percent of the crowd is back inside. Magrogan stands in the middle of the stage with the punky Irish band Hit the Bottle Boys, microphone in hand, apologizing to the crowd for the inconvenience. And then he unloads:
“Fuck Mike Perrone!”
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Posted by Jermaine | Oct. 12, 2007 at 1:10 PM