It takes a village to raise an Iowa bar

POMEROY, Ia. — When a bar opened on the flat midsection of Iowa in July, it recalled the social unity of grain threshing crews a century before. Dozens of residents saw a need, and they gathered to fill it, launching a new prairie proverb: "It takes a village to raise a bar."

What unfolded was the story of rural Iowa — at least the fun part.

The story starts with three gentlemen who often huddled at home around beer and televised ballgames and returned to a familiar conversation.

You know what we need in this town? A sports bar.

Big screens, cheering, pizza, Milwaukee’s Best. Everything that makes life good during football season.

The ball-cap-wearing contractor in his 50s, the meaty mechanic in his 40s and the clean-shaven banker in his 20s were in the middle of Iowa, a vast space of fields and empty rundown buildings on main street so familiar in small-town Iowa. They had no place to go to share their excitement.

They talked about this dream, ballgame after ballgame. One day they heard a building on the edge of town was up for sale.

“I’m sick of talking about it,” the contractor says. “Let’s do it!”

You can almost see them rise to their feet.

They broke huddle like a charging herd of linemen to comb the town of Pomeroy, population 662, where they all grew up and watched many their age leave as the Calhoun County population continued to dwindle.

What they needed was money. Five investors, maybe six, at 10 grand a pop to get up and running.

Here’s the deal. They all work full-time jobs, didn’t want to take on a lot of risk and figured six guys with skin in the game would start arguing over how to run the place.

So contractor Dan Roese, mechanic Dustin Bales and banker Shane Holtorf thought, hey, how about a cooperative? Instead of a co-op formed for grain or rural electric, a group of members would create a gathering place.

In just weeks, inspiring moment became reality. It was almost like an Amish barn-raising, so quick did the Co-op Bar & Grill’s sign rise above Highway 4.

The three schemers put together a list of 69 people to call, asking for $1,000 each, figuring that small of amount wouldn’t send people over the edge if it failed.

“We thought of people that would be good customers,” Bales said. “We wanted to build a customer base at the same time.”

A cooperative sounded like a decent idea. Iowa is king of cooperatives, starting more than a century ago with some of the longest continuously operating grain co-ops in the country and, in the modern era, with organic groceries.

“Typically, with the co-op model, there is a missing service or market or lack of things they want,” said Keri Jacobs, an assistant professor of economics at Iowa State University. “They provide things that no private company is going to come in and do. I’m guessing here, but in Pomeroy they don’t have the people with the capital themselves and no banker is going to give them money when farm income is dropping.”

But Holtorf said they discovered the restrictions on co-ops wouldn't fit their situation, so a corporation was formed, capping the number at 69 so it didn’t get messy. Nearly everybody said yes, even the cheapest guy in town. Soon people started calling them, wanting in on the action.

“Pomeroy is usually a kind of town where people don’t support these things, so it was crazy to see,” said Holtorf, noting the lack of public support in the past to launch a municipal swimming pool and a municipal golf course.

Meanwhile, the town known for its past basketball championships with nearby Palmer limped along without a significant employer. A new grain co-op, coincidentally, is promising. But the town has withered as many area residents who don't farm drive nearly 40 miles to Fort Dodge or Storm Lake for work. The cafes have closed, and storefronts are largely empty.

Investor squabbles were anticipated. Most know each other here, so the founders were clear in their opening speech to investors about the role of a seven-person board.

“You are shareholders; you don’t make decisions,” Holtorf said. “This is going to be for the community and for fun. If you don’t understand that, this is not for you.”

They bought the building with a promise, convincing folks who might be squeamish about 10 percent of the town getting into the bar business that they promised to eventually serve food, because gas station food was the principal option in town.

When they walked in the first day, the building was full of shelves for its recent tenure as a grocery store. It was also once a hair salon, a laundromat, a church and numerous other businesses. What happened next they still can’t believe.

Dozens of people showed up, ready to work. At least 50 volunteered time, and some weren’t even the 69 investors. They helped build a bar, tall wooden tables and walls from donated barn wood, and tin from sheds that farmers had sitting around. Everything is built so solid with the handy skills of farmers and laborers that Bales figures they drove in 150 pounds of screws.

Night after night, they worked until 11 p.m. after their regular day jobs.

“We ate Casey’s pizza every night for a month,” Holtorf said.

It sparked the plan for their only menu item other than popcorn and a jar of pickled eggs — frozen pizza. They got a shipment of more than 300 from Roberto’s Pizza in Dow City.

They held a contest for a slogan for the bar and the winner was “It takes a community to raise a bar.” None of the three knew that the African proverb “It takes a village to raise a child” is associated with Hillary Clinton. They figure most farmers here are Republican, but politics weren’t big in the conversation when the throngs first darkened the doors on July 1 of the new Co-op Bar & Grill.

The big July Fourth weekend got them off to a winning start. Pizzas were cooked, fast and furious, as crowds of more than a 100 at a time gazed upon two big-screen TVs, viewable from every angle, or played pool or darts and loaded the jukebox. By the middle of August, they had sold 1,500 pizzas. Plans are solidifying fast to add other food.

Next up is a grand opening celebration Aug. 27.

But it’s still a small town. There was at least one person hurt by the opening, the owner of a little bar in downtown Pomeroy that had withstood the declines of the past 20 years. It’s called Byron’s, a wood-floor dive lined with posters of the Grateful Dead, owner Byron Stuart’s favorite band.

Holtorf said they like Byron and hoped there were no hard feelings. They just wanted a place where a family could gather and have a bite or watch a game. Stuart’s bar holds Sunday night concerts and has the kind of rough edges that they felt invited a different experience.

In Stuart's view: “They act like they are the only place in town that serves drinks.”

Though his business has suffered, he quickly softened to the spirit of it, while showing off his toilet seat covers that are painted in tie-dye patterns

“Once they get food, I’ll be fine,” he said, eating his sandwich in an empty bar. “At least I’ll have someplace to eat.”

Back at the Co-op Bar, a couple eats a pizza and another sits at the bar. A young girl pops in with provisions, a shareholder’s child. It’s all hands on deck. Roese said he’s noticed that people pick up stray beer cans lying around because many of the customers are also owners and want to do their part.

A few have volunteered to tend bar, but now they have hired a staff and are looking for a manager.

Mayor Brian Meyer happens to be there, working on a security system, while his wife, Liz, is behind the bar, learning to make fancy drinks, although Milwaukee’s Best became a beer that Pomeroy folks are mysteriously known for. The Meyers are also shareholders.

“It’s more important than a bar; it’s where people meet up with friends,” he said. “I hear them say, ‘I helped make that,’ or ‘that’s wood from my shed.'”

They figure the halfway point between Des Moines and Okoboji could become a summer stop-off spot, visible from the highway. A $25 grain bin salvaged from a local farmer serves as an outdoor patio centerpiece.

No mistaking, though, this was designed to be a community gathering place, sorely needed on the vast prairie in disconnected times, the founders say. People are emerging from their homes, greeting people and reconnecting.