Deep roots anchor P.J. Clarke’s, the restaurant and bar occupying a Civil War–era brick building with its top two floors sheered off at Third Avenue and 55th Street.

Converted into a tavern in 1884 when Irish laborers held a large presence in the developing neighborhood, the building was bought by Irish immigrant Patrick “Paddy” J. Clarke in 1912.

Clarke had been one of the saloon’s bartenders, and upon taking ownership, he decided to put his own name above the entrance. Little did he know his name would remain in place for more than a century.

Clarke lived above his bar, and four of his sons were born upstairs, according to the P.J. Clarke website. He kept the beer cold with the help of 200 pounds of ice; modern refrigeration didn’t get installed until the 1980s.

Prohibition threatened to put him out of business, but the establishment survived by selling bathtub gin and bootlegged Scotch from Canada, per the website.

After Paddy Clarke passed away, his heirs sold the saloon in 1947. (Below photo, the bar in 1940.) The new owners, the Lavezzo family, came in just as this neck of Third Avenue would undergo major changes.

The Third Avenue Elevated that ran beside the bar was taken down in 1955. Many of the surrounding tenements also got the boot in the name of development, and towering office buildings and apartment houses rose on all sides.

But P.J. Clarke’s endured as the business changed hands again. These days, corporate workers, locals, tourists, and celebrities all revel in the back-in-time feel of the turn of the century mahogany bar, the pressed tin ceiling, and the vintage wooden phone booth, now used by the wait staff.

To my eyes, the most enchanting historical relic of P.J. Clarke’s is the beveled stained glass on the corner of the building. There’s more stained glass inside, true, and the colored light against the dark wood interior is lovely.

But the glass on the facade has a magic to it. Illuminated by the late afternoon sky and the soft amber globes decorating the windows, it gives off a feeling of secrecy and privacy—luring thirsty New Yorkers into the warm embrace of a late 19th century workingman’s tavern.

[Third image: NYC Department of Records & Information Services]