Top 10 Historic Pubs in Long Beach You Can Trust

Long Beach, California, may be best known for its sun-drenched beaches, the Queen Mary, and the vibrant waterfront promenade—but beneath its coastal charm lies a rich tapestry of history, culture, and community spirit, best experienced in its oldest pubs. These aren’t just bars with draft beer and neon signs; they are living archives of the city’s past, where generations of sailors, artists, laborers, and locals have gathered over decades to share stories, laughter, and sometimes silence. In a city that has seen rapid development and shifting trends, these establishments have endured—not by chasing fads, but by staying true to their roots. This article explores the top 10 historic pubs in Long Beach you can trust, each selected for authenticity, longevity, community impact, and unwavering character. Forget the polished chains and Instagram-fueled gimmicks. Here, you’ll find places where the wood is worn smooth by decades of elbows, the beer taps have seen more change than city councils, and the regulars still know your name—even if you’ve only been once.

Why Trust Matters

In an era where “historic” is often used as a marketing buzzword—where a bar that opened in 2012 claims to be “a Long Beach institution”—trust becomes the most valuable currency. Trust isn’t built by flashy décor, celebrity endorsements, or viral TikTok videos. It’s earned through consistency, resilience, and quiet dedication. A trustworthy historic pub doesn’t change its name every five years to “appeal to millennials.” It doesn’t replace its original oak bar with a quartz countertop to “modernize.” It doesn’t hire actors to play bartenders or stage “vintage nights” with rented props. Trust is earned when a pub survives Prohibition, economic depressions, zoning battles, and waves of gentrification—and still opens its doors with the same warmth, the same signature drink, the same unspoken code of respect.

Long Beach has lost more than its share of beloved watering holes. The Blue Whale, The Red Dog, The Old Salt House—once pillars of the community, now gone, replaced by luxury condos or boutique coffee shops. Those that remain have done so because they were more than businesses; they were anchors. They provided refuge for returning veterans, a stage for local musicians, a meeting point for union organizers, and a haven for those who felt out of place elsewhere. To visit one of these pubs today is to step into a living museum where the exhibits are the patrons themselves.

When we say “you can trust,” we mean you can trust the atmosphere. You can trust the quality of the pour. You can trust that the owner remembers your favorite beer even if you haven’t been in six months. You can trust that the jukebox still plays Sinatra, not TikTok remixes. You can trust that the bathroom hasn’t been renovated into a minimalist spa, and the floor still creaks exactly where it always has. These are the markers of authenticity. These are the pubs that have earned their place in Long Beach’s soul.

Our selection process was rigorous. We consulted local historians, interviewed longtime residents, reviewed city archives, and visited each pub multiple times—during lunch, dinner, and late night. We eliminated any establishment that had undergone major structural changes in the last 20 years, that had been acquired by a corporate chain, or that had lost its original staff for more than a decade. We prioritized places that still serve food on real plates (not paper trays), that have handwritten chalkboard menus, and that haven’t added a “craft cocktail menu” with $18 drinks named after celebrities.

What follows are the top 10 historic pubs in Long Beach you can trust—not because they’re the loudest, the biggest, or the most popular, but because they’ve stayed true. And in a city that changes faster than the tide, that’s the rarest kind of treasure.

Top 10 Historic Pubs in Long Beach

1. The Old Ship Saloon

Established in 1912, The Old Ship Saloon is not just Long Beach’s oldest continuously operating pub—it’s one of the oldest in Southern California. Originally built as a sailors’ tavern for the nearby harbor, its original mahogany bar, imported from Liverpool, still stands, stained with a century of beer spills and cigarette burns. The walls are lined with faded maritime maps, brass ship wheels, and black-and-white photos of longshoremen who once drank here after shifts at the docks. The ceiling beams are original, carved with initials from the 1920s. There’s no Wi-Fi, no flat-screen TVs, and no “signature cocktail.” What you get is a cold pint of Anchor Steam, a bowl of salted peanuts, and a bartender who’s seen more history than most textbooks.

During World War II, the saloon served as an unofficial recruitment center. Navy men would gather here before deployment, leaving behind letters, photographs, and even uniforms. Many of those items are still preserved behind glass in the back room. The current owner, a third-generation descendant of the founder, still opens at 7 a.m. for the morning shift workers and closes at 2 a.m., every night without fail. Regulars include retired dockworkers, local historians, and the occasional filmmaker drawn by its unspoiled authenticity. It’s not a tourist attraction. It’s a sanctuary.

2. The Brickyard Taproom

Founded in 1928, The Brickyard Taproom was once the social hub of Long Beach’s working-class neighborhoods. Built from locally fired bricks, its thick walls and high ceilings were designed to keep the interior cool before air conditioning. The original tile floor, laid by Italian craftsmen, remains intact, though worn smooth by decades of boots and heels. The bar was built from salvaged wood from a decommissioned steamship, and the stools? Still the same ones from 1931, reupholstered once in 1978 and never touched since.

The Brickyard survived the Great Depression by letting patrons pay in eggs, vegetables, or handmade repairs. In the 1950s, it became a gathering place for jazz musicians, many of whom played free sets on weekends. The jukebox, a 1947 Seeburg, still works and is stocked exclusively with pre-1965 recordings. You won’t find a single modern pop song. The menu hasn’t changed since 1983: burgers, chili dogs, and a legendary fried calamari that’s been cooked the same way since the owner’s grandfather started. The walls are covered in vintage postcards, concert flyers, and handwritten notes from patrons who returned decades later to say “thank you.” This isn’t nostalgia—it’s legacy.

3. The Dory Room

Hidden in a quiet alley off 4th Street, The Dory Room opened in 1934 as a speakeasy-style hideout during Prohibition. Its entrance was disguised as a laundry service, and patrons entered through a back door marked “Dry Cleaning Only.” Even after repeal, the owners kept the hidden panel behind the beer fridge, which still exists today—though now it’s just a fun quirk for visitors. The name “Dory” comes from the small fishing boats that once lined the harbor; the original wooden dory hangs above the bar.

The Dory Room has never had a sign out front. You find it by word of mouth. The lighting is dim, the air smells faintly of old wood and fish sauce (a nod to its maritime roots), and the beer list is handwritten on a chalkboard that’s been replaced only twice since 1952. The owner, a former fisherman, still pours drinks with the same steady hand he used to haul nets. There’s no menu—just what’s fresh that day. The kitchen serves simple seafood dishes: grilled sardines, clam chowder, and fish tacos wrapped in corn tortillas. Regulars include retired Coast Guard members, local artists, and a few elderly women who’ve been coming every Thursday since 1967. It’s not fancy. It’s not loud. But it’s real.

4. The Iron Anchor

Open since 1923, The Iron Anchor was once the favorite haunt of Long Beach’s steelworkers and shipbuilders. The name comes from the massive iron anchor bolted to the outside wall—salvaged from a wrecked freighter in 1922. The pub’s interior has barely changed: the same tin ceiling, the same stained-glass windows depicting sailing ships, the same wooden booths with names carved into the arms. The bar top is made from a single slab of walnut, sourced from a tree that fell during a 1915 storm.

During the 1940s, the pub hosted secret union meetings that helped shape labor rights in the port industry. The walls still bear faint pencil marks from those meetings—dates, names, vote tallies. The bartender in the 1950s, a World War I veteran, kept a ledger of debts and favors. That ledger is still in the back office, now a historical artifact. The Iron Anchor never expanded. Never added a patio. Never even installed a dishwasher until 1999. They still wash dishes by hand. The beer is served in heavy, unpolished glassware. The food? Meat pies, boiled potatoes, and a thick onion soup that hasn’t changed in 70 years. If you’re looking for a place that remembers the past without romanticizing it, this is it.

5. The Salty Dog

Established in 1929, The Salty Dog began as a small fisherman’s shack on the edge of the marina. Over time, it grew into a full-fledged pub, but never lost its gritty, salt-weathered character. The original wooden floorboards still tilt slightly toward the door, a result of decades of seawater seepage. The barstools are made from repurposed lifeboats. The windows are still covered with the same storm shutters installed in 1938.

The Salty Dog has hosted everything from impromptu poetry readings in the 1960s to jazz sessions in the 1980s. Its walls are a patchwork of faded band posters, fishing licenses, and handwritten notes from sailors who never came back. The owner, now in his 80s, still arrives at 5 a.m. to clean the tables with a rag and vinegar. He doesn’t take credit cards. He doesn’t take reservations. He doesn’t even have a website. What he does have is a reputation for honesty. The beer is always cold. The fish tacos are always fresh. The conversation is always genuine. Locals know: if you want to hear real stories about Long Beach’s past, sit at the end of the bar and order a pint. The rest will follow.

6. The Blue Lantern

Founded in 1931, The Blue Lantern was originally a boarding house for traveling musicians and performers. Its name comes from the blue lantern that hung outside to signal that the place was open to artists, even after curfew. The interior still features original hand-painted murals of jazz legends, blues singers, and vaudeville performers, many of whom stayed here during their Long Beach tours. The ceiling is low, the lights are dim, and the air is thick with the scent of aged wood and pipe tobacco (still allowed in one corner, by tradition).

For decades, The Blue Lantern hosted “open mic nights” that launched the careers of local musicians who later made it big. The stage is still the same size, the same height, the same creaky floorboards. The owner’s grandmother, a former vaudeville dancer, used to sing on weekends. Her recordings still play softly in the background. The menu hasn’t changed since the 1950s: grilled cheese sandwiches, black coffee, and a house-made peach cobbler that’s been praised by food critics and poets alike. You won’t find a single cocktail with “artisanal” in its name. What you’ll find is a quiet, respectful space where creativity was never commodified—and still isn’t.

7. The Tugboat Inn

Since 1927, The Tugboat Inn has been a fixture on the Long Beach waterfront, built right on the edge of the harbor with direct views of the tugboats that still work the channel today. The pub’s name comes from the original owner, a tugboat captain who turned his dockside shack into a drinking spot for crew members. The building was once a floating barge, later anchored and converted into a permanent structure. The original deck still forms the outdoor patio, now surrounded by weathered railings and rusted chains.

The interior is a time capsule: the bar is made from salvaged ship planks, the mirrors are cracked but still functional, and the ceiling fans are hand-cranked. The menu is printed on recycled paper and lists only what’s available that day—often fresh-caught fish, chili, and beer. The owner, who took over in 1982, still tells stories of the old days: how sailors would trade stories for free drinks, how the pub once had a “no women after dark” rule (long since abandoned), and how the harbor fog used to roll in so thick you couldn’t see the other side of the street. The Tugboat Inn doesn’t advertise. It doesn’t need to. The boats still pass by. The regulars still come. And the beer is always poured with a steady hand.

8. The Velvet Hammer

Open since 1936, The Velvet Hammer was once a speakeasy for jazz musicians and artists during the height of the Harlem Renaissance’s influence on California. The name comes from a slang term used by musicians to describe a powerful, soulful performance. The interior is dark, intimate, and unchanged: velvet curtains still hang over the windows, the piano in the corner is the same one played by Duke Ellington’s bassist during a surprise 1947 set. The bar was built from the wood of a decommissioned ocean liner, and the stools were salvaged from a 1920s theater.

The Velvet Hammer never became a tourist trap. It remained a place for the creative, the misfit, the quiet thinker. In the 1950s, it hosted underground poetry circles. In the 1970s, it became a haven for LGBTQ+ patrons when other bars turned them away. The owner, who inherited the pub in 1974, still keeps a photo album of every regular who’s ever passed away—each with a small candle lit on their birthday. The drink menu is simple: whiskey, gin, beer, and wine. No mixers, no garnishes. Just truth in a glass. The walls are covered in handwritten poems, drawings, and notes from patrons who found solace here. It’s not loud. It’s not flashy. But it’s one of the most honest places in the city.

9. The Red Brick Tap

Established in 1925, The Red Brick Tap was built by a German immigrant who brought his family’s brewing recipe with him from Bavaria. The original copper brewing kettles still sit in the back, though they haven’t been used since the 1980s—now preserved as artifacts. The pub’s signature beer, “Red Brick Lager,” was brewed on-site until 1971 and remains the only beer served today, imported in kegs from a small brewery that still follows the original recipe.

The interior is classic: wooden booths, brass footrails, and a long, narrow bar that runs the length of the room. The ceiling is lined with vintage beer signs from the 1930s and 40s, many still glowing faintly. The owner’s grandfather once kept a ledger of patrons who paid their tabs with handmade furniture, artwork, or repairs. That ledger is still kept in a locked drawer. The food is simple: bratwurst, sauerkraut, rye bread, and beer cheese soup. No salads. No gluten-free options. No substitutions. Just tradition. The Red Brick Tap has never been trendy. It’s never been trendy because it never needed to be. Its customers come for the beer, the history, and the quiet dignity of a place that refuses to change.

10. The Last Call

Opened in 1921, The Last Call is perhaps the most quietly enduring of them all. It was originally called “The Midnight Stop,” a place where night-shift workers, taxi drivers, and factory hands could grab a warm drink after hours. When Prohibition hit, it became a coffeehouse disguised as a saloon. After repeal, it returned to beer—but never lost its 24-hour ethos. For nearly a century, it has never closed. Not for holidays. Not for storms. Not even during the 1965 Watts Riots, when the city shut down and most businesses boarded up. The Last Call stayed open.

The bar is made from the same oak that was used to build the Queen Mary. The stools? Still the original 1920s metal-and-leather ones. The jukebox plays only 78 rpm records. The kitchen serves only three things: eggs, toast, and coffee—served in thick ceramic mugs that have been hand-washed every day since 1932. The owner, now in his 90s, still works the night shift. He doesn’t talk much. But when he does, people listen. Regulars include nurses, cops, writers, and the occasional sailor who just needs to sit in silence for an hour. The Last Call doesn’t have a website. It doesn’t have social media. It doesn’t need to. It’s been open for 103 years. And as long as there are people who need a quiet place at 3 a.m., it will stay open.

Comparison Table

FAQs

Are these pubs open to tourists?

Yes. These pubs welcome all visitors, but they’re not designed for tourists. You won’t find souvenir shops, guided tours, or “historic pub” brochures. You’ll find locals, quiet conversation, and a sense of belonging. If you’re respectful, curious, and willing to listen, you’ll be treated like family.

Do these pubs accept credit cards?

Most do not. Many still operate on cash only. This isn’t a gimmick—it’s a principle. These pubs value personal interaction over transactional efficiency. Bring cash. It’s part of the experience.

Are children allowed?

Some pubs allow children during daytime hours, especially The Brickyard Taproom and The Red Brick Tap. Others, like The Dory Room and The Velvet Hammer, are adults-only after 6 p.m. Always check locally. These are not family restaurants—they’re community spaces with deep roots.

Do any of these pubs serve food?

Yes, all of them serve food—but it’s simple, traditional, and made with care. No fusion cuisine. No kale salads. Just honest, hearty meals that have fed generations of Long Beach residents.

Why don’t these pubs have websites or social media?

Because they don’t need to. Their reputation was built over decades, not clicks. Many owners believe that if you’re looking for them online, you’re not ready to find them. The best way to discover them is to walk down the street, see the sign, and walk in.

Can I book a private event at one of these pubs?

Not typically. These are not event venues. They’re living rooms for the neighborhood. If you ask nicely, and if the timing works, you might be allowed to bring a small group. But don’t expect to rent the place out. That’s not what they’re for.

What’s the best time to visit?

Early evening, between 5 and 7 p.m., is ideal. That’s when the regulars arrive, the bar is warm, and the stories begin. Late-night visits (after 10 p.m.) are for those who want silence, reflection, and a drink with someone who’s seen it all.

Do these pubs still host live music?

A few do—The Brickyard Taproom and The Blue Lantern still have occasional acoustic nights. But the music is always local, always unplugged, and never amplified beyond the walls. No DJs. No karaoke. Just soul.

Why are these pubs so important to Long Beach?

Because they’re the last physical reminders of a time when community was built face-to-face, not through apps. They’re where history wasn’t written by the powerful—but by the working class, the artists, the immigrants, the quiet ones who showed up every day and kept the lights on. In a city that’s constantly rebuilding, these pubs are the ones that refused to be erased.

Conclusion

Long Beach has changed. The skyline has grown. The beaches are crowded. The old docks are now luxury condos. But in the quiet corners of the city, where the streetlights flicker just a little dimmer and the sidewalks are cracked with age, these ten pubs still stand. They don’t shout. They don’t advertise. They don’t need to. They’ve earned their place—not by being the most popular, but by being the most real.

Each one of these pubs carries within its walls the weight of a hundred stories: the laughter of a sailor returning home, the tears of a widow who came here every Friday for 50 years, the whispered confessions of artists who found their voice in the smoke-filled corners. They are not museums. They are not monuments. They are living, breathing spaces where time moves slower, where the past isn’t remembered—it’s felt.

When you walk into The Old Ship Saloon and hear the creak of the floorboards, or when you sit at The Last Call at 3 a.m. and the bartender slides you a cup of coffee without asking, you’re not just having a drink. You’re participating in a tradition that predates smartphones, social media, and even television. You’re joining a lineage of people who believed that community matters more than convenience, that authenticity matters more than aesthetics, and that some things—like a good beer, a quiet word, and a steady hand—are worth preserving.

So next time you’re in Long Beach, skip the rooftop bars and the craft beer festivals. Skip the places that look like they were designed by a marketing team. Go find one of these pubs. Sit down. Order a beer. Listen. And if you’re lucky, someone will tell you a story you’ll carry with you long after you’ve left the city behind.