Keeping it in the Bar Family: From the People’s Republik to the New Republik

A painting of the Last Supper once hung in the People’s Republik, the beloved Soviet-themed bar in Central Square. In this rendition, the bar’s owner sat in the place of Jesus Christ, and the staff and regular customers filled the rest of the table.

When the People’s Republik closed its doors in December 2020 after 23 years of business, its owner took the painting home. L. Patrick Gallivan, the general manager, claimed most of the remaining artwork for his own bar — the recently-opened New Republik in Inman Square.

The New Republik is the “second generation” of Cambridge’s iconic neighborhood bar, and at least thematically, it remains true to its predecessor. Communist soldiers gesture to patrons from Soviet-themed posters — taken directly from the original People’s Republik — which hang on the deep red walls.

Regulars at the bar sit on bright red bar stools at black tables, alongside a lively group of young patrons who live down the street. This sense of community was Gallivan’s vision for the New Republik. “We really want to be the neighborhood bar that people can come in and know somebody,” he says.

In fact, Gallivan was first introduced to the People’s Republik in the late 1990s through a friend, the owner’s son. After their walks to the comic book store or the myriad of other small businesses that once covered Cambridge, Gallivan and his friend would stop into the bar for lunch — “before we were even 21,” he admits.

But it wasn’t the alleged presence of minors in the bar that stirred controversy. Cambridge’s licensing board originally refused to approve the bar’s name. Richard V. Scali, then Cambridge License Commison’s executive officer, said to The Crimson in 1997 that the name “was inappropriate and offensive” to soldiers who fought in “the Korean War, World War II or any war” nominally fought against communism. Despite its potential for controversy, the name was meant to be a play on Cambridge’s nickname, “The People’s Republic.”

By Joey Huang

Strong community was always what set the People’s Republik apart, Gallivan says. On his first day on the job at the now-shuttered bar, he swept the floors. “As soon as I started working, everybody took me in as part of the family,” he recalls. Gallivan quickly moved up to bar-backing and bartending before he was promoted to general manager of the People’s Republik, the position that he held when Covid-19 hit Cambridge.

James F. Rowe, a bartender there since 2008, recalls the businesses’ precarious position at the onset of the pandemic. “We knew any day could be our last. We were just hoping it would survive,” he says. When they finally received the call that the bar would be temporarily closed one day in December of 2020, Rowe and Gallivan had a feeling the closure might be permanent. They put the bar stools back up and walked out of the building forever. In February 2021, the bar closed for good.

Even though the bar had closed, Gallivan was not ready to walk away from his family at the People’s Republik. “We go on vacations together, we go to weddings together, we go out together. When we’re not working, we hang out together,” he says. “We wanted to continue the story.”

Gallivan and his co-manager and close friend of over 20 years, Maxwell A. Greene, opened the New Republik early this year and brought their former coworkers with them. “I’m happy to be able to employ all of the people that worked so closely with us over the last few decades,” Gallivan says, including their chef, bartenders, and the bar’s vendors. The staff are even familiar with some of the neighboring businesses from their time at the People’s Republik. “We’ve all been together for a long time, and we know how to work hard together.”

Many of their regular patrons from the People’s Republik have come to the new bar, too. “I’m happy that we got a bunch of regulars that want to come in here all the time,” Rowe, the bartender, says. “I think that’s what you need in a bar.”

Gallivan is now leveraging this strong community to raise money for Ukrainian refugees by selling t-shirts. “We felt like we have a good opportunity with a large enough fan base” to raise a significant donation, he says.

As my conversation with Rowe, the bartender, came to a close, a patron reached out and tapped Rowe’s arm. The older man, who sounded slightly intoxicated, thanked Rowe for babysitting, and the sincerity in Rowe’s voice when he responded made the metaphor of the New Republik’s community as a family feel literal.