1971: Fascists, Facists, Holy Sh*t and Nazis Galore
Captain America’s Restaurant is almost mythical in Dublin. For so many people back in the day — and I hope to this day — this was the coolest place to meet cool people in the early ’70s.
It opened in that famous year, 1971, when Grafton Street was pedestrianised for the very first time — but only for the summer. That temporary takeover of Grafton Street by the youth of Dublin later inspired the huge Bagatelle hit by Liam Reilly: ‘Remember That Summer in Dublin.’
It was a beautiful long, hot Dublin summer. Captain America’s opened its doors upstairs where the coffee house Rob Roberts used to be. I remember sitting on a builder’s plank outside the second-floor window with future owners Mark Kavanagh and Tom Haran, watching all those beautiful, colourful young people below us on Grafton Street as they searched for ways of raising the money to take over the now-empty premises.
The war up north was really just starting up and everyone was concerned, but young people in Dublin were still managing to make the city an exciting, innovative space. The amazing Dandelion Market had just opened too, and it became an art hub and gathering place for Dublin’s very cool ’70s youth explosion.
Captain America’s was the brainchild of three people, all friends of mine at that time: Mark and Linda Kavanagh, with artist Tom Haran, were the original investors and owners, together with the new manager, our mutual friend, the lovely Johnny McCormack, grandson of the famous Irish tenor.
It was Linda who came up with the name, ‘Captain America’s Cookhouse’ — later just ‘Captain America’s’ when they cleared the copyright with Marvel years later, or so I was told.
I should note that Mark Kavanagh also owned a family business, Screenprint in Sandymount — and they were the printers of my very first black and white Che Guevara poster, the very first Che poster anywhere in the world, as we now know today. Dublin can be a small place.
The First Two Murals
It was natural that they would ask me to come up with ideas for the interior, and lucky me, there were two huge walls for me to stuff my art on. These were mounted murals, painted in my home studio rather than directly on the walls.
With the name decided, Tom Haran was tasked with filling the space with rock and music memorabilia, and my job was to produce images — not just the two murals, but the menu cover art and design, a brand logo, plus a few additions inside like the 3D image coming out of the mirror at the window end of the building.
Ads and Menus
The restaurant opening was fantastic and exciting. This was something new in Dublin, way ahead of its time. Remember, the Hard Rock Cafe had not yet opened in London, so this was a very original concept — and it was a real hamburger joint that looked like one too, thanks to all the rock memorabilia assembled by Tom.
This wonderful collection covered all the walls, giving it a wildly exciting look unlike anything ever seen in Dublin — or even New York or Los Angeles at that time.
It really did strike a chord with the youth of Dublin, and they were the ones who brought their families in on a Sunday. I remember it as a magical place, full of life, full of interesting people. I even got to hang out there with my pal, Thin Lizzy frontman Philip Lynott, and my old football mate Frank Murray, who went on to manage the Pogues. This was Philip’s favourite hangout eatery in the ’70s and early ’80s — after a few scoops in Neary’s or The Bailey.
The "Holy Sh*t" Incident
While the restaurant opened in a real blaze of publicity thanks to the brilliance of our PR guru, Mary Finan, there was one heart-stopping moment.
Mary, who did an amazing job of getting media attention for this new hotspot, stood staring at one of the new murals and looking at the heavy gothic type font I’d used to disguise the word bubble. She stood back, taking it all in, then showed some important people the new murals. I could tell from her body language that something was a bit off.
She came over to myself and Mark, looking rather annoyed, and asked if ‘that mural says what I think it says?’
The answer was a rather reluctant ‘Yep’ on my part while Mark looked a little shook — like his world had just caved in. I was bloody worried too, as this was my work, but I was determined this mural would stay unaltered.
We could see the headlines: *’Profane language greets little kids having a hamburger…’*
Yep, our new masterpiece had a comic book cartoon Nazi mouthing the immortal words *’Holy Shit! Ich Be Der Swine Kaptain Amerika!’* while another Nazi goes: *’Silly Fokker’*. Even with the rude word disguised, not everyone saw the joke. Ireland was still a society easily shocked back then — and of course I was delighted when the ‘Holy Shit’ hit the fan.
Luckily Mary did see the joke once she got over the shock. She just shrugged her shoulders and got on with the show.
Unfortunately, the second mural is now lost. It was badly damaged in a fire in 1980, and the cleaning of both affected the finish work — all my little corrections and additions were wiped off the surface. If anyone has a good colour photo of it, I would love a copy.
By the way — the second mural deliberately misspelled ‘fascist pigs’ as ‘facist pigs.’ I’ll leave that one there.
1981: The Jack Kirby Mural
Exactly ten years later, after the fire that almost destroyed my two first murals, I was asked by Mark Kavanagh, Johnny McCormack and Tom Haran to join the team again. They wanted a brand-new logo, new signage, new menu covers, a poster, and finally a really huge mural to completely fill the main wall, which had been enlarged.
It was one long, hot, beautiful summer and again I painted most of it outdoors, as the fumes from the gloss emulsion were overpowering. There was no way you could paint directly on the hardboard, so I had to size it twice with carpenter’s glue, then coat it with two layers of thick white matte emulsion before I had even painted an inch of it. Once I got going it was fun, even in the afternoon sunlight — all in all, pretty tough work for a hot summer’s day, but great to be painting out in the open with the old Doberman and the kids out with me.
I really cannot remember a hotter summer. I could paint all morning, take a break, and it would be bone dry and ready to paint again after an hour. It took me about two full weeks working every day to finish, and it is one of my best of this genre.
I made this new double-sized mural as a tribute to my hero, the late Jack Kirby — ‘The King’ of Marvel comics — a lovely man who I had the pleasure of actually meeting.
Meeting Jack Kirby
Jack was in the same San Diego hotel as myself at San Diego ComicCon in 1981. We were both Guests of Honour, but I was too much in awe to go over and introduce myself.
Later that day in the huge convention main area, a friend, writer Elaine Lee, introduced me to Jack, who was with his wife Roz, a lovely kind woman. Jack then introduced me to Roz with the words:
*’This is the young man we have heard so much about.’*
As a young artist slowly trying to make a name for myself, this was wonderful — and quite extraordinary to hear.
We chatted for a few minutes and before I went on my way to do my talk at the convention, they invited me to dinner. Jack wrote his name and address on one of my business cards — and of course I still have that wonderful piece of nostalgia.
Jack was obviously aware of my work. It was just after my volume *The Book of Conquests* was published by Dutton, a very prestigious New York publisher, and it seemed to strike a chord with other artists there. Jack was totally complimentary — it was my Celtic art he loved.
Did he ever know about this upstart restaurant in Dublin inspired by his own famous creation? I never asked, as it never occurred to me, though I was told later by another art guest that Jack was highly amused and a bit baffled to hear that there was a very popular restaurant in Ireland named after his famous comic book creation.
1983: The Snot Monster. A Lost Work
There was a second, short-lived Captain America’s opened in south Dublin, managed by my friend Johnny McCormack, and again I was commissioned to fill the wall space with a mural.
Once more I pulled out all the stops and created one of my best comic book images in the style of Jack Kirby. I called it ‘The Snot Monster.’
This venue was later sold to developer Johnny Ronan, and the mural disappeared. He did offer it back to me, but for more money than I was paid for it in the first place, so I declined. I had a family to feed, no spare cash, and it seemed ridiculous to buy back my own work. Nowhere to even store it anyway.
Where is it today? No idea. But if anyone knows, I would love a high-resolution image of it.
2010: The Cap's Back
Paddy McKillen Jr. and his Press Up group were the new owners of the Grafton Street restaurant, and in 2010 they opened a new Captain America’s in Tallaght, Dublin.
Paddy thought a new mural would give the restaurant an art link to the successful Grafton Street original, so we made an agreement to create another huge 40″ x 80″ mural for their main wall inside.
I did a quite elaborate series of rough sketches and got the go-ahead. This one had to be painted indoors as the weather was rubbish, so I used my old house beside my studio, which had a huge gallery room, and set to work.
It took me ages to do this one but in the end it took on a life of its own, and I really do love it. While it had plenty in common with the previous versions, I wanted to move the imagery forward and bring in some favourite characters of mine from the Marvel universe — and still keep the Nazi Red Skull character from the Grafton Street mural, and the cynical humour.
Unfortunately, that Tallaght branch did not survive the aftermath of the Covid pandemic and the rise in the VAT rate, and has since closed.
Today that huge mural is on display in Captain America’s in Blanchardstown.
The End of an Era
Captain America’s on Grafton Street is gone now too. Fifty-five years is a remarkable run. Philip Chevron of The Pogues and The Radiators from Space once called it “the only remotely hip place in Dublin.” That might not have been true for all fifty-five of those years, but it was certainly true at the start — and the murals were a big part of why.
I’m staggered at how well the murals have lasted. They were executed on chipboard in hardwearing emulsion paint, built to stand up to footfall and chip fat, and somehow they survived the decades.
Now they’re heading to auction. I don’t expect to see them in any national collections. But I’d love to see them somewhere kids can see them.
— Jim FitzPatrick, June 2026