Read the Journey
To truly understand Legends, you have to start in 1975.
I was 13. Dan was 15. Just two kids from Maine—young, wide-eyed, and falling fast. We didn’t have a plan, but we had each other. And sometimes, that’s enough to start writing a story that lasts a lifetime.
In 1980, we made it official.
I was 18, barely two weeks out of high school. Dan was 20, a freshly enlisted Navy man. With a heart full of hope and a trunk full of whatever we could fit, we packed up an old AMC Matador, hooked up a U-Haul, and drove across the country to San Diego.
No GPS. No savings. Just a paper map, a lot of dreams, and the kind of love that says, “We’ll figure it out.”
Life tested that love in ways we never saw coming. Years of hard work, raising a family, getting knocked down and standing back up again. We had no experience running a restaurant—or a bar. But we knew how to hustle. We knew how to build. And we knew how to hold each other up when things got hard.
Then came the hardest day of all.
October 15, 2010. Dan had a grand mal seizure in his sleep. It left him with a broken spine and two shattered shoulders. The man who had stood so strong beside me for decades was suddenly in a wheelchair, fighting for every small movement. It was terrifying. Humbling. And life-altering.
But Dan? He refused to give in. Through a year of intense physical therapy, pain, and grit, he clawed his way back. Inch by inch. Step by painful step. And I was there beside him, every single moment.
Out of that struggle came a new purpose.
With no background in hospitality, no training—just heart, grit, and Dan’s love for pool—we opened Legends Sports Bar & Grill. It wasn’t a business decision. It was a life decision. A chance to rebuild something beautiful out of the ashes of something painful.
More than a decade later, Legends isn’t just a sports bar or a pool hall.
It’s proof that love can carry you through the darkest chapters. That starting over is always possible. That two kids in love, driving a Matador with a U-Haul toward an unknown future, can build something that lasts.
This isn’t just our bar.
This is our story.
And we’re still writing it.
