The Haunted History of O’Connor’s Irish Pub: Omaha’s Most Storied Watering Hole

Tucked within the brick-lined streets of Omaha’s Old Market, O’Connor’s Irish Pub has long been known for its Guinness pours, Gaelic charm, and cozy, dim-lit interior. But ask any longtime patron—or better yet, any employee who has ever been tasked with locking up alone—and you’ll quickly learn there’s more to this neighborhood pub than polished mahogany and good craic.

O’Connor’s carries a haunted history as rich and layered as the stout it serves, a past woven from the city’s earliest days, its immigrant heartbeat, and the inexplicable events that persist within its century-old walls.

A Pub Built on Old Bones

Long before O’Connor’s opened its doors, the building sat at the center of Omaha’s late-1800s boom. The Old Market was once a neighborhood of warehouses, modest shops, and immigrant boarding houses. The structure that now hosts the pub reportedly began as a general outfitter store—one that catered to railroad workers, travelers, and the newly arrived Irish who came to the Midwest seeking opportunity.

Hard labor, dangerous conditions, and minimal safety standards marked that era, and many stories of misfortune were born in the blocks surrounding the present-day Old Market. Some of those tragedies, locals say, imprinted themselves onto the building.

When the O’Connor family transformed the space into an Irish pub decades later, they embraced its history. What they didn’t expect was that some of the building’s earlier residents hadn’t entirely moved on.

The Whispering Hallway

Employees will tell you the same thing: there’s a hallway near the back, narrow and always colder than the rooms around it. The more skeptical claim it’s just drafty architecture. But for others, the chill feels…intentional.

Late-night closers often hear whispered voices there—faint, fragmented sentences, like someone speaking just out of earshot. The voices stop the moment anyone steps into the hallway. No source is ever found.

One bartender swore he heard a woman humming a lullaby, even though he was alone. Another said he heard his own name whispered, followed by the sound of footsteps running away.

Cameras, of course, never catch anything.

The Gentleman at the Bar

Perhaps O’Connor’s most famous ghost is the one regular you’ll never find on the customer ledger.

For years, patrons seated near the end of the bar have commented on an odd sensation—someone taking the stool beside them, despite it remaining completely empty. A few have even felt the stool shift, as if holding a person’s weight.

The apparition associated with this spot is known simply as The Gentleman. Descriptions are vague but similar: a tall man in old-fashioned clothing, sitting quietly, hands folded, watching the room as though waiting for someone.

He’s harmless, witnesses say. Melancholic, even.

Some staff believe he was an immigrant laborer who frequented the boarding house that preceded the pub. Others think he may have been a railroad worker who lost his life on the job and simply returned to the only place that felt like home.

Whatever the case, The Gentleman often appears around closing time—always looking toward the door, as if expecting a visitor who has yet to arrive.

The Basement Nobody Likes

Every old pub has a basement filled with kegs, dusty storage, and the occasional spider. But O’Connor’s basement carries something else.

Those who have gone down alone for supplies report the unmistakable feeling of being watched. A few have even felt a light tug on their sleeve, the brush of a hand, or the sudden sensation that someone is standing directly behind them.

Legend has it that long before the pub existed, the basement was used to house overflow workers from nearby rail projects—crowded, dim conditions where illness spread easily. Several men reportedly died down there after contracting fever.

Whether the stories are true or just tales shaped by time, one thing is certain: no employee volunteers for basement duty after dark.

Object That Don’t Stay Put

One of the pub’s enduring mysteries is the movement of objects—small items, never valuable, but significant in their persistence.

1. Keys left on hooks move to shelves
2. Coasters stack themselves neatly when nobody is near them
3. Glasses appear in the sink after being fully dried and shelved

One night, a bartender swore an entire row of shot glasses slid several inches down the counter completely on their own. No one has quite been able to explain these events, but they’ve become part of the pub’s identity—quirky, unsettling, and strangely charming.

Why the Stories Continue

What makes O’Connor’s hauntings especially compelling is how consistent they’ve been over the years. New employees, unaware of the tales, often report the same experiences described decades earlier. Patrons, too, share eerily similar encounters.

Maybe it’s just the atmosphere—a historic building, the glow of amber lights, the hum of live music drifting between rooms. Or maybe it’s the layers of human experience etched into the walls: joy, hardship, camaraderie, loss.

Irish culture is steeped in ghost stories and folklore, and perhaps O’Connor’s simply carries that tradition forward. After all, pubs have always been gathering places for the living and, occasionally, the lingering spirits who never quite left the neighborhood they called home.

A Toast to the Spirits

Whether you believe in ghosts or not, O’Connor’s Irish Pub remains one of Omaha’s most beloved establishments—not just for its pints and shepherd’s pie, but for the sense of story that infuses the space.

Next time you step inside, pause for a moment.

Listen to the creak of the old floorboards. Notice the chill near the back hallway. Watch the empty stool near the end of the bar.

You might just catch a glimpse of a Gentleman waiting patiently for the company he lost long ago.

And if you feel a whisper at your shoulder?

Raise your glass.

The spirits of O’Connor’s have been here far longer than you—and they always appreciate a good toast.