For more than seven decades, Tiny Tap Tavern has done something increasingly rare in Tampa Bay. It stayed itself.
The bar opened in November 1952 after a former gas station office was converted into a neighborhood bar.
It was so small that the original footprint is still visible today as a faint line in the concrete floor. That limitation gave the bar its name and its personality.
When Casey Powell’s father bought the Tiny Tap in 1975, the identity was already set.
Powell later took over after a 24-year career as a Hillsborough County deputy sheriff. He never tried to reinvent the place. His approach was simple.
If it is not broken, do not fix it.
“You can see the floor worn down to concrete,” Powell said. “Do you know how many games of pool you have to play to wear it down that far? That’s history. Why would you change that?”
A place shaped by regulars, not trends
About 80% of Tiny Tap’s customers are regulars, Powell said. The way the bar operates reflects that.
Pool still costs $0.50 a game. It was about a quarter of a year ago when the cost of felt and supplies doubled. Beer selections change slowly and usually because customers ask for them.
Tiny Tap keeps four beers on draft, including local staples like Cigar City Brewing’s Jai Alai and Tampa Bay Brewing’s Tampa Export.
Space behind the bar is limited, so adding something new means removing something else.
When a regular asked for Labatt Blue, Powell dropped Busch regular because Busch Light sold better.
“If something catches on, then something else has to go,” he said. “We just don’t have the room.”
That lack of space is also why Tiny Tap never became a liquor bar under Powell’s ownership. Beer and wine kept things simpler, cheaper and calmer. That was part of the appeal.
A quiet shift that changed everything
One of the biggest changes came after Covid, and Powell did not expect the outcome.
Tiny Tap had long been a smoking bar. Powell never liked it, but he worried that going non-smoking would hurt business. Instead, the opposite happened.
“When people found out we were nonsmoking, it actually increased our business,” he said. “A lot of women would say, ‘Now I can come in and not have to wash my hair again.’”
To accommodate smokers, picnic tables and shaded seating were added outside. Inside, the air cleared and the crowd widened. Business improved.
Stories that live on the walls
Tiny Tap’s walls are filled with Tampa history.
The Stanley Cup has been inside the bar multiple times. Lightning head coach Jon Cooper has stopped in late at night.
Joe Maddon once held informal staff meetings there and left behind a signed jersey that still hangs behind the bar.
Wade Boggs, a longtime friend of Powell’s, has his rookie Red Sox picture on the wall. Former Heisman Trophy winner Howard “Hopalong Cassidy” Cassady was a regular.
Some stories are closer to legend, and Powell is fine with that.
One family story involves an upright piano that once sat where the old cigarette machine stands today.
According to lore, a cousin of the former owner was Jerry Lee Lewis, who would stop in and play when he was in town.
“I don’t know if it’s true,” Powell said. “But it’s a great story. As far as I’m concerned, it’s true.”
Not that kind of bar
Powell has always protected the tone of the Tiny Tap.
He remembers throwing a man out on his first visit after the man repeatedly bothered women who told him no.
“This is not that kind of bar,” Powell said. “If they tell you to stop, you stop.”
That culture is why Tiny Tap has hosted wedding receptions, vow renewals and first dates that turned into marriages.
It is also why Powell refused to rent the bar out for private events if it meant turning regulars away.
“These people are our livelihood,” he said. “They look forward to being here.”
A sale guided by values
Powell nearly sold the bar in 2019. He backed out after realizing the buyer was not the right fit.
“I couldn’t sleep at night,” he said. “The more I got to know them, the more I knew it wasn’t right for the people here.”
On Christmas Eve 2025, Powell sold Tiny Tap Tavern to Pavan P. The buyer has said plans call for keeping the bar as a neighborhood institution while eventually adding full liquor service sometime next year.
For Powell, that commitment mattered.
“I’ve always asked buyers one question,” he said. “What are you going to do with it? If the answer is knock it down, the conversation ends.”
What Tiny Tap represents now
As Tampa grows denser, louder and more expensive, Tiny Tap remains something different.
It is a place where you can talk to strangers or be left alone. Where a cold beer does not cost an arm and a leg. Where history lives in worn floors, familiar faces and stories passed across the bar.
“You can sit here and just watch people having a good time,” Powell said. “It makes you feel good.”
Tiny Tap’s next chapter will bring change. But the foundation built over more than 70 years is still firmly in place.
