Posted: Monday, 16 March 2009 11:31AM
Enjoy A Happy St. Patrick's Day
Steve Corbett Reporting
Monday, March 16, 2009
At this time of year quite a few years ago, the proprietor of Judge’s Irish saloon in the Minooka section of Scranton sometimes hung a sign on the wall behind the bar.
My Uncle Marty owned the place and called the shots.
The sign was hand-lettered in dark marker and announced the entertainment for St. Patrick’s Day.
“One Night Only,” the sign read. “Shamus and Sharkey.”
People who didn’t know these two lads might have mistakenly thought that my father Shamus and my godfather Sharkey were a professional music duo that played guitar and softly warbled nice tunes like “Take Me Home to Mayo.”
Those people would have been wrong.
People who did know the identities of these two lifelong best friends would have understood that these two neighborhood legends shared the pulse of heritage and friendship that once defined Minooka, the heart and soul of the Irish section of the city.
People who understood the tradition of the tribe and the shared bonds of ancestry would have understood that their two-fisted appearance was deeper than what sometimes become the artificial trappings of this great holiday.
Of course Shamus and Sharkey would sing when they decided that the time was right – whether you liked it or not.
Sharkey possessed a beautiful voice that offered up Paddy’s Day favorites such as “Danny Boy” and songs about velvet ribbons and life being mellow.
But God help anybody who opened their yaps during Sharkey’s numbers because Shamus would enforce the law. Even without the badge he carried as a state trooper or his reputation as a former contender for the heavyweight title, he made it clear that the rules of Judge’s were simple.
You either listened or paid a severe price.
“Shaddup,” Shamus would bellow. “Sharkey’s singing.”
People from the neighborhood complied out of respect rather than fear. Shamus would laugh and the night would continue well into the early morning hours before the crowd would empty into the street and Birney Avenue would come alive with generations of old friends saying good-night.
But before the evening ended Shamus would stand by the bar, take a deep breath, straighten his tie and warble his favorite Irish ditty.
“Old Mickey Brannigan’s Pup” is a one of a kind tune. I’ve yet to meet anybody who had ever heard the song unless they heard Shamus - or me - sing it.
That’s why I felt the need Saturday to stand in that very same saloon that once housed Judge’s and give my rendition of the song that helped set the tone for my own understanding of neighborhood and heritage.
The place is now called the Ballina Pub named after Scranton’s sister city in Ireland.
I had no intention of singing the song when we stopped by after Saturday’s Paddy’s Day parade. But when the band playing traditional Irish music took a break, I suggested that the time was right for a rendition of a song that so many years ago brought gales of laughter from the crowd.
I’m not nearly as good as Shamus and I don’t remember all the verses. But my energy level is strong and I was able to command an audience after taking the mike and requesting that they all shut up while I shared the sad ballad about a man and his dog.
Thankfully they listened.
The amicable reception was likely helped by my waving a three-foot long shillelagh. But I like to believe that they, too, sensed the comic tradition that once played a huge part of the neighborhood’s character.
I made short work of the song that details a man, his dog, an organ grinder and his monkey and the poor pup trying to eat the monk and choking on its tail and dying.
The tune was well-received and I returned to my pint of Guinness and my thoughts.
All of a sudden I was back in time, a younger man listening to Shamus and Sharkey and warming to the feel of Paddy’s Day in Minooka. I could smell the ham and cabbage that my Aunt Eileen and Aunt Catherine were cooking in the bar kitchen. And I knew that I was home.
Shamus and Sharkey are gone now.
They both rest in the cemetery up the street from the bar where their parents rest as well.
Tomorrow I’ll stop by with shamrocks for Shamus’ grave and to pay my respects to Sharkey and the rest of those who, too, are gone - those who sacrificed so much to make Minooka what my father always believed was the greatest place on Earth.
There’s no place like Minooka.
Thank God.
One Minooka is as much as any planet can handle.
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Corbett
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