By SLOAN
As St. Patrick’s Day approaches, I always think back to my favorite celebration of the holiday from my youth. My late Uncle Mike was a dyed-in-the-green wacky Irishman. From his stiff drinkin’ to his medical education from Notre Dame, he always had a smile and dirty joke for me.
Now, I’m pretty sure the maniacal event was his doing, but it could have been my Uncle Jim ‘Omar McGuire’ Mans’ idea, cuz he’s one of those leprechauns with a glandular problem, too. At any rate, I couldn’t have been more than 9 or 10, when the entire side of my mother’s family went to see the Irish Rovers in concert.
I can’t recall where it was, but what I do remember is someone in our family, maybe me, or my cousin Adam or Patrick running back and forth in front of the stage waving a giant Irish flag. It may have been that we switched off doing it, because I vividly remember that feeling of pure squealing glee at the cheers from the crowd and the hysterical comments from the band. If I didn’t carry it once or twice, the experience was so exhilarating I have lived vicariously through my cousins all these years!
The crowd sure knew the tunes, as they bellowed out every lyric, and when they got to ‘The Unicorn’, the place went nuts. So did I. I knew the song, word for word, and had loved singing along to the 45 rpm record I had of it.
Afterwards, the whole wild crew invaded what may have been the local pub or maybe just an unsuspecting restaurant and the revelry continued. I remember pure chaos as relatives and possibly local Irish celebrities gathered around and sang even more songs I didn’t know. I didn’t care, because the fun and merriment that are part of the Irish soul came bubbling up to the surface. I may have snuck a sip or two off somebody’s Guinness, or whisky soda, I can’t confirm nor deny it.
All I know is that even today, when I hear those lilting vocals, I become an unruly Dubliner street urchin running back and forth waving the Orange in a stocking cap, ratty vest and corduroy pants again.
