Paying tribute to John Lennon

Each of us has certain dates on the calendar that we just can’t forget.  Whether it is a birthday or anniversary, sometimes just seeing the date pop up on our cell phone or calendar brings back to us a rush of memories.  Now I have never been one who could be described as good with dates, but today’s date is one that will always conjure up a feeling of sadness for me no matter how many years go by.  December 8th was the day John Lennon was killed.

Last year I had the opportunity to return to one of Manhattan’s great pubs, the Ear Inn on Spring Street.  Besides centuries of history, the Ear was also reported to be a regular haunt for my boyhood hero John Lennon.  Each time I go, it’s almost like a pilgrimage to find something about Lennon that perhaps I could relate more closely to.  Even though I am too young to recall Beatlemania, Lennon and the Beatles hold a special place in my memory.  They were my first “favorite band” and Lennon was one of the reasons I wanted to become a musician.  His murder was perhaps the first such event to awaken me to the world outside my suburban home.

Thanks to something called “Rockband”, which has been described to me by kids I coach in soccer as something of a video game involving famous musicians, the Beatles have moved back to their rightful place atop the collective consciousness of popular music.  Sure I may have to settle for watching a digitized cartoon version of the boys from Liverpool, but the music is the same.  And to have a 15 year old ask me what Beatles album I think they should get for Christmas warms my heart and gives me hope that their influence upon Rock and Roll will never fade.

by Dave McBride

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day!!

In Ireland, Saint Patrick’s Day is considered a holy day.  The celebration marking the death of their country’s patron saint, the man credited with bringing Catholicism to Ireland, is a family and church day.  But here in America, where the world’s first Saint Patrick’s Day Parade was held in 1762 by Irish soldiers serving in the English army, it is one big party.

In the United States, the Irish pub has come to be ground zero for St. Patty’s Day celebrations.  Those marching in the many grand parades like the one in Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania, or just attending them, often start and end their day at the pub.  For those of Irish heritage, and those who wish they were, the Irish pub remains a special place all year long.  But on the 17th of March, people are willing to wait in long lines for hours just to belly up to one of these great bars.

And we here at the American Public House Review are no exception.  We seem to find ourselves spending time in many of America’s great Irish taverns.  So if you are sitting home today, or at the office, and you are curious about the influence Erin’s Isle has had on our country, you needn’t look any further than the archives of APHR for some great examples.

Of course few are more famous the Manhattan’s McSorley’s Ale House on the lower eastside, or P.J. Clarke’s found uptown.  Molly’s Shebeen, also downtown, ranks right there with those two in the annals of great turn of the century Irish taverns.  They are testaments to the lasting power of a great Irish pub. 

But a great tavern doesn’t need to be old to be great.  The Dubliner in Washington D.C. and the Dublin Pub in Morristown both opened in the early 1970’s, but feel as though they were transported here from Ireland’s largest city centuries ago.  For great music, try Mitchell’s Café along the Delaware River in New Jersey.  Or maybe you will be lucky enough to hear Gerry Timlin play at the Shanacie Pub in Ambler, Pa, where he is at once the entertainer, resident storyteller, and owner.

Needless to say, I love a good Irish pub.  I can literally say I was raised in them.  They are what brought me to my love of great taverns.  Yes, today may be the toughest day to get into one, and rightly so, but it is worth it.  I’ll be leaving for mine in just a couple of hours.

So from all of us here at the American Public House Review, to our readers of Irish and wishful-Irish heritage, we raise a glass and say “Thirst is a shameless disease, so here’s to a shameful cure”, and Happy Saint Patrick’s Day.

Posted by: David McBride

The ongoing thirst for the perfect public house leads to Manhattan’s PJ Clarke’s

In this week’s article on the American Public House Review, Chris Poh takes us to a true Manhattan institution.  It is a place with a somewhat murky history and an incredibly inviting atmosphere called PJ Clarke’s.

Take a stroll around the place.  See Frank Sinatra’s regular table, and the photos of all the luminaries who have graced these very same barstools you are about to occupy.  You may be impressed with all the famous people, but you will be even more impressed with the overwhelming sense of history and belonging this little brick tavern possesses amidst the shadows of the steel giants surrounding PJ Clarke’s in midtown Manhattan.

In my posting about Molly’s Shebeen, I mention that certain indescribable feeling that old Manhattan bars have.  It is an atmospheric element that is unique to taverns on this island and PJ Clarke’s defines it.  It is Francis Ford Coppola and Woody Allen at the same time.  It is all together colonial and roaring twenties.  It is warm and inviting, while also feeling like the scene of a Vito Corleone style hit.  If none of that makes sense, please remember that I started the paragraph by calling it indescribable.

by Dave McBride

In praise of Manhattan’s Molly’s Shebeen

There is a certain something about Manhattan’s historic pubs that makes them so great.  There is an energy, or some kind of mysterious feel, that seems to come through the perfectly worn wood of the bar or from off the scuffed brass of the toe rail.  You can’t find it anywhere else in the world of taverns, and only the really good Manhattan bars possess it.

One of those truly great and historic pubs can be found on the lower eastside of the Island.  It is an Irish tavern called Molly’s Shebeen.  You can check out the story on the American Public House Review by clicking here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you will read, this is one of my very favorite places in Manhattan.  It holds a special and nostalgic place in my memory as one of the taverns that initially sent me on the road towards an addiction to great pubs.  You won’t find a better Irish pub than Molly’s Shebeen anywhere this side of the Atlantic.

by Dave McBride

One For My Baby…

Bull Shot - P. J. Clarke's

There are just too many days as of  late when I find myself feeling a level of post meridiem melancholy that would normally be  reserved for those wee small hours after midnight. But this extended period of  pensiveness does justify my singing the first few lines of that Mercer/Arlen classic at least twice a day now.

One For My Baby (And One More For The Road)

It’s quarter to three,
There’s no one in the place except you and me
So set ‘em up Joe
I got a little story I think you ought to know

We’re drinking my friend
to the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road…

The talk around Tin Pan Alley was that Johnny Mercer worked out the lyrics to Harold Arlen’s unconventional 48 bar,  key changing melody while sitting at the bar at New York’s P. J. Clarke’s. Another famous patron would  fan the flame of this American torch standard with a version that would ultimately define tears in your beer and late night laments. And this is only fitting, since Frank Sinatra, who is more often associated with Sardi’s and Jilly’s when it comes to prominent city saloons, would always raise his last glass of the evening at P. J. Clarke’s when  socializing in Manhattan.

In the current issue of American Public House Review there is an effective recipe for a Bull Shot which this editor first discovered while sitting at the aforementioned landmark tavern on a similarly cold gray afternoon  many years ago. It occurs to me that there is just enough vodka left to make two.

So I think I’ll throw on a little Sinatra, and have one for my baby… and one more for the road. (Click the last two links to hear Francis Albert Sinatra do it as only he can)

Posted by: Chris Poh

 

Remembering a hero

Today, December 8, is one of those few days on the calendar where just hearing the date brings back sad reflections. It was on this day twenty eight years ago when John Lennon was shot and killed in New York City. His death shocked and saddened the entire city and people around the world.

Manhattan was like an adopted home to Lennon, a place where he, like so many artists, thrived. Step inside one of his favorite hangouts, the Ear Inn on Spring Street in SoHo, and you’ll see yet another example of why he found this great city so inspirational.

Lennon is one of my heroes. As a musician and a writer, I have always marveled at the intense passion that flowed from his creations. So on this sad day, lift a glass with me to this incredible songwriter and artist. Love is all we need!

by Dave McBride

Searching two bars for Dunmore Throop

In our very first issue, we were introduced to the writings of a mysterious former employee of Scotland Yard name Dunmore Throop.  For some reason this international man of intrigue, and I guy that only editor Chris Poh has ever met…well, allegedly met, seems to enjoy strolling along the Delaware River during is days off.

The bar at the Indian Rock Inn

Along the way he discovered a lovely spot called the Indian Rock Inn.  In my ongoing pursuit to find and actually talk to Mr. Throop, I stopped at the Indian Rock to question the help there about Mr. Throop’s visit.  No one seemed to have any idea who I was talking about.  But that is not at all surprising since I can only imagine that for security’s sake Mr. Throop did not reveal his true identity.  I mean after all, from years of working undercover at the Yard, he must still have quite a few people who would pay handsomely for information on his whereabouts. 

Manhattan's White Horse Tavern

But I must admit that I am somewhat worried about Mr. Throop these days.  The last time we heard from him was February when he reported to us from Manhattan’s famed White Horse Tavern.  The White Horse is one of America’s most historic pubs, and was once the favorite hangout of the legendary poet Dylan Thomas.  Mr. Throop seemed as enthralled with the place is Thomas himself was.

I tried to trace Mr. Throop’s steps here as well, but met with even less cooperation from those I interrogated there.  It seemed almost as though he had instructed them to cover for him.  There are a lot of people in Manhattan, and an awful lot of mysterious things can happen to mysterious people like Dunmore Throop.  But even though I may worry a bit, in my heart I do believe he will return from his hideaway soon enough.  This is a man who has served Scotland Yard well for decades.  A man like that is not easily found.

by David McBride

I Think I Need a Drink

It’s 1:00 am – I just got done listening to another pundit critique the Biden Palin debate, and in few more hours the economic fate of the entire world may be decided by the knuckleheads in the U.S. House of “so called” Representatives. “I Think I Need a Drink!”

Concerning this pending bailout designed to avert the economic calamity that is being likened to the Crash of 29, there is one profound difference between the current Great Debacle and the Great Depression. There is no prohibition on the manufacture, distribution or sale of alcohol this time around. So no matter what happens, the clubs on Wall Street and the pubs Main Street will continue to serve.

As American Public House Review celebrates its first anniversary during the month of October by sharing some of our favorite articles of the past year, I recall a bit of illicit libations being served up at Peter McManus Cafe during the age of the Tommy gun and speakeasy.

And while you read “Mischief Mayhem and Stickball on 7th Ave,”  I’m going to pour myself a pint and toast Franklin Roosevelt for his efforts to nullify the ill effects of the Volstead Act.

A Perfect Pint

  Posted by: Chris Poh, Editor-in-Chief

A Place Where Everyone Wins

 I would not be one to say that I support the tactics or candidacy of the lady senator from New York; but I can not find any joy in the fact that after the North Carolina and Indiana primaries, Hillary Clinton has, although still stubbornly living in denial, lost her bid to become president. Like most human beings I spend a good portion of my life rooting for my guy, my cause, my side, my country, my party, my team and so on and so forth.

 On that rare occasion my horse actually comes in – as was the case at this year’s Kentucky Derby. With any victory there is that moment of gotcha and glee; but if you take the time to wipe the champagne from your eyes and look around – you’re bound to notice that someone is crying, someone is in pain and someone has lost. It seems that there is no human endeavor, no matter how well-intentioned, that doesn’t result in some degree of hardship for our fellowman.

I would like to think that beyond this life there exists a place where everyone wins, and where potential is achieved without doing harm to others – a place where your glass is always full and your heart is never empty!  Valhalla – Heaven – Nirvana – Eden or just…

 the back room at McSorley’s Old Ale House!

Posted by: Chris Poh, Publisher – American Public House Review