How to watch a football game in a Saloon.

I love watching football.  I really love watching football in a great Saloon.

Yesterday I went to one of my favorite locals to watch the NFC and AFC championship games.  I arrived at the beginning of the second half of the Jets and Colts game. All the usual suspects were in attendance and the place had a great energy. It is always a very peaceful and fun place to watch a ballgame.  However, as there always seems to be, there was one jerk in the group.  Much to my dismay he was wearing a Jets jersey.  

He was one of those loud obnoxious know-it-all types who felt he had to comment on every play. He was calling  offensive plays and the defensive schemes in a very, very loud voice.  Most of the time he was wrong.

This guy would give a woodpecker a headache.  

At one point I found myself standing next to him. I commented to my friend that I thought there should have been a penalty flag against the Jets on a certain play.  This jackass preceded to jump down my throat.  I very quietly and calmly explained to him that I would appreciate it greatly if he did not interfere in my conversation with my friend.  

Well, actually I was not quiet nor calm and I really don’t think I used the term appreciate.   He got the message and decided he was going to be my friend.  

I liked it better when he didn’t like me.

For the rest of the game he continued to annoy everyone in the place.  I found myself ducking him at every turn and explaining to anyone who would listen that he was not a New Yorker, actually he was from Australia.  

This episode made me realize that maybe some people need a little crash course in how to watch a sporting event in a bar.  

Enter the Saloon Guy.

First, while most Saloon owners want you to feel at home in their establishment, you really are not at home. Try and keep your language civil and your volume down to a low roar.  

Second, don’t be butting into other peoples conversations.  Sure, it’s a public place so there is really no expectation of privacy, never the less stay in your own space

Third, don’t ever be confrontational with people because they are rooting for the other team.   It’s only a game don’t take it so personally.  Trust me, the players don’t, why the hell should the fans.  

Cheering and yelling and whooping and hollering at the proper time of the game is all absolutely fine and fun.  Just screaming stupid invectives at the television is not. By the way, I thought most people realized this but when you yell at the television the people on television can’t really hear you.   So what’s the point?

Everyone wants to have a great time.  Just try to remember that your idea of a great time might not be the same idea as the person sitting next to you. 

I totally realize that a Saloon is not a Church, and there is no Holy Water in those bottlesbehind the bar.  People are going to get a little loud and rambunctious when they have had a belly full of loud mouth soup.  Remember you are not in your living room and your not alone.  

Having said all that I would like to share a few thoughts as a post mortem for these two terrific football games.  Jets fans should hold their heads high.  What a future that team has with a great young quarterback in Sanchez and a great young running back in Green.  With an outstanding defense and a head coach who looks like he would be the guy yelling at the TV if you were sitting next to him in a Saloon, the Jets will be a fun team to watch for years to come. 

Brett Favre is what we knew he was.  A great QB who will make a mistake at the wrong time of a big game.  Life is always a roller-coaster ride with this guy.  

The Saints are carrying on their broad shoulders the hopes of a city that just a few years ago had no hope at all.  Good luck to them all.

Peyton Manning is the best quarterback ever.  He seems to actually be able to will his team to victory.  

It will  be a great Super Bowl.  So, find a great Saloon to watch the game and have a great time.  Just remember to behave yourself.

Slainte. 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　 

　

A Saloon Christmas

Most of you will probably think that it is a very sad story to see people sitting in a Saloon on Christmas Eve. I am sure you are all thinking that they are lost souls with no family and nowhere to go.

Of course I beg to differ.

Most great Saloons are filled with people who feel they are family.  As a person who has not had much family in his life I can tell you that I have never had a lonely Christmas.   As a matter of fact some of my fondest Christmas memories come from my associations and friendships that were cultivated sitting at the mahogany of some warm Saloon.

When I was a young bartender Christmas Eve was a great night to work.  All the boys and girls would come in for a snort or two before heading off to the family and they were all usually in an unusually generous mood.

That means big tips.

I had a Christmas Eve tradition with two pals.  Billy Owen Coughlin and Wayne Wade and I, all bachelors, would go Christmas shopping together.  First we meet for lunch and have a few beers. Then we would head off to Fordham Road in the Bronx to shop.  Of course between the three of us we knew every bartender or Saloon owner from here to there so we stopped in most of them to spread a little Christmas cheer.

We would hit a very big department store on the corner of Fordham Road and the Grand Concourse called Alexander’s.  The three of us would do all our shopping in about an hour.  I know that sounds unbelievable but it’s true.  We would then head off stopping in all the bars we missed on the way home.

Needless to say we would consider it a Christmas miracle if we made it home with all the gifts we bought.  Yet,every year there was that Christmas miracle.   God takes care of drunks and children, especially at Christmas.

One of my favorite Christmas Saloons is Butch Maguire’s in Chicago. 

It has been there since Mrs. O’Leary’s cow knocked over the lamp.  Butch always claimed his gin joint to have been the first single’s bar in America.  I would have a hard time arguing with that considering anytime I have been in the place there has always been a great collection of attractive Chicago Gold Coast types.

Maguire’s is at it’s best during the Christmas season.  Every inch and I mean every inch of wall and ceiling is decorated with the most intricate and wonderfully imaginative Christmas decorations.  Even the most strident Scrooge would get into the Christmas spirit after just a few minutes in this magical place.  I spent only two Christmas Eve’s in Butch’s fine place but even though I am a die-hard New Yorker those kind, polite Chicagoans took me under their wing and made sure I was taken care of.

To all of them this season Slainte my old friends. Happy Christmas.

In San Francisco, Perry Butler’s great Saloon had a wonderful Christmas Eve tradition.  Perry’s is a true family place.  He just celebrated his fortieth year in business and even though the old man is still going strong his children are now running the joint.

Perry’s would close early on Christmas Eve, usually about ten o’clock or so.  Instead of calling last call and hustling everyone out the door the bartenders, Mike McCourt, Seamus Coyle, Hanna Ankhi and Ramsey Mousarwehy and various waiters and waitresses would all get on top of the bar and end the night with a solemn rendition of Silent Night.

There was usually not a dry eye in the joint.  Not out of sadness but out of joy and happiness to have all these wonderful people in your life.

The two former fellows are Irish from the other side.  The two latter guys are from Jordan. 

When the Arabs came to this country as very young men they took entry-level busboy jobs at Perry’s and the Irishmen took them under their wing.  Taught them the Saloon business and the ways of America.  They even helped teach them the language and of course that wonderful Christmas song.

Those of us at the bar who were aware of their story knew it to be one of love and respect.  That was why the water works would get started.  It was so special to witness the bond that was forged between them and us.  Four men of different ages and different cultures sharing with all their friends and customers a song.   A beautiful Christmas song. 

This year when I hear Silent Night sung at Midnight Mass, I will as always, think of the baby Jesus and Joseph and Mary and the Wise Men. 

I will also, as always, think of four bartenders, Mike and Seamus and Hanna and Ramsey. I will pray that we all learn to have the love in our heart and respect in our character that my two Irish friends showed my two Arabic pals and visa versa.

So as you pass a Saloon in you travels this year. Don’t feel bad for those of us sitting there we are probably right where we want to be.

There is something to be said about sharing special moments with people you choose to be with as opposed to people you have to be with.

Happy Christmas to you all.  Thanks for all for your support and comments through the year.

Steve

Tiger’s “tail” is none of our business.

This week the world was shocked to learn that Tiger Woods was having multiple affairs.

Really, a wealthy powerful athlete was unfaithful to his wife. In the immortal words of Sir John Gielgud in the move Arthur ” I’ll alert the media”.

Of course the media needed no alerting. Every news program, talk show and fake news show, were all Tiger all the time.  Morning shows, afternoon shows, night time cable talkers all picking the bones of the worlds most recognizable athlete.

All this attention and I find myself , a certifiable news junkie, not really caring very much about it.

Why?

Largely my lack of concern comes from an age old feeling I have about peoples private lives. It’s none of my business.

I think minding ones own business is a long lost art.  One I really wish would come back into vogue.

There was a time when what athletes did away from their profession was treated with discretion.  Unless of course they broke the law.   The thought that because someone posses a great athletic ability they should be held to a higher personal or social standard than your neighbor is a bit of a reach.

When I was a young sportscaster in the seventies I used to frequent a Saloon called McTeagues. It was owned by Larry McTeague who had a solid friendship with many of the NY Yankees.  It was not unusual to find many of them in his place after a ballgame and staying till the wee hours of the morning.   It was also not unusual to see them leave with some lovely Upper East Side dollies.  Even the married guys.  Shocking.

One time, I witnessed a certain happily married Yankee canoodling with a well known young women who was well known by most guys on the East Side.   If you get my drift.

I thought I had a great story and went to one of my mentors with what I knew and asked him how he thought it would play if I talked about what I knew on the radio.  He told me it was a great idea, if I never wanted another player in any sport to speak to me again.

It just wasn’t done.  There was a trust.  If the players accepted you in their inner social circle you had to keep your mouth shut. 

It was none of your business.

I understood this because the thought that I should mind my own business was drilled into my head at a very young age.  In the old neighborhood a guy who could keep his mouth shut was a valued friend.

When I was a young bartender I hung out in a Saloon called Chambers.  It was owned by a great guy named Jack Chambers. It was also the most popular bar in the area and Jack ran it more like a club than anything else. You were welcome as long as you behaved yourself.  He was well known for not tolerating any shenanigans.

I was one of the young guys who hung out there. Most of my friend at Chambers were seven or eight or ten years older than me.  I was always mature for my age.

One fellow was named Mickey Butler he had a bit of a surly personality and a gruff voice that sounded like he had gargled with razor blades but like all the guys he was stand up all the way. One time a new fellow was coming around trying to make pals and get into the inner circle that almost every bar has.  He sat next to Mickey and decided to make him his new best friend.  He kept asking Mickey questions, “are you married”? “How many kids”? “What do you do for a living”? Mickey put up with this for a while and then said “why do you want to know so much about me” the guy said he was just trying to be friendly.  Mickey says to the guy “ well then you should know that my father lived till the age of 99” the guy takes the bait and says “ wow…what was his secret” Mickey without missing a beat says “ he knew how to mind his own fucking business”. 

Message delivered.

I also was taught that if there is one area of life that you really needed to mind your own business it was when matters were between a husband and a wife.

Most of the guys were married and to the best of my knowledge did not fool around.  However there is always the exception.

One fellow had a beautiful wife and two great kids. Yet for some reason he felt it necessary to dally in the valley of a women who barred a striking resemblance to a kitchen witch.  We all wondered why but non of us ever asked.

One evening about six of us guys were watching a ballgame and our other pal, the one cheating on his wife, was at the end of the bar with the girl.

The door opens we all turn to see who it is and low and behold it’s the wife. The whole place got so quiet I swear even the jute box shut up.  If this were a movie a cold wind would have blown the door open.  As the wife walked the length of the bar the six off us looked at each other, never speaking, silently we knew what we had to do, we had to do the manly thing, we had to get the hell out of there.  We picked up our money and walked outside.

The girlfriend locked herself in the bathroom, the bartender walked over to  the TV and pretended to watch the game.  Outside I was given the duty of checking things out through the window.

The wife was giving it to our pal real good. He looked like a fourth grader getting balled out by Sister Mary Battle Axe.

It occurred to me, that if it was none of our business, why was I nominated to spy.  I was told by the older guys it was to make sure nothing got out of hand.  I was to let them know if anything physical happened. “Either way” I asked?  They looked at each other and once again with out speaking to each other came up with the same conclusion.

She could whack him a few times but if he raised his hand to her we were going in.

Thankfully no one hit anyone.  The wife ran out in tears.  The girlfriend, once she felt safe to come out of the Jane, left.  Our pal was at the end of the bar his head in his hands.  I looked at my pals and once again asked with my eyes should we speak with him.  No.

 After some time we could hear our friend crying . A real cry. Sobs and loss of breath, heaving shoulders  and the whole ballgame. I got up to go down and console him and one guy grabbed me sat me back down and said. “ It’s none of our business, even if he was doing it in front of us, it’s none of our business”.

That’s how I feel about Tiger. Even though it happened in front of us. It’s none of our business.

Believe it or not…Boss Steinbrenner is a Saloon Guy

Tonight at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx the Yankees will host the Phillies in game one of the World Series.

Of course, as a life long Yankee fan I will be rooting for my team but this year I will be rooting very,very hard.

I really want to see the Boss get one more championship.

You may find this hard to believe but George Steinbrenner is a Saloon Guy.  Back in the seventies and eighties you would easily find George hanging out in George Martin’s or P.J. Clarke’s or T.J. Tuckers or Jim McMullen’s.  I know this because I was known to have a gargle or two in this fine establishments myself.   As matter of fact when Clarke’s almost went away Steinbrenner was part of the group that saved it.  George was known to be a big spender and a good tipper.   Which in the Saloon world forgives a lot.

For the last twenty years he has been an habitué of Elaine’s restaurant.   As a matter of fact I would bet good money that if you went in there tonight you would find that Elaine will be sporting four diamond encrusted pendants, with the interlocking N.Y. Yankee logo‘s, around her neck on a chain. Each one a replica of the Yankees championship rings of the most recent era.   A gift from the Boss.

Like most guys who did sports in the eighties I had plenty of exposure to George.  I was one of the lucky ones who never had to experience his wrath. I think that was due to the fact that I always thought that in spite of all his bluster and the managerial merry- go- round he was the best owner in baseball.   There never has been anyone who was so dedicated to put the best possible product on the field.   He was not always right with his moves or his methods but he always tried hard.   Besides, how can you argue with a guy who turned a two million dollar initial capitol investment into a team worth 1.5 billion dollars or more.

When A Current Affair went on the air in 1986 the second program we ever did was “ The Other Side of George Steinbrenner” it was a very long interview with George and I, in which we touched on subjects not usually reported about him.   We spoke about his childhood and his father.   We covered subjects like his love for music.   Every year he would donate a wheel barrel full of money to get to conduct the Cleveland Symphony for one night.   We covered his commitment the Silver Shield Foundation which sets up scholarships and financial aid for the widows and children of police officers and firemen who lost their lives in the line of duty. George would donate the entire proceeds from one game every year to the fund.   That’s a big chunk of change.   We spoke about his family and he told me he hoped his sons would want to take over the club.   He opened up pretty good to me and I reported everything accurately including some of his not so proud moments.

After the piece aired I got a phone call from John Fugazy who worked for the Yankees and he wanted me to know that in the Yankees morning meeting George told the staff that the portrayal of him was the fairest shot he ever got in the N.Y. media.

I did not become a pal of George’s, however if we were in the same room their was always a cordial and friendly exchange.

The last time I saw him was the reason I am rooting so hard for his Yankees this Series.

It was after the Yankees had beaten the Met’s in the 2000 World Series to make it three championships in a row.    After the clinching ballgame I went up to Elaine’s where the whole joint was in a state of euphoria.   After about an hour the door opened and who walked in but the Boss and his group.   The whole place erupted in spontaneous applause.   George shook as many hands as he could as his group slowly made their way to the table.

I did not get a chance to shake his hand so I waited for them to get settled and then walked to his table in the back.   I apologized for interrupting and said “ George, I’m Steve McPartlin and I just want to congratulate you and your family.” he looked at me and then got to his feet put his hands on my shoulders and said “Stevie, so good to see you, can you believe it, three in a row we won three in a row Steve.”

He then began to cry. Not just tears peaking out the corners of his eyes but a shoulder shaking sob.

I looked into his eyes and I saw humility and gratitude, and appreciation.   No bluster, no fire, none of the expectation of victory that had become his trademark.   I also saw the look of a man who knew that this was something not to be taken for granted.

I also looked into the eyes of a man who knew that this was not going to last forever.

I said to him then “ why not four George” he started to laugh and again pumped my hand and thanked me for coming over.

I went to the men’s room and had to wipe the tears from my eye.

It has been reported over the past years that he is not himself any more. I know what his situation is but that is for he and his family to divulge not me.

I will make no predictions on the World Series except for what George will be wearing.   A blue blazer and a white turtleneck.

I hope with all my heart that tonight when it becomes very apparent that George is in his box the fans at Yankee Stadium will let him know how they feel.   It may be during Roll Call or at some other point I just know my brethren will give the Boss a great memory.

As it should be, for he has given Yankee fans so many memories this time of year.

Who are these people and why should I care about them?

It has been a great summer. I have spent most if it traveling around the country visiting some old friends.  Of course most of those reunions happened in  great Saloons.  I was in San Francisco for the fortieth anniversary of Perry Butler’s legendary establishment, Perry’s.  It was a great time seeing great old friends all of whom “looked great”.  

That statement apparently is a code for “your still upright” or ” I thought for sure, the way you live your life, you would look like crap”.

I own a mirror, I know I don’t look great but thanks for the sentiments anyway.

Through my travels it seemed every time I managed to get my hands on a newspaper ( yes I still read newspapers) or watched a television show I would have my mind polluted with stories about people I don’t know.  I am very well aware of Andy Warhol’s fifteen minutes of fame comment.  I had my fifteen minutes but it seems to me that even the Great Warhol would think some of these people don’t deserve fifteen seconds of consideration.

Who are these people and exactly why should I care about them?

John Gosselin.
This guy fathered eight kids and for some reason they give he and his shrewish wife a TV show.  In my old neighborhood he wouldn’t have made the top ten.  On my street alone the Boyland’s, Holland’s and Corliss’s all had at least eight kids.  Living in far less luxurious conditions than this sad sack.

They all would have made great television. Fathers who worked at least two jobs. Mothers who ruled the roost with an iron hand. Brothers and sisters who watched out for each other.  I guess no one would believe it.

This John guy is a rather paunchy, hair plugged, personality challenged mope.

In Saloon parlance a “mope” is a guy who just sits around like a lump on a log doing the ” woe is me” act.  This guy is such a big mope you could actually call him ” Mopey Dick”or the “Great White Mope“.   Yet, according to the gossip columns, there is a long line of women who are more than willing to throw themselves at this lump of a man.   One of them actually lost her job over this guy.  Then she went out and had her boobs enhanced to compete with “ all the perfect women chasing John”.

Ladies if you want to get into Page Six so badly bang a Governor.  Apparently it’s easy to do.

The thing that put me over the top with this hump is the comment he made about his wife. He said he “despised her”on  national TV.  I am sure it was no picnic to wake up to Kate every morning but this guy has eight kids and it is really bad form to bad mouth the mother of your children on national TV.

I would not care if she beat him about the head and body on a daily basis, making comments that are going to affect your kids, who have not asked to be in the public eye, is just bad form and most importantly bad parenting.

Get a grip buddy, it is not all about you.   Have some dignity.   By the way the next time you go to your hair plug doctor, tell him he missed a patch o the back of your head.

Which is the only part of you I care to see in the future.

Levi Johnston.
He is the guy who knocked up Sarah Palin’s daughter.  That pretty much should be the only sentence ever written about this little nineteen year old piss ant.

However, Vanity Fair has an article “written” by him.  That would make him the only person to have written more magazine articles than he has read.

In this article Levi levels the Palin’s as disinterested parents who use their kids to do the household chores and who are always trying to have private time for themselves by engaging in hobbies or the solace of their private rooms.

I believe only one word can describe despicable people like this.  They are called Parents!

What really has me torked about Levi’s revelations is that a magazine the caliber of Vanity Fair would waste so much ink on a guy who can’t spell ink.

Graydon Carter, the editor of this heretofore great magazine, wrote in his monthly missive that this article would upend the myth of Sarah Palin.  Carter crows that Joshnston will tell us that he never saw Sarah with a fishing pole in her handsand  that Levi had to show her how to use a gun.

That lying bitch.

Are you kidding me why the hell should I take the word of a nineteen year old jilted boyfriend who is so in love with the limelight that he actually went on a publicity stunt of a date with horrendous media whore Kathy Griffin.

I am not surprised that Carter would take such great pride in this great “get’.   After all, Graydon Carter has become the Lord of Limousine Liberals.   He actually owns a gin joint called The Waverly Inn that has an unlisted phone number.   I went in for a drink once and for the first time in my life I was uncomfortable in a Saloon.   I swear the bartender went to the manger to see if it was all right to serve me.   I know Graydon Carter will go to any length to bad mouth any conservative but giving a guy who could not figure out how to open a condom package a platform on parenting is more than I can take.

As for Levi, I think Pat Buchanan said it best when he told Chris Matthews that Todd Palin should “take Levi down to the river and hold his head under till the thrashing stops”.

Jimmy Carter.                                                                                         

I seem to remember this guy had a brief and unremarkable political career in the seventies. I know he was President for a few years but I try hard to forget that.  Thankfully the booze and drugs I consumed in the seventies help me in that effort.

Recently, Carter made the comment that those people who disagree with President Obama’s policies do so out of racism.  Well that’s helpful.  I guess Carter should know a thing or two about racism considering he is generally considered an anti-Semite even in some liberal circles.

Our nation is going through a very important and difficult time.  The last thing we need is to throw the race card in the national debate about health care or any other issue.  It is incredibly careless of Carter to make a comment that only inflames the situation. The less people comment on the color of Barack Obama’s skin the further we move ahead.   Racial defense is just a little less useful than Racial offense.  It should not be part of the discussion at all.

I tend to take the words of people who have had great accomplishment in life seriously and to heart.   Jimmy Carter, as a statesmen, accomplished nothing in his life.

He almost ruined our nation financially.

He made us the laughing stock of the world militarily.

The Shah or Iran’s widow recently gave an interview in which she cogently relates much of the current Middle East unrest to the Carter Administration.

The one thing a former President should not do is to inject himself into the current administrations efforts.

Jimmy Carter is an inconsequential person. He was that way when he was President and he is that way now.

On sentance I never thought I would say. Clinton did the right thing.

Everyday is a great day to be an American. Today I feel it a little stronger.

Watching Una Lee and Laura Ling step off that jet and address the nation as free Americans just made me well up with pride.

Feel free to call me a jingoist I don’t really care.   I just know that we are a nation that does not turn it back on it’s citizens

In spite of the fact that we seem to be at each others throats these days we can all appreciate the efforts of those involved in freeing these two young  journalists.

In Saloons it’s what’s known as “doing the right thing.”

We do not leave our soldiers on the battle field.

We do not let our citizens rot in a rancid jail cell at the hands of a dictatorial maniac.

For those on the right, who feel that it is a sign of weakness that a former President traveled to an enemy state and on some level negotiated with a lunatic who has threatened our nation and it’s allies, I say to you the same thing I say to those on the left who oppose the death penalty “ what if they were your kids.’

I would like to think that President Clinton did his best John Wayne impersonation and leaned over and whispered in Kim Jong Il’s ear that if he did not let the journalist go he was going to kick his ass right in front of every one.  I know that did not happen and it is probably best it didn’t.    I guess that’s why I am not a diplomat.

Whatever Clinton did it was worth it.   We all know that Kim Jong Il is not to be trusted and he will turn this into some sort of victory for his sick little regime.   Knock yourself out, Shorty.

As for Clinton’s effort, if he can be on The View , then what’s a few hours with a slimy dictator

There are those that will say that this is a bad precedent and now other’s will try to take advantage of us.   The Weasel of Tehran is holding some Americans who apparently got lost hiking in Iraq and wandered into Iranian territory.

What the hell were they thinking.

Never the less they are Americans and our only choice is to go get them.

That’s what we do and who we are.

As I have written before one of the great lessons I learned in a Saloon was to “do the right thing.”   I was confused about how to handle a situation once and when I whined about not knowing what to do I was put in my place by one of the wiser fellows who explained to me that “ you know what the right thing to do is, You just have to want to do the right thing.”

In the case of Una Lee and Laura Ling.   Once the North Koreans sent the signal that a visit from Bill Clinton would do the trick.   We knew what the right thing to do was and in spite of the fact that there will be some recriminations down the line our government gave it’s imprimatur and wanted to “do the right thing.”

Another thing to take from this is that at least we know Barack Obama is no Jimmy Carter

At least not yet.

Let’s all have a beer.

Tonight at the White House three guys will get together for a couple of beers to try and work out their differences and make this country a little better place.

This is a method of diplomacy I highly recommend.

I think our national motto should be changed from “ don’t tread on me” to “let’s all just have a beer” or the always popular “ I think I’ll have another.”

I would like to see it used more often.   It is an old tried and true way of getting a couple of thick headed guys to sit down and work things out.

There is something about the logic that if two adversary’s sit down in a social atmosphere and ply themselves with some of the magic elixir, made with hops, barley and water, they will somehow come to a clear and intelligent conclusion to the debate.

Either that or punch each other in the nose.   I am hopping for the former in tonight’s meeting.

In honor of this occasion I think we should all sit down this evening as Obama,Crowley,and Gates try to figure out what the hell happened that day in Cambridge, and have a couple of cold ones ourselves.

After all we are the ones who have had to suffer through all of this.

It seems that every jackass with a microphone or a pen has felt the need to weigh in on this incident.

Some say Crowley’s was wrong.

Some Gates was wrong.

Everyone thinks that Obama was wrong for making the comment that the Cambridge Police acted stupidly.

See, the guy can bring us together.

This is how tonight’s conversation should go.  It does not matter who starts it but this should be the dialogue.

Crowley: “I am sorry if I did anything to make you feel that there was racism involved in my actions. I was just protecting you and your property and the community.  Race had nothing to do with it.”

Gates: “I am sorry for the way I over reacted.  I apologize for not showing you the proper respect and courtesy. I am sure you would have performed your job in the same manner no matter the race of the person involved.”

Obama: “Pretzels anyone.”

There is absolutely no need to find fault in any of this.  It seems to me that blaming people has become a national sport.   No one knows what was going on in the hearts and minds of these two gentlemen at the time of the arrest.

If they can move past it. We must.

If they enjoy their beers and have a civil conversation. Then we must move on.

This should not be a defining moment in any regard.   What happened between Gates and Crowley defines nothing.   What happened was the conduct of two men.   Just these two men.

I refuse to believe that it is a fair and accurate portrayal of racial attitudes in this country.

I refuse to believe that cops act as racists as a practice. I know too many cops and have seen first hand how many times they walk away from situations and insults that none of us would accept.

I refuse to believe that Dr. Gates, who means so much to the African American community, would shield his loss of temper with the cry of racism.

I know he did that.

I just think, at the time that is how he felt, and I know it is useless to tell people how they should have felt at a certain place and time.

I refuse to believe Barack Obama is a racist.  There is plenty I disagree with this President about, the stimulous package, health care, national security, etc,  but making a dumb comment does not make you a racist.   As a matter of fact it just makes you dumb for that moment.

Glenn Beck, the biggest jackass with a microphone in this country, made the comment that  Obama is a racist and has a deep rooted  hatred for white people.   His reason was the President’s comment about the Cambridge Police and the fact that he attended the Rev. Wright’s church for twenty years.

Mr. Beck, if you cannot use your voice and platform to raise the level of discourse in our nation then I think it is time for you to finish your beer and go home.   You are reaching into the depths of asininity.    You will no longer be invited into this Saloon.

That comment has forced me to do something I never thought I would do in a million years.

Watch Chris Mathews.

As we used to say in the old neighborhood, “ Glenn, hit the bricks pal, tell your story walking and don‘t let he door hit you in the ass on the way out.“

I think I’ll have another.

Inspiration.

When you get to a certain point in your life it is hard to find inspiration. It’s there but you have to look for it.

This weekend a whole truck load of inspiration hit me right in the kisser.

Tom Watson’s play at the British Open was just amazing.   Watching a man just two months short of sixty years old not only hold his own with men less than half his age but taking them to school while doing it was just incredible.

Golf has become a power sport but here was “Old Tom” teaching the big hitters that it is also about control and knowledge. He managed a difficult Turnburry like he built it. He controlled his emotions and shots and all while the world watched and rooted his every swing.

The outcome was not what any of us short of Stuart Cink’s immediate family wanted.

Never the less Watson’s dignity and courage and grace, on the course and in defeat, is an inspiration to us all.   He made no apologies and no excuses in his post tournament comments.

What really struck me was his refusal to accept that this was a fluke.   He knew he could play there and he was not going to subscribe to the “ he was lucky” school of thought.   He knew he still had the game to play on that course this weekend and he was not shy about saying he could do it.

I love the fact that he said he would give it another shot next year at St. Andrews.   He will be a long shot but if you can find a bookmaker to take the action, I don’t think it would be that bad an investment.

The passing of Walter Cronkite was another lesson in inspiration.

For anyone who ever aspired to a career in Broadcast Journalism, Walter Cronkite was the gold standard.   He was the voice of our nation.   He was at times the conscience of our nation.

He taught us about space travel and handled one of the worst moments of our lives, the passing of JFK, with dignity and emotion.

The cliché is that he was ‘ the most trusted man in America” which I would not argue.   What is amazing is that he did it with integrity and modesty.   Two traits that would prohibit you from succeeding in the broadcasting profession today.

I believe he made as large a contribution to this country as any Journalist ever has.

It is a great burden to have the power of information.

It needs to be treated with care and with intelligence.   It needs to be cultivated and nurtured and delivered with honesty and truthfulness.  With little to no room for opinion.   That was what Uncle Walter did better than anyone.   It is a lesson that the talking heads of today should take to heart.

My favorite comment about Cronkite this weekend was by his colleague Morley Safer who said, “ the thing I will miss the most about Walter is our two o’clock in the morning searches for the next open saloon”.

I never met Cronkite, but based on that comment, I am sure we would have gotten along just fine.

Another man who inspired me greatly passed away this weekend.   Frank McCourt the Pulitzer Prize winning author of Angela’s Ashes died at the age of 78.

I am proud and honored to call him a friend.

I met Frank about twenty years ago when he and his brother Malachy were performing their play “A Couple of Blackguards” in San Francisco.

I had worked with Malachy at WNYW-TV in New York and their younger brother Mike was a great pal of mine from my bartending days in San Francisco.   Mike is a charter member of the Knight’s of the White Apron.   Malachy was famous for being famous and owned a couple of well known Saloons in New York.

Frank was the black sheep of this Saloon family, he was a school teacher.

He taught for thirty years in the New York Public School system mostly at Stuyvesant High School.

That night, at the play, they had a lot of fun at my expense.   At one point in the play they were portraying two old Irish biddies gossiping.

The dialog went like this.

Malachy: Did you hear who died?

Frank: No, who?

Malachy: Stevie McPartlin

Frank: Oh Geez-us, he was so young.    What did he die from?

Malachy: Playing with himself too much.

Frank: Ah yes, he was a well known masturbator.

After the play Frank and Malachy addressed the audience and introduced me as one of the stars of the television show A Current Affair.

Frank: Steve will be happy to sign autographs in the lobby

Malachy: For the usual fee.

Needless to say I found all of this hysterical.   Anytime with the McCourt brothers was always full of laughter.

We all had lunch the next day and through the years I got to know Frank very well.

What I liked about Frank was that his wit was smart and sharp.   He told me he was working on a book but he was having a hard time finding his voice.   He had already been working on it for a decade.

When Angela’s Ashes was published it was probably ten years after I meet Frank.   It was a daunting task to find his voice and yet he finally he did.

He never gave up.   He was over sixty years old when the book finally went to print.

The one thing that always impressed me about the book was the voice.   He wrote it with the voice of a five year old, to a teenager, to that of a young man.

He wrote it with the Irish voice.

While there was great sadness there was no search for pity.  He found humor in their poverty.

He opened his heart and his mind.   He sat at his typewriter and opened his veins and bled his life for us all to read.   For the rest of us to learn and understand our own families immigrant experience.   I will always be grateful for that.

One of the greatest honors I have ever received was from Frank.   When he was touring with the book I had him on my morning television show in San Francisco a number of times.   I also appeared at a book signing to introduce him.

One morning I got a phone call from Mike McCourt.   He told me that Frank had called him the night before to tell him that he had won the Pulitzer for  Angela’s Ashes.   Mike went on to explain that Frank would be very busy that day with all sorts of interview requests.   He had asked him to give me a call and thank me for helping to sell the book.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine a Pulitzer Prize winning author would thank me for anything short of pouring him a drink.

Frank McCourt was an inspiration to me in so many ways.   I sit at this keyboard today largely because of my friendship with Frank.

Just pounding the keys trying to find a voice.

MJ and the BS.

I really did not want to write about the death of Michael Jackson.   I am one of those who believe if you have nothing good to say about someone in death then say nothing.

However, I am a Saloon Guy and there is only so much bullshit I can take before I have to open my mouth.

For the past week and a half I have not been able to watch a news show or read a newspaper without being beat over the head with all Michael all the time. Today the city of Los Angeles is pretty much shut down so the pop icon can be buried and memorialized. That is pretty amazing since it is costing LA a few million dollars.  In a time when the State of California is going belly up.  Pretty freaking amazing.

Very few people have stepped forward and tried to put this into accurate perspective.

First the niceties.

He was without a doubt one of the most talented performers of my lifetime. He could put on a show without peer. I always enjoyed his music and performances.   Of course I am more of the Rockin Robin generation than Thriller or Billy Jean.   Never the less I was a fan.  

I never cared about his appearance.   If he wanted to be a white man.   Knock your self out.  

If he wanted a nose like a shiksa goddess, God bless.

If he wanted to dress like a gay Drum Major, no sweat off my brow.

None of it mattered because I always wanted look past the freak show and enjoy the performer.  

Today is the day they will memorialize him in Los Angeles.   Estimates are that a billion people world wide will be watching.

I won’t be one of them.

The niceties end here.  

I was always willing to forgive his freakishness but once I learned about his conduct with little children, he was dead to me.

I am one of those who believes that he was a pedophile.   I have absolutely no forgiveness in my heart for anyone who has taken sexual advantage of little kids.  

It does not matter to me how rich he may have made their families after he abused them.

It matters not that he very well may have donated millions to charities to help children he did not abuse.

It matters not that there are millions of people who wanted so much to overlook his unhealthy relationship with children.

In this Saloon all that matters is that he abused children.   Those who will defend him will say he was never found guilty.

Granted.

However, just the fact that he was a grown man sharing a bed with young teenage boys is good enough for me to feel no guilt about calling him a pedophile.

Linda Stasi wrote in the NY Post last week about a personal acquaintance whose life was ruined because Michal abused his child.   I know Linda and I believe her words.

I believe O.J. killed his wife.   I believe Robert Blake killed his wife.   I believe Michael Jackson was a willey waver.

Another point I am going a bit crazy over is hearing how loved he was.

Are you kidding me, loved.   By who?   His family?   Those parasites watched and encouraged his freakishness.

His friends?   Where were they when he was slowly but surely killing himself?

It’s a shame MJ never found a nice friendly Saloon to hang out in.   My friend Jimmy “ the Great Byrno” Byrnes wrote to me and suggested I write that if he had been a Saloon Guy none of this would have happened and he would still be alive because in the Saloon world you don’t let those who you truly love, admire, and respect, shelf destruct the way that those around MJ have.

That to me is the one sad place I can allow my heart to go when it comes to Michael.  

I don’t think the guy ever had real love.

I don’t think he ever had real friends.

I think that probably explains a lot of his miscreant behavior.   Not excuses it but explains it.

I can be sad for someone who went through life with no real love and no real friendship.   As a matter of fact I can be heartbroken for a person who had to go through life in that way.

Just not enough to sit and watch the hypocritical shenanigans going on in LA this afternoon.

Good Night Ed McMahon.

Ed and Me before a show.

We all woke up this morning to the news that Ed McMahon had died at the age of 86.

It was like hearing your favorite uncle had passed away.

For thirty years he was the guy who sat next to Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show couch.

Today you will hear much about him.  You’ll hear he was a patriot who served his nation as a Marine fighter pilot in two wars.   He retired at the rank of Colonel.

You’ll hear about his long association with Carson.   How they met doing a game show in Philadelphia.

I don’t think there were two guys ever more suited to be with each other than Johnny and Ed.   They had about as close to perfect timing as you can get.   Their affection for each other was transparently genuine.    Too bad they couldn’t have married each other. They would have saved a couple of fortunes.

He hosted his own shows and was the country’s premier pitchman.   Selling everything from dog food to beer.   Knocking on doors and giving people millions of dollars for Publishers Clearing House.

To me Big Ed was more than all that.   He was a great a guy to have a drink with.   A great guy to get advice from.

He was a great Saloon Guy.

I first met Ed back in the late eighties.  I was working in Los Angeles for Inside Edition.   Michael King who owned King World Productions  produced the program.   Michael asked me to get involved in one of his favorite causes.   The American Ireland Fund.  I was happy to do this for a number of reasons.   I am Irish, I was always concerned with Irish causes, Michael paid my salary.

The big fund raiser that year was a black tie dinner in honor of former President Reagan.   McMahon was the MC for the evening.   He was great, Reagan was great, both of them telling great Irish stories and jokes. Reagan making McMahon the butt of many of the Irish drinking jokes.   Of course Ed greeted all of them with that hearty laugh and great humor.

After the gala King invited us all to Jimmy’s in Beverly Hills.  The only real Irish Saloon in town.   I took a pass and escorted my date home.   On my way home I had a change of heart and went to Jimmy’s to join Michael.   One of the best decisions I ever made.

When I walked in there was Ed McMahon and Michael sitting at the piano singing Irish songs.   I joined them for one drink.   It was one of those great Irish nights when one drink turns into four hours of laughter and song.   All of it led by Ed McMahon.

He and I hit it off right from the start.   We had a lot in common.   Both of us were Irish Catholics.   Big guys with big personalities. Both of us known to enjoy a bit of grape.

I will always remember how taken I was with him.   He had a bigger than life personality and a magnificent wit.   He was the epitome of class.   All of his jokes were not only well told but they were all appropriate.   Nothing foul.

He was dressed impeccably. Perfect tie, tailored tux, great cuff links.

He was dressed like man is supposed to dress.

At the end of the night I asked Ed if he had any advice for me career wise.   He asked me if I was a good actor.   I of course told him I wasn’t.   He put his hand on my shoulder and said “ just be yourself, that‘s all you have.”

Through the years our paths crossed many times.   When I was hosting the morning show on the Fox station in San Francisco Ed would be a guest whenever we were in LA or whenever he was in San Francisco.

We never became more than, Hi Ed…Hi Steve friends, but I know we shared a kindred spirit.

One time Ed was in SF to sell something.   We did the program from the Penthouse of the Fairmont Hotel.   It was a spirited program that day.  We had a bunch of viewers dressed in pajama’s.   There was a live band and all kinds of fun.

We had a lot of laughs, no booze was involved, but we still had a lot of laughs..

During one of the commercial break Ed leaned over to me and said “ you know Steve we are a couple of lucky guys, we both get to make a nice living in Show Business by just being ourselves.”

I reminded him of the advice he had given me at Jimmy’s many years earlier.   He said “ your a natural, you would have figured it out own your own.”

Having Ed McMahon tell me I was a natural is like having Jack Nicklaus say “ nice swing.”  A sentence I am not in danger of hearing anytime soon.

I never wanted to be one of those old guys sitting at the end of the bar yelling at the young kids about how great things used to be. Truthfully, there are plenty of people who make me laugh and who I think are great entertainers performing in the industry right now.

However , it was never better than having Johnny and Ed book ending the likes of Bob Hope, Dean Martin and George Gobel.

Laughing and kidding and making us all feel like we were right there hanging with all the cool guys.

He had a long and wonderful career. Holding his own, on a nightly basis, with the titans of the industry

He did by just being himself.

Good night, Ed.

.