Why I got thrown out of an Irish pub

Dear Friends,

THIS WEEK’S PODCAST:

(02:10) Why I was thrown out of an Irish pub;
(19:00) Pushing a baby carriage across Ireland for peace;
(37:35) Raising cattle sustainably, with Shanen Ebersole;
(51:43) Making compost, with Kathy Byrnes Fallon.

It being Saint Paddy’s Day Week (that’s right, we get a whole week), I’ll deviate from my usual focus on serious matters to share a story appropriate for the levity of spring’s most raucous holiday.

Before I tell the tale of why I was literally thrown out of an Irish pub, a few words about the rest of this week’s podcast. In addition to the pub-toss misadventure, I also share stories of my close encounters with Irish fairies.

At the 19-minute mark, I talk about why I helped push a baby carriage across Ireland. That story provides an appropriate segue into a discussion about an unfortunate truth: the war in Ukraine has increased the risk of nuclear war.

I also talk with rancher Shanen Ebersole about raising cattle sustainably, and Kathy and I discuss the glories of compost.

About being tossed out of a pub … It was 1979, and I was living with my uncle on our family’s farm in County Roscommon. I needed a break from haymaking and cutting turf, so I hitch-hiked to Roscrea in County Tipperary to spend some time at Mount Saint Joseph Abbey.

McGurk’s Pub in Northern Ireland

There, I met two lads from the North — Jerry Ward and Jerry McGurk. McGurk was a survivor of the horrific Ulster Volunteer Force’s bombing of his family’s pub, which killed his mother, sister, and thirteen others.

The other Jerry was, well, a bit unstable. Ward saw himself as one called to reunite the Protestant and Catholic communities in the war-torn North — a noble goal, but one accompanied by delusional tactics.

The three of us had many a great talk during our time at the Abbey. Toward the end of my stay, we decided a trip to one of Roscrea’s pubs was in order. There, we enjoyed a rollicking, boisterous time chatting it up with other lads in the back of the pub.

Now, to those of you who presume alcohol got me hurled from the premises, nope. In those days, I didn’t even drink, though on that outing the Jerries swilled enough Guinness for the three of us.

And no, to those of you who thought playing the accordion got me bounced, good guess, but wrong again.

As our conversation grew louder and more animated, I foolishly decided to share a trick I’d learned earlier that week (see video at left for reenactment): getting water from a saucer into a cup without moving the saucer.

The trick involves lighting a napkin on fire. Not a particularly smart thing to do in a pub.

Perhaps surprisingly, even that stunt didn’t get me tossed.

What accomplished our eventual ousting was Ward’s fervor for peace.

A man wearing a trench coat walked into the pub. Under his coat were multiple copies of the IRA newsletter. He began to hand them out to sympathetic patrons. Ward lost it, dragged the man to the pub door, called him an infidel, and pushed him out.

Almost immediately, I felt strong hands on my shoulders, and the Jerries and I were literally hurled through the air and out the pub door. A wee bit bruised, we walked back to the abbey, whose gates were locked. We had to scale the walls to sneak back to our rooms.

The next day, Ward’s descent into irrational behavior took a deeper twist. During the monks’ morning prayer, he walked up to the alter, donned a robe, and prostrated himself. The Abbot later suggested to Ward that he should voluntarily commit himself to the psyche unit at a hospital in Dublin. Ward agreed, and the monks commissioned me to escort him there.

I’m happy to say that, a few months later, I caught up with Ward at Trinity College and he was doing much better. Sorry to say, I’ve lost touch with these two friends, though I’m glad to say that I’ve never since been thrown out of a pub. (The closest I’ve come is being thrown out of a Trump rally.)

If, like me, you’d like to celebrate the glories of Ireland year round, there’s a traditional Irish seisiún every Tuesday somewhere in the Des Moines metro — details on the Des Moines Irish Session Facebook page.

Thanks for reading, listening, and doing your part for a better world.

Ed Fallon

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Ed Fallon