Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: WEDNESDAY, March 15, 1995 TAG: 9503160009
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: KATHLEEN WILSON STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
So goes an old Irish saying.
We Americans sure love St. Pat's. On March 17, everyone is Irish.
For one day a year, we pull out the bagpipes, remember all the words to ``Danny Boy'' and discover that ``Finnegan's Wake'' is a mighty fine drinking song and not just a long book by James Joyce that most of us have never read.
In Roanoke - and just about any other town in America - we'll pull out the one article of green clothing we own and sport a ``Kiss Me, I'm Irish!'' button.
But mostly, we justify ourselves as people of excess by losing our minds when it comes to green food coloring.
And drinking.
They say that every stereotype has some foundation in fact.
But I'll bet you'll be surprised to learn that the foundation for getting drunk on St. Pat's is, er, religious. Sort of.
It's really just the Irish version of Mardi Gras.
There's no place more Catholic than Ireland. And no matter when Lent begins, St. Patrick's Day does manage to fall smack in the middle of it.
According to Breda Joyce, St. Patrick's Day was a holiday when she was growing up in Ireland. St. Patrick was the patron saint of Ireland. If you lived on the Emerald Isle, the church gave you the day off. No school. No business.
And, according to Joyce, it was the one day that you were allowed to cheat on what you gave up for Lent.
No sacrifice.
``Of course, every man gave up drinking during Lent,'' she recalls. ``Mostly to prove to everyone that he could give it up.''
By the time St. Pat's rolled around there sure were a lot of thirsty Irishmen.
As a holy day of obligation, they'd hit the earliest service possible, then head to the pub.
``They'd drink until midnight, then they'd just stop.''
Since they weren't going to be able to imbibe again until Easter Monday, they packed as much drinking in as they could.
Children could eat candy again.
``But no one wore green or threw parties,'' says Joyce. ``We were happy enough not to go to school.''
And there certainly weren't any parades, either.
``At that time of year, weather would be a problem in Ireland.''
When Joyce moved to the United States, she was surprised to see what a big deal March 17 was. They didn't have green beer back in Ireland. And they sure weren't letting music by Van Morrison and U2 pass as the soundtrack for this holiday.
There was, in fact, a period when she and her husband lived in New York on one St. Patrick's Day.
``But we never went to the parade.''
The reason? Irish practicality, naturally.
``It was far too cold to go to such trouble.''
Kathleen Wilson, whose mother's maiden name was Cork, was shocked to discover that none of her co-workers knew that ``Erin Go Bragh'' means "Long Live Ireland!"
Memo: ***CORRECTION***