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CONTAINER DIARIES

Tag Archives: Jimmy Breslin

IF YOU COULD READ MY MIND

15 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by Steve in Pat Fenton

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Container Diaries, Jimmy Breslin

My friend and frequent contributer to Container Diaries Pat Fenton, will be hard at work once again…

On Tuesday, September 16, I will be doing a short, twelve minute reading from my one man play in progress on Jimmy Breslin at the Cell Theatre, 338 West 23rd Street in the Chelsea area of New York.

It is a second reading of my play in progress (almost finished).

jimmy-breslin-2

The night, which starts at 7 P.M. (to 10 P.M. ), will also include on the bill other readings and musical entertainment by members of the Irish American Writers and Artists Salon.

Admission is free.
Pat Fenton

HAMILL ON BRESLIN

28 Saturday Dec 2013

Posted by Steve in Blog, Denis Hamill, Jimmy Breslin

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Denis Hamill, Jimmy Breslin

It’s about six weeks old but here’s a nice tribute by Denis Hamill on Jimmy Breslin via the Daily News.

Click the link.

Love this quote from Breslin on accepting an award:

“I don’t wanna be here. I have work to do. I’m not worth any f—— award, I can tell you that much. I wanna be home working on my book.”

Respectfully,

Red

Hoops135@hotmail.com

SOME WHISKEY IN YOUR WATER

12 Thursday Dec 2013

Posted by Steve in Beer, Blog, Denis Hamill, Farrell's Bar & Grill, Jimmy Breslin, Pete Hamill

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Beer, Denis, Farrell's Bar & Grill, Friends, Jimmy Breslin, Pete Hamill

In every neighborhood there’s one spot you know as “the hangout.”

That one place you go to take a load off your mind.

Farrell's at Night

It’s that sacred place you find mostly men, but make no mistake you will see the occasional female or two hanging tough.  I’ve known a few ladies to drink a few of the guys under the table.  They are always welcomed, matter of fact, they are embraced.

I’m talking about the bar. The Saloon. A Gin Mill.  The Tavern. Watering hole. Whatever you may call it…it’s all good.

There’s been articles written about them. Movies made and of course commercials shot inside of them. There has also been legendary fights inside and outside of them.

Farrell’s Bar & Grill was the popular spot in our neighborhood. Located on the corner of 16th street and ninth avenue. The official address is 215 Prospect Park West. They first opened the doors in the early 30’s.

At one time, back in the day women were discouraged from standing at the bar, they had to sit at a table located way in the back. Legend has it that the actress Shirley McClain once walked in with the writer Pete Hamill and marched right to the bar and ordered a drink.

I first noticed Farrell’s when I was a young boy. Coming from the 11th street playground over in Prospect Park with my mother on my way home to our five-room, railroad apartment on the corner of Windsor and ninth.

“Ma, what are all those people doing outside?”

As my mother holds my hand crossing the street she says they’re hanging out.

“Can we hangout?” I ask.

“No, we have to go home,” she answers

“Hanging out” was an everyday occurrence for the regulars.  Some are leaning against parked cars, some are blocking the sidewalk chatting away as they smoke a cigarette.  Look inside the huge window in front you notice a ton of people inside, standing at the bar. Some are looking out the window watching the world go by.

They all have one thing in common; they’re holding a glass filled with booze or a white container of beer.

Ironworkers, firemen, cops, mailmen, housewives, writers, musicians, the suits from Wall Street, a local business owner or two may pop their head in from time to time and the unemployed all are welcomed visitors. Doesn’t matter your occupation. I once saw two teachers from Holy Name stumble out after our lunch hour. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the unemployed, they’re hanging out too.

Jimmy Breslin, The Hamill brothers Pete and Denis have all drank and written about the bar on the corner. Click this link to read about the day Breslin bought the house a drink as told by Danny Mills via Denis Hamill of the New York Daily News.

There’s no music in the joint, just conversation.

“Let’s go to Farrell’s.”

“Meet you at Farrell’s.”

“Gimme a Container…”

The tables in the back are taken by groups of softball players talking about the game they had just played down at East fifth street field.  The guys at the bar are looking up at the TV set watching the Yankees, as Pete the bartender yaps about the Mets and there’s a guy in the phone booth off to the right of the bar yelling at his wife who is home coking dinner for the family.

“I’LL BE HOME SOON!” he shouts into the receiver and slams it down. No one notices. It’s too loud. Plus, all the men go through the same shit.

Can’t forget about the guy walking out of the men’s room, pulling up his zipper. Employees are required to wash their hands, why not the patrons?

Head out the side door on 16th street and there’s a small group of guys sitting on the sidewalk playing Acey-Deucey. Each one of them has a container placed on the ground next to them.

A heavy-set girl, probably somewhere around twelve years old is walking back and forth past the group disrupting the game and breaking balls.  John, who is not having any luck in the card game is clearly perturbed.

“Hey, stop walking by or you won’t get any cake.”

The group laughs. Keep in mind, if you break chops, expect to get yours broken into pieces too.

A few feet away leaning up against a parked station wagon are two females talking about a hot guy at work.

“Go ahead and ask him out, his divorce is official.”

They both laugh. Hook-ups at Farrell’s are popular too.

Laughs are common at the bar. So is arguing. It’s a spot most go to get away from their problems. A few even drown in their sorrows. Or, like JR Moehringer wrote in his memoir, “The Tender Bar, “Of course many bars in Manhasset, like bars everywhere, were nasty places, full of pickled people marinating in regret.”  

It’s a place where you can meet up with your friends and realize your neighbor has the same problems as you. One thing is certain, in Farrell’s, everyone knows your name.

Bobby, a Local 40 Ironworker was down on his luck. He had been unemployed for a few months and had a few mouths to feed at him. Not to mention he was behind with his mortgage payment and he had tuition to pay for two kids; one at Holy Name, the other at Bishop Ford.  Work was slow down at the Union Hall. Despite the weather being warm enough, there was no iron being set anywhere in the city.

“Thank God for unemployment,” he said to his buddy Billy as they stood on the corner checking out a female across the street.

“Yo honey, can I buy you a drink?” Jimmy calls out as Bobby punches him in the arm.

Before I hit eighteen,  I would hang around the bar and talk sports with the bartenders and the locals. I’d stand outside, and at times walk inside to chat with Hoolie and Gerard.

“REDMAN!” is how Gerard would greet me as I walked through the doors. Some nights, when I couldn’t sleep, or there was a domestic dispute I’d get dressed and walk across the avenue to see Gerard who worked the late shift on Friday nights.

Gerard always placed a glass of coke on the bar for me.  I felt like a king as i lifted the glass and slugged my drink like I was one of the fella’s.

“Knicks win tonight?” Gerard asked?

“Nah, they lost again.”

One night at last call,  Gerard was about to close shop when someone appeared at the front door.  Last call also meant closing time;  the front door was locked and the only way in would be through the side door.

“GO AROUND THE SIDE!” Gerard shouted.

A couple of seconds later in walked Chris Mullin of the Golden State Warriors. It was just a few weeks until Mullin would report to his new team after playing four years at St. John’s University. Mullin was a schoolboy legend by way of St. Thomas Aquinas in Flatbush and later Power Memorial and Xaverian High School.

Mullin, standing six-feet, six inches tall came in the bar, said hi and ordered two containers.

Gerard made small talk while he filled the two white cartons and Mullin was on his way out the side door.

They come from all over the city to visit the mecca of beer drinking.

Respectfully,

Red

Hoops135@hotmail.com

A TOAST…LIKE NO OTHER

20 Thursday Dec 2012

Posted by Steve in Blog

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Alphie McCourt, Bartenders, Bill Boyle, Bill Reel, Black 47, Bobby Rice, Brian McCabe, Cell Theatre, Chelsea, Chris Byrne, Christmas, Ciaran Byrne, CJ Sullivan, Column McCann, Container Diaries, Court Clerk, Daily News, Dan Barry, Danny Mills, David Amram, Denis Hamill, Dennis Duggan, Eddie Mills, Ellis Henican, Farrell's, Frank McCourt, George Kimball, Harry Chapin, Holy Name, Ireland, Jack Deacy, Jack Kerouac, Jack O'Connell, Jacky Malone, Jen Chapin, JFK, Jim Dwyer, Jimmy Breslin, Jimmy Houlihan, Johnny Kennedy, Josh Chapin, Judy Kennedy, Larry Kirwan, Lisa McLaughlin, Malachy McCourt, Mort Persky, New York Newsday, Newtown, Pat Fenton, Pay it Forward, Pete Hamill, Peter McDermott, Peter Quinn, Queens Supreme Court, Red Hook, Rocky Sullivan's, Sandy Chapin, Scrooge, TJ English, Tom Kelly, Windsor Terrace

My friend Pat Fenton wants to spread cheers to everyone from the neighborhood. Here’s a great piece from an outstanding writer and a better person…

On my wall, above my books in the room I write in, I have a framed original Christmas column Pete Hamill wrote. It’s called “A Garland of Christmas Toasts.” It’s a full-page long, faded, Newsday column dated December 13, 1967. Signed across the top of it are the words, “for Pat Fenton who remembers.” And I do.

It’s perhaps one of the most beautiful, moving pieces of writing about Christmas time that I have ever read. Sad at times, political, sentimental, it rolls across the page like the lyrics of a Van Morrison song. He always started his annual Christmas column with an apology to the writer Jimmy Cannon, who originated the idea and the form as only he could. Jonathan Schwartz should invite Pete Hamill on his radio show and have him read that to us on Christmas day to remind us all of the way we were. And alert his listeners to pour a glass of champagne before he starts. It deserves it.

Here’ a sample of his column: “maybe it’s the beer and the season and the weather, but I could almost swear there was a time when we had a hell of a lot more heroes, and a hell of a lot more laughs. And I’m certain there was a lot more girls.”

It was lines like that made me want to be a writer.

So, with my own apology to him for borrowing the form, here’s to Windsor Terrace tonight…

To Pete Hamill and his brother Denis and to Brian Hamill, and to Bobby Rice, and Judy, and Johnny Kennedy, and to Jacky Malone, and to Steve Finamore from Container Diaries, who records the story of our lives on his Windsor Terrace blog.

Here’s to the bartenders in Farrell’s Bar and Grill on 16th Street and 9th Avenue in Windsor Terrace in my old Brooklyn neighborhood, and especially to Jimmy Houlihan and to Eddie Mills, they all give so much to those who need it. And let’s not forget the memory of the bartender/actor, Danny Mills who also defined what Farrell’s Bar was all about since it opened its doors in the 1930’s. He understood that.

Like Pete Hamill, we all drank there when we were young so long ago, so did our fathers from Ireland, and we all passed through Holy Name Parochial School where our report cards are still on file, hopefully forever.

Glasses up to Malachy McCourt and his brother Alphie tonight. And here’s to Larry Kirwan from Black 47. And to the musician David Amram too, who I learned so much about Jack Kerouac from. Cheers! And to Chris Byrne, another Windsor Terrace boy, whose special bar Rocky Sullivan’s in Red Hook got tossed around by Sandy, but whose still open for business. And to Lisa McLaughlin who brings the talent there.

It’s Christmas time and we have a few toasts to make. Here’s to all the people of the Queens Supreme Court who I spent a good part of my life with, and how they never once asked me, what the hell are you doing here working as a court clerk when you have a by-line in New York Newsday and the Daily News? Thanks to Tony and Maureen and Jackie, and Ken for putting up with me.

Here’s to my friend Jimmy Breslin, tell him to call me on Christmas morning, and be grouchy again when I don‘t have the answer he’s looking for. I miss those calls. Someone tell ‘Bres’ to write one more Christmas column. Let him write about how he is an usher in a Catholic Church in Manhattan, few people know that side of him. What a great Christmas story that would be.

May that women I shared a turkey sandwich on white bread with one cold evening in front of St Francis Assisi Church in Manhattan, as I was heading off to the old Rocky Sullivan’s Bar on Lexington Avenue to read, who trusted me as I handed half of it to her, be in a warm, safe place tonight. I never forgot her. She was Christmas.

Let’s all remember this holy Christmas night these words out of Newtown from a Litchfield Connecticut newspaper, “this heinous act does not define our town. What does is the love, compassion and caring that we have for one another. Love conquers all, especially evil.”

Along with “Scrooge”, let some cable station run a marathon showing of the movie “Pay it Forward” on Christmas Eve. Forget who is a Republican or a Democrat this night and let the politicians in Washington finally understand that we elected all of you to bring America together, not to divide it. It’s time for that.

Fill up my glass bartender, and let’s drink a toast to writers like T.J. English, Peter Quinn, Peter McDermott, Ellis Henican, C.J. Sullivan, who published some of the best stories about New York ever written in the New York Press, Jim Dwyer, Tom Kelly, Dan Barry, Jack Deacy, Column McCann, and the ones who I miss this year, Bill Reel, Dennis Duggan, Frank McCourt and George Kimball.

Here’s a special toast, a double Irish whisky to an editor from the Daily News that I will never forget working with, Bill Boyle, and his words, “go write a good story, Pat”, as he turned over a nine hundred word assignment to me that I just pitched to him. And , “don’t be too nostalgic.”

And let’s not forget to raise a glass to Brian McCabe, a great New York Detective and a great writer, and to my close friend the actor Jack O‘Connell, and the actor Ciaran Byrne, and to Kira and Nancy down in the Cell Theatre in Chelsea who breathe life in to all that we write with their stage.

Here’s to my friend Sandy Chapin this Christmas, and Pegge, and Jen Chapin, and Josh Chapin, and the memory of Harry Chapin who pointed us all in the right direction in America.

Hey bartender, send a drink down to the end of the bar to my friend, Mort Persky there, one of the editors of one of the greatest efforts to create a new newspaper in this town, New York Newsday, who watched over my words there.

Let’s drink to the memory of President John F Kennedy tonight who made my dad from Galway, Ireland so proud. This one is on me. Raise a glass and remember some of the lessons he tried to teach us when he said: “let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divides us.” So simple.

Let his words be a Christmas card for the world this night. We need it more than ever. None of these things may never happen, but if they did it would be a fine Christmas.

Thanks for the use of the hall tonight, Pete. Merry Christmas.

-Pat Fenton

I CAN SEE FOR MILES AND MILES…

15 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by Steve in Blog

≈ 36 Comments

Tags

Asian, Brooklyn, Container Diaries, Facebook, Friends, Jewish, Jimmy Breslin, Pat Fenton, Pete Hamill, Windsor Terrace, Writing

If you know me, you know I am a friendly, outgoing person. Making friends was my speciality back in the day and it still is today. Matter of fact, I’m actually a lot more open-minded today when it comes to making new friends.

Growing up in Brooklyn I had a ton of friends from all over the city. I had friends I played hoops with during the day and I had friends that I hung out with at night. Every single one of them was special.

It didn’t matter if you were White, Black, Puerto Rican, Jewish or Asian. Didn’t matter if you were rich or poor; lived in Queens or the Boogie Down Bronx. If you were cool, you and I could hang.

Fast forward to today, July 15, 2011 where the Internet has helped many people meet others from not only around this country but around the world too. No, I’m not talking about a dating website where you hook up with someone nor am I talking about a chat room. I’m talking e-mail or even Facebook; two powerful tools to connect people who have not spoken to each other in years.

(Pat Fenton)

A few weeks ago a loyal reader of the blog forwarded me an essay that he found on the net about the neighborhood. (Click here to read, ‘Almost Home‘) written by Pat Fenton, a former resident of Windsor Terrace. Mr. Fenton enjoys writing about the neighborhood back in the 1950’s and 1960’s. (I must add, Container Diaries has re-connected many of the current and former residents of such a wonderful neighborhood from the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s.)

As an aspiring writer, I was hungry to learn more about him. So I did what everyone else does when they are starving for information, I Googled him. The power of the internet, huh?

Pat’s work popped up from various links and I became fascinated with his writing style and of course his knowledge of the neighborhood; mainly the history.

Naturally I had to reach out to him and talk to him about the writing craft and of course the neighborhood.

Here’s something Pat wrote recently for the Irish Echo on outstanding writers Jimmy Breslin and Pete Hamill, plus the neighborhood’s they cover. Just one thing though, as Pat writes, these neighborhoods are changing. Take a look…

Jimmy Breslin is back at the Daily News and Pete Hamill has a new book out that everybody is talking about, “Tabloid City.” And that’s good news, but sadly, both events also remind me that something important to Irish culture is slipping away from us. The sort of journalism they both perfected as they wrote stories in the Daily News and the New York Post about the city’s Irish working-class neighborhoods is fading away. And so are some of the Irish neighborhoods they wrote about.

I agree with Pat, the Irish working-class neighborhoods are fading away. Oh and by the way, I now have a new friend in Pat Fenton.

What do you think?

-Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

UNREAL

22 Tuesday Dec 2009

Posted by Steve in Blog

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

Death, Jimmy Breslin, New York Daily News

It was just a couple of days ago (the last blog entry) that I mentioned Jimmy Breslin. I also made mention of his daughter, Kelly.  This morning opening up my e-mail, I received notice that Kelly, who was 44 years old passed away.  Here’s a link to the Daily News story of her death.

-Steve

Hoops135@hotmail.com

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