September 8^th, 2007

Dear Meghan and Family,

This is the story of the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl.

It starts every night in the summer at 7:30 pm at The Duke Pub on Duke St. (http://www.dublinpubcrawl.com/), which is just off Grafton St, the main pedestrian and tourist shopping district. Bono used to sing at The Duke in his pre-U2 days, and the previous owners of the pub were relatives of Micheal Collin's wife, Kitty Kiernan. Micheal Collins was the most important leader of the Irish War of Independence (1916-1921). When the rest of the underground Irish Republican Government were in Kilmainham Gaol prison for treason, he organized the first urban guerrilla war against the British, which was ultimately successful. On December 6th, 1921 he signed the Treaty of Independence which established, for the first time in history, the "Irish Free State," but was assassinated in the bloody "green on green" civil war which followed. When Collins signed the treaty in England he turned to his British counterpart and declared, "I have just signed my own death warrant," because he understood that the treaty would never be accepted by hard core Irish republican nationalists. Éamon de Valera (affectionately nick-named "Dev" by Micheal Collins) was president of the underground Irish Republican Government during the War of Independence (colloquially known as "The Irish Revolution"), but opposed the treaty, which inevitably lead to the Irish Civil War (1922), and in a famous speech claimed that he would "wade through rivers of Irish blood" to defeat the treaty and create a "real" Irish republic. Collins passionately supported the treaty which he referred to as a "stepping stone." Sinn Fein & the IRA were irrevocably divided. Although the Treaty and the Irish Free State that it created, lead by Micheal Collins, were ultimately victorious, Eamon de Valera was by far the most influential Irish politician of the 20th century. "Fianna Fail," the Anti-Treaty party created by de Valera during the civil war has been by far the most dominant party in Irish politics since the War of Independence and holds power to this day. Eamon de Valera was "Taoiseach" (Prime Minister) of Ireland from 1959 until 1973 and kept Ireland "neutral" during the second world war, but his Catholicism and deep social conservatism stagnated Irish society for decades. Fianna Fail has retained power over the years due to their remarkable "ideological flexibility," not unlike the Liberal Party of Canada. I am currently reading "Rebel Hearts: Journey's within the IRA's Soul" by Kevin Toolis which is about the much more modern "Troubles" in Northern Ireland, as the civil war in that country was euphemistically referred to by the British press in the 1980s.

The Dublin Literary Pub Crawl is orchestrated by two very amicable thespians who start out the evening with an old Irish pub ballad and some reenactments from famous Irish productions and novels, and before we left the first pub they summarized the ending of James Joyce's epic masterpiece Ulysses in a 10 minute monologue. The novel plays a very important role in Irish culture to this day, in the same way that Ernest Hemingway still commands a vital cultural role in Cuba, long after his death. The hero and protagonist of James Joyce's Ulysses is a Jew named Leopold Bloom. The entire novel takes place in just one day (18 hours) and follows Bloom in his adventures all over town. Leopold Bloom was a Jew living in Dublin in 1904 and was therefore an outsider in British occupied Ireland which was officially Protestant, but was of course mainly Catholic. They say that Dubliners to this day have a soft spot for minorities and outsiders that you won't find in the rest of the country and they say that Leopold Bloom is the reason. In fact, Thin Lizzy front man Phil Lynott (1949-1986), known as "The People's Rocker," is said to be a testament to this cultural theory. Lynott was a black working class kid raised in North Dublin, which made him a real outsider by South Dublin standards, but he was a "true-blue" Dubliner, and they say that people loved him in a Joycean way (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thin_Lizzy). He was so adored in "Dvblinia" (the Viking word for Dublin) that when he died they erected a bronze statue of him with a huge Afro and holding a guitar on Harry St in front of Bruxelles, the famous Heavy Metal bar.

During the pub crawl the actors recited famous passages and quotes from Oscar Wilde, Samuel Beckett and Brendan Behan (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brendan_Behan), the latter an "erstwhile member of the Irish Republican Army" and a good friend of Norman Mailer and Groucho Marx. Behan started drinking when he was five years old, but his grandmother limited him to one pint of Guinness per day. At the tender age of five his grandmother would send him to the store every morning to get her a bottle of whiskey. (Irish whisky is always spelled with an "e.") Young Brendan would taste the whiskey to make sure it was strong enough, and then water it down considerably before giving it to his grandmother. Literary historians believe this is why his grandmother lived well into her nineties while Behan himself died at age forty-one! He wrote many famous Irish plays that did very well in London, New York and Toronto, his most famous was maybe "The Quare Fellow" (1954), which was written in protest against the use of capital punishment in Ireland, and based on his own experiences in the notorious Mountjoy Prison on the north side of the River Liffey. The river cuts a deep historical-social-cultural divide in Dublin. On the north side of the river vast working class neighborhoods sprawl to the east and west, and the accents become harsh, uneducated, and to my ears, barely decipherable. My favorite bar in Dublin, The Sin E Bar, is north of the Liffey on Upper Ormond Quay. There is a framed photograph of Fidel Castro on the wall.

Once, on a trip to Toronto, Behan was tracked down by a group of Canadian journalists who found him drinking Guinness in a pub downtown. They asked him if he liked Canada and he responded that he thought that it would be a great place... when it was finished. They asked him why he was drinking, did the play not go well? "No," he said, "I saw a poster which said 'Drink Canada Dry' and I've just started." But my personal favourite Behan quote may be this one: The big difference between sex for money and sex for free is that sex for money usually costs a lot less! Behan was an interesting character in Irish literature. He was widely criticized, in his day, as a sycophant and a coxcomb, but he was a brilliant novelist and playwright, deeply committed to social justice and republicanism. He was a cynical bastard with an excellent eye for satire, and his influence on American and Canadian theater was significant. Like Hemingway, he was a famous drunk.

Kelly Janssens called me around 19:00.

"Hey Max, how are you?"

"Good, we're actually on our way to the Dublin Literary Pub Crawl."

"Really? Wow. That's great, do you mind if my Canadian friend Jim Bryson (http://www.jimbryson.org/) comes with you?"

"Who the hell is Jim Bryson?"

Jim Bryson is actually one of the nicest people you will ever meet. He was late for the pub crawl. Heather and I were waiting for him outside The Duke when Kelly sent me this important text:

Well, as you can see he is a bit late, but he's gone now and he should be there in about five. He is wearing a black shirt and jeans and black shoes and looks normal.

Oh, Jesus! I thought. "Looks normal." I'm sure. What kind of hideous freak has she descended upon us? I started to put the pieces together. Canadian, looks normal. "We are looking for a man in a toque." I declared. "Keep your eyes peeled."

Jim walked up to the pub wearing a brown shirt, jeans and black shoes. He looked very normal.

"You must be Jim." I said, "You look very normal."

"Oh, thank you," he said. "Am I late?" It was 7:30 exactly.

"Extremely," I said, "but luckily we have five more pubs to go, and by then we'll be truly cultured." He looked confused.

"This is a Literary Pub Crawl, after all."

At every stop on the pub crawl there was a quiz. What relative of Kittie Kiernan owned The Duke Pub during the War of Independence? What sport did Oscar Wilde play at Trinity College? What Irish-American is buried in the same Parisian cemetery as Oscar Wilde? What was the original name of The Old Stand Pub on Exchequer St (one of the stops on the pub crawl)? Which member of The Beatles wrote a play with Samuel Beckett? What was Brendan Behan's position on the soccer field? And so on. Kelly was illicitly and clandestinely "texting" us the answers by cell phone the entire night, but in the final trivia showdown of the evening, back at The Duke, without the ability to contact Kelly we ended up losing to a young couple from Malta. The Maltese are nothing if not clever.

During the pub crawl we stopped in front of the Dublin Tourist Centre located in a Protestant Church that was abandoned by the British long ago, and the mention of Eamon de Valera during a history lesson met with angry drunken jeering from some of the lovely people that populate the streets of Dublin.

"Are you talkin bout de Valera?!"

"I am indeed." Our host and guide said diplomatically.

"That American bastard sold us out! I know me history. That fuckin Yankee. I know me history. That fuckin Yankee sold out the republic!"

And so on.

De Valera was the only signatory on the original 1916 Irish Declaration of Independence (that I posted on my kitchen wall in Toronto) to survive the revolt. The British executed the other fourteen leaders in the courtyard at Kilmainham Gaol, including James Connolly, the great socialist labor leader, who was so badly injured from the battle at the General Post Office (GPO) on O'Connell St that they had to strap him to a chair before they could shoot him. When the British found out that de Valera was an American citizen, born in NYC in 1882, they decided it would be politically unpopular in England to shoot him so they let him live. Kilmainham Gaol's final prisoner was, ironically, de Valera, the once and future president, imprisoned by his fellow republicans and former comrades in the new Irish Free State for his violent opposition to the treaty. According to Fianna Fail supporters Micheal Collins sold out the republic when he signed the Treaty.

It is therefore my assertion that the drunken Irishman did not know his history after all.

Jim Bryson is a mild-mannered Canadian folk musician hailing from Ottawa, Ontario, and he is currently in Ireland touring with Josh Ritter (http://www.joshritter.com/historical/), who is promoting his new album The Historical Conquests of Josh Ritter, which received a three star review from The Irish Times. You can listen to Josh Ritter's new album on his web page. Jim actually toured with David Myles recently. Jim is a good friend of JB Bartlett and knows more people in Fredericton than I do. He is truly an honorary Frederictonian (a dis-honorary Frederictonian he later corrected me). He proved his home-town credentials at one point by casually referencing The Cabin in the middle of a conversation.

When the pub crawl was over we were about 5 pints of Guinness into things and Jim was keen to catch the Charlie Parr (http://www.charlieparr.com/) show at Crawdaddy, a famous music venue in Dublin. Charlie is a talented self-deprecating musician from Minnesota. He is a big burly man with a huge frame and a huge beard. His music is a brilliant combination of bluegrass, blues, country, ragtime and folk. He has an amazing blues voice and an amazing stage presence. I would later realize that in reality he is a "shy and confused individual," but he is one of the very best American blues musicians I have ever had the pleasure to see perform live.

The biography on his web page reads:

"Charlie Parr has failed at most things in his life. Music seems to have rendered him unemployable and is the only thing he's ever done with any confidence. A lot of folks have been saying nice things about Charlie, despite the lingering odors and indecipherable comments he makes. It says a lot about folks; they're hanging in there with him, in spite of himself."

After the show we went to The Bleeding Horse Pub on Upper Camden St, probably the most famous literary pub in the city, written about extensively by various authors, including James Joyce, but somehow not on the pub crawl, for a pint with Jim Bryson and Charlie Parr and some other local musicians, and I asked Charlie if he was familiar with R.L. Burnside (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R.L._Burnside).

"Oh yeah! I love R.L. Burnside and all that old Mississippi blues." He said, peaking interest out of a solid beer fog.

"I love that story he tells on the live album!" said Charlie, smiling mischievously.

It just so happens that my mother introduced me to R.L. Burnside this summer, and his classic blues masterpiece, Burnside on Burnside. For the first time Charlie seemed awake and interested and I was eager to hold his attention, so I recited the story for our small group of late night drinkers at the Bleeding Horse:

One day a father tells his son to go out and find himself a wife. So the boy brings a young girl home to meet his parents. After seeing the girl his father says "Oh no son, you can't marry that girl!" And the son says, "Why not?" And the father says, "Because she yo sister, but yo momma don't know it!" So a few weeks later the boy brings home another girl, and after seeing the second girl his father says, "Oh no son, you can't marry neither one of them there girls, because they both them yo sister, but yo momma don't know it!" So a few weeks later the boy's mother asks him, "Hey son, you didn't like either one of them there girls enough to get married?" And the son says, "Oh no momma, I liked both of them there girls, but daddy says I can't marry 'em because he says they both my sister, but you don't know it." And the mother says, "You listen here, you can marry any one of them girls you wanna, because he's not your daddy, but he don't know it!"

Charlie Parr and his friends from Northern Ireland were very nice people and we had a very good time, post-literary pub crawl, and Heather, Jim and I walked home very late and very drunk and very happy. It had been a fulfilling cultural experience.

"That pub crawl was the first tourist thing I have ever done." Jim said.

"I don't believe you Jim," I said, "I wish you wouldn't lie."

"No it's true, I never do tourist things when I'm on the road."

"Alright Kerouac," I said, "it was nice to meet you," I gave him a hug. "But you keep awful company and your taste in music is atrocious."

"Really?" He said, "what should I do?"

"Leave this country immediately," I advised. "And start listening to more Thin Lizzy."

THE END.

I will now leave you with some cryptic Irish proverbs, which can be found on sugar packages across the country:

Nil aon leigheas ar an ngra ach posadh.

"The only cure for love is marriage."

Nior bhris focal maith fiacal riamh.

"A good word never broke anyone's teeth."

And my personal favourite, Chuirfeadh se cosa faoi chearca guit.

"He would put legs under a chicken."

(WTF?)

With Love From Baile Atha Cliath, Eireann,

MDP

"After tonight I'm not going to drink any more, unless I'm by myself, or either with somebody."
-R.L. Burnside