St. Patrick’s Day

     There are a lot of legends about St. Patrick—much of it just so much blarney. Irish folklore has it that he raised people from the dead—he didn’t, and he didn’t run all the snakes out of Ireland—there were no snakes native to Ireland. One bit of St. Pat folklore is true; he did use the traditional three-leafed shamrock in a sermon to explain the Holy Trinity, and he almost didn’t get the appointment as Bishop of Ireland because of lack of education. Born in Wales, St. Patrick died March 17, AD461 at the age of 76, but the day didn’t become one of celebration in the US until 1737 and was probably celebrated by going to church. Back then, with the exception of the town drunk—and every town had one—the Puritans didn’t approve of public guzzling. Eventually, however, the party-loving Irish turned the day into a celebration of everything Irish, making it the one day of the year when it’s taken for granted that everyone has a bit of the Irish flowing through their veins. March 17 is also the day we wear something green, and sing off-key versions of “Danny Boy” and “Who Threw the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder.” All this singing creates a mighty thirst which we Irish—either by birth or simply association—slake by drinking lots of green beer and chowing down on corned beef, boiled potatoes and cabbage. In Mexico, the day is set aside to honor the San Patricio Brigade—the Irishmen who fought alongside the Mexicans in the Mexican-American War of 1847.