Today is the 157th (or 149th?) birthday of McSorley's Old Ale House, the venerable establishment that the indispensable Joseph Mitchell once described as "a drowsy place; the bartenders never make a needless move, the customers nurse their mugs of ale, and the three clocks on the walls have not been in agreement for many years." Seven years ago, Mayor Bloomberg officially declared today McSorley's Day, and EV Grieve once again reminds us the East 7th Street institution will be celebrating all day today. Here's another priceless excerpt form Mitchell's McSorley's Wonderful Saloon:
The backbone of the clientele is a rapidly thinning group of crusty old men, predominantly Irish, who have been drinking there since they were youths and now have a proprietary feeling about the place. Some of them have tiny pensions, and are alone in the world; they sleep in Bowery hotels and spend practically all their waking hours in McSorley's.
Women are now allowed over the threshold, but ladies, watch out for that cat. Also, watch out for nationalistic sing-a-longs of the Star Spangled Banner. We're a long way from Woddy Guthrie and e.e. cummings.
