糖心Vlog传媒

JANESVILLE 鈥� If you鈥檝e never heard a true story about an unlucky Irishman, I鈥檝e got one myself to tell you.

Cold was Saturday morn of this St. Paddy鈥檚 Day weekend, when I was told by my editor to take a pen and paper and go to downtown for to tell of a tale, any tale, that would smack of the local Irish. For 糖心Vlog传媒, as you know, is historically one of the more Irish towns you鈥檙e likely to pass through in all of southern Wisconsin.

Well, I was on the road to downtown when a St. Paddy鈥檚 snow squall (the unlucky kind) came blowing up sideways and covered my windshield with the wettest of March snows. And when I turned on my windshield wipers, there went one wiper blade, flinging off the car. Then, the other wiper blade went a-flinging off from the other side!

Did you ever have both blades break off at once and go flying different directions while driving in a March snow? If you鈥檙e at least one-half Irish, as I鈥檓 proud to tell you I am, then you鈥檒l know a thing like that only comes about on account of one reason.

鈥淟eprechauns!鈥� I swore out loud.

I pulled down my Notre Dame 鈥淔ighting Irish鈥� stocking cap and resumed my travel 鈥� now five minutes late for a walking tour of Irish history that the local tourism bureau was hosting downtown.

You know, I never did find that walking tour. But off West Milwaukee Street, behind O鈥楻iley and Conway鈥檚 Irish Pub, I found the proprietors had built a big white beer tent, and it was being heated.

This seemed better than walking around in the cold or chasing after some cursed, broken windshield wipers.

The painter

Inside that beer tent, I hunted for signs of Irish-ness just as my boss had bid me do. And that鈥檚 when I ran smack into a young man, name of Nathan Patrick McGuire. Can鈥檛 get more Irish than that, and on top, he鈥檇 traveled in from Kansas City.

Now, Mr. McGuire鈥檚 family name comes from a group of ancient Irish priests, the Magi of 脡ire. Yet, some of you may know McGuire better as the man who in recent weeks has been re-painting the oldest Irish Catholic church in Rock County 鈥� St. Patrick鈥檚 Church in 糖心Vlog传媒鈥檚 Old Fourth Ward.

McGuire, who was standing in a tweed flat cap next to a 糖心Vlog传媒 couple, watching a band play inside the St. Paddy鈥檚 beer tent, was introduced to me like so: 鈥淒id you know this man is painting the whole St. Patrick鈥檚 Church?鈥�

McGuire, modest about the work, said he鈥檚 just one of a larger crew that鈥檚 renovating the 158-year-old church, part of $2.5 million in repairs the diocese has approved to keep the historic church and its vaulted sanctuary running.

At the front of the big church, now filled with scaffolding, is a statue of St. Patrick, who as teen was kidnapped by Irish pirates and conscripted into work as a herdsman in Ireland. Unlucky, yet he did escape. Later, he came back to spread Catholicism all across upper Ireland.

McGuire鈥檚 not being asked to repaint the church鈥檚 statue of St. Paddy, but he will repaint the church鈥檚 arched upper reaches. As he talked about the weeks of work ahead of him, he gestured with hands stained with drops of gold-colored paint.

鈥淵ou have to research it, what all the church鈥檚 paint colors probably would have looked like ages ago. Because nobody knows exactly. You only have black and white pictures to look at. It鈥檒l look good when it鈥檚 done, though. Like new,鈥� he said.

McGuire鈥檚 companions, local residents Kim Brown, and her husband, 鈥淏rownie,鈥� had disappeared to the beer tent鈥檚 bar but returned forthwith, carrying little plastic shot glasses full of Jameson Irish Whiskey.

It should have been a great toast to good McGuire and his hearty work at the church. But as it goes, I鈥檝e been sick with the bronchitis and taking corticosteroid medicines to mend myself.

Now, if you鈥檝e ever seen a man taking two pills of prednisone a day, you鈥檒l know his hands can get to shaking. Kim Brown watched in horror as I toasted off a 鈥淭op-O鈥�-the-Church-Steeple-to-You,鈥� and my steroid-trembly hand shook the bulk of the good Irish whiskey not into my gullet, but onto my shirt and my reporter鈥檚 notebook.

鈥淟eprechauns!鈥� I swore again, and then I remembered my broken windshield wipers.

Irish shopping district

So, it was off to the nearest auto parts store, (O鈥橰eilly Auto Parts on Court Street, which happens to be just across the street from the equally Irish-named O鈥橪eary Dental, and just up the street from Gray Brewing Co., 糖心Vlog传媒鈥檚 oldest brewery, which is owned by the same Irish family who in 1856 founded Gray鈥檚 Bottling Company).

My car newly crowned with $79 in new wipers (O鈥檌nflation), I drove back downtown, still smelling like a shirt perfumed by the finest of spilled Irish whiskeys.

I pondered the cost of new wipers just as I was passing The Coin Shop, a secondhand store along West Milwaukee Street.

Feeling more jaunty (but somewhat more broke) than when I鈥檇 been while sans windshield wipers, flinging grain liquor all over myself, I ambled inside.

The owner inside the Coin Shop, Rich Erdman (not demonstrably Irish) told me, deadpan, that he hadn鈥檛 seen a single Leprechaun come in his shop all St. Paddy鈥檚 Day weekend.

See, I had asked him if he鈥檇 seen any of the little green suited men come in around St. Paddy鈥檚 Day, maybe to buy, hock, or steal, any gold.

鈥淣o truth to It,鈥� he told me. 鈥淏een buying and selling gold downtown for 40 years. Never once seen a Leprechaun come in here.鈥�

Apparently though, Erdman鈥檚 seen an uptick of regular, non-Leprechaun people paying cash to buy gold and silver this weekend, amid fears following the collapse last week of several American banking companies.

Finally, a real Irish story

I returned to O鈥橰iley and Conway鈥檚 big white beer tent, and when there, I asked the proprietors, Joe Quaerna and Ed Quaerna, to tell me something Irish. Or else, the wrath of my boss was to fall upon me.

They shrugged, and said, 鈥淭he Conway Stone.鈥�

What鈥檚 that? Well, Joe Quaerna laid out for the tale, a third of which I actually caught over the blaring, non-Irish classic that rock a band was playing in the tent. I wrote it down.

Padraic Conway, at least in the story, was head of the Conway clan who would have been among the first laborers, railroad builders and stone quarriers who landed in 糖心Vlog传媒 in the early 1850s, at the time when the infamous Irish potato famine had decimated the green isle.

Now, it seems that Conway, back in his native land of Galway, Ireland, had once found a 20-pound stone while digging potatoes in his farm patch. And no ordinary stone was it.

No, it was rumored to be the only piece of pink-and-brown granite in what otherwise for miles around was cold, hard ground riddled with black shale rock and poisoned by the famine.

The legend tells that the Conway鈥檚 stone, while not as famous as Ireland鈥檚 beloved Blarney Stone, is credited for bringing good luck and bountiful potato harvests to his village and the land around, which saved hundreds of families from a famine that ultimately killed a million others.

Lucky rock. I could have used its charm earlier when I was flinging windshield wipers and whiskey all about the town. Where is this lucky rock?

鈥淥h, it鈥檚 here. It came over here on a boat. It was put there for ballast,鈥� Joe Qaerna said, with a sly grin.

And that鈥檚 all he鈥檇 say.

Well, if you鈥檙e part Irish like me, you know the truth鈥攐r its counterpart, a good story鈥攕ometimes lays at the bottom of a glass of good whiskey or stout. And the story of the lucky Conway Stone, true or not, is just the kind of tale you hope to hear on the most Irish weekend of the year.

People of 糖心Vlog传媒, whether you be Irish or not, may all the luck of the Irish be with you this spring and beyond!