I will celebrate St. Patrick’s Day along with everyone else. I have a fondness for the Irish. The current Mrs. Trout is half-Irish for starters. I also love Irish music. I have downloaded so much U2, the O’Jays, and Sinead O’Connor, that I can hardly lift my MP3 player. I find this music so irresistible that my cell phone even rings to the harmonious melody of Donovan McNabb’s “Mellow Yellow.” I even coaxed Mammy Trout to audition for the local production of “Schuylkill Riverdance,” at the Sovereign Majestic Theatre. Sadly, she was could not keep up with the others. She will stick to making me scrapple in the kitchen.
I also admire the Irish contributions to our political process. Don’t you? Some of the Irish will tell you that they get into politics as it beats working. Well, I don’t blame them. Government pensions can’t be beat.
My favorite Celtic politician is Mayor McCheese. I said Celtic politician as no one is quite sure if Mayor McCheese was Scottish or Irish. His honor single-handedly got rid of the Hamburglar to the relief of the citizenry and is considered the Rudy Giuliani of McDonaldland. That’s what I like about him. Next to him I like the late Richard Daley of Chicago.
I am digressing as I really want to tell you why I celebrate St. Patrick’s Day.
Last summer, I had trouble with snakes in my backyard. The snakes slithered their way down Sharp Mountain and onto my property. The current Mrs. Trout stepped on one while hanging her Irish linens one sunny Monday afternoon. She dropped her clothespins in panic and then called the police. With the help of their sketch artist, the snake was identified as a garter snake. Although it was not the Anaconda she feared, she wanted the snakes out of our yard.
“What does my snake problem have to do with St. Patrick?” you may ask. Well, I had heard that St. Patrick was famous for driving the snakes out of Ireland. I then thought to myself “if he could drive the snakes out of an island, then I could drive them out of my yard.”
*“Where would I drive them?” “How would I ever get them into my SUV?” Questions kept running through my mind.
I went to the Pottsville Library and read up on St. Patrick while other patrons played solitaire on the computers. I learned that Pat was born in Britain, the son of Roman official. His birth name was Maewyn Succat. I am glad that he changed his name, and I am sure thousands of youngsters named Patrick are also. At the age of sixteen, Irish pirates kidnapped him. There were no “amber alerts” or pictures on milk cartons in the Dark Ages. Life was cheap. As a result, he was kept as a slave for six years before fleeing and becoming a cleric. Later he returned to Ireland and converted the island to Christianity. While he did drive, his vehicle of choice was a chariot. Death occurred on March 17th, 493. Yes, March 17th is the anniversary of his death. I doubt that many realize this, as Patrick is largely overlooked on the anniversary of his death, pushed aside by the hoopla involving plastic green hats and beer.
As for the snakes, I learned that Patrick rang his bell and drove those serpents off the island and into the sea. Ireland now has no venomous snakes. Patrick is now considered the patron saint of ophidiophobics (those suffering from a fear of snakes) and also the patron saint of engineers. I don’t know why engineers, as trains had not been invented in his time. Not even steam locomotives.
I went home and tried ringing several different bells in my yard. No luck; the snakes remained. However, my yard became overrun with children looking for the Mister Softee ice cream truck. Now I was confronted with two types of unwanted pests.
A trip to Laudeman’s Pest Control did the trick. One problem was now solved. Now how do I get rid of those annoying children looking for ice cream?
I will go and watch the St. Patrick’s Day Parade from The Eagles Club and ponder a solution over a cold Yuengling beer and also raise my glass to a remarkable man - Maewyn Succat.
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