Last call; for now. But … we don’t know
MIKE BURKE
Allegany Radio Corporation Sports
J.R. Moehringer wrote “The Tender Bar,” the brilliant homage to the culture of the local pub. It is must-read, because the culture of the local pub is must-live; and without it, we don‘t have kinship, we don’t have neighborhoods, we don‘t have the village. We don’t have each other.
In “The Tender Bar,” Moeheinger, the Pulitzer Prize recipient, writes, “We went there for everything we needed. We went there when thirsty, of course, and when hungry, and when dead tired. We went there when happy, to celebrate, and when sad, to sulk. We went there after weddings and funerals, for something to settle our nerves, and always for a shot of courage just before. We went there when we didn’t know what we needed, hoping someone might tell us. We went there when looking for love … or trouble, or for someone who had gone missing, because sooner or later everyone turned up there. Most of all we went there when we needed to be found.”
I went to Patrick’s Pub (shocking, right?) Monday afternoon not long after Maryland Governor Larry Hogan announced the state-wide closing of bars and restaurants.
Yes, of course, I went to have a pint or two; and a burger. Pub is short for Public House, after all … But I also went there to see what what was going on. I went there to see what people were thinking. And feeling.
Everybody was feeling something and nothing; nobody was complaining at all. For as Jean Marbella of the Baltimore Sun said, “They feed us, pour drinks and give us an escape from work and home — now they’ve been ordered closed to protect us.”
“What are you going to do?” the first bartender I spoke with, who is not an employee, but who is a regular customer at Patrick’s, offered rhetorically. “I’ve never been unemployed in my life. But, here I am.”
It was early afternoon, you see, and there was Gallows Humor in the air. Folks were numb; in shock, though they would never admit it was shock. Folks were wounded.
“Won’t be rolling silverware tonight …”
Children who live in the neighborhood came in to pick up the free lunches the staff at Patrick’s is preparing for them while there is no school, which is what you do when you are the public house in your neighborhood — you are there, as the hand of a friend is never far.
Emily, who is a manager at the pub, spoke to nobody in particular of the tension headache that had suddenly found her as she slowly rubbed her temples between paperwork:
“I can’t shake this headache …”
“What time do you get off?” she was asked.
Raising her eyes, as though to rediscover the time of day, she said, “I, uh … don’t know …”
It was 2 o’clock in the afternoon — roughly three hours after Governor Hogan made the announcement, and three hours before Last Call … for now.
What you heard being said, almost subconsciously, by those who were working, involved, “It feels like we’re in a movie.” … “This is really going on.” … “Surreal.” … “Wait a minute …”
The word “weird” was out there a lot. Plans for arranging unemployment benefits were overheard, as well.
“It doesn’t hurt to apply now …”
It was around 3 or 4 o’clock, and as shifts changed, so longs (never goodbyes in your neighborhood pub) were said for … who knows how long?
“Goodnight! See you … Stay in touch!”
Sean D’Atri is the owner of Patrick’s Pub and Eatery and he was pretty numb himself. Of course, why wouldn’t he be? He has roughly 50 employees to consider. And you’d have to be there to know — his employees are the great consideration.
“We’re able to stay open for carryout,” D’Atri said, “and we’re working on a plan for delivery. Carryout has grown bigger for us in the last month.”
D’Atri must have been asked a hundred questions by the patrons who where there but in low number, be they questions of business hours, the action by the government, what will and will not be permitted, the virus itself, or why the Lindbergh baby was ever kidnapped?
“We don’t know, yet,” is all Sean had.
It’s all any of us have.
Patrons began to leave. They wanted to do that before hearing “Last call!” and the parting amongst fellow patrons was … awkward.
“See ya.”
“Yeah.”
“Whattya mean?”
“What?”
“Whattya mean, ‘what?’ Whattya mean?”
“See, ya. That’s what I mean. What do I mean? Geesh. Get out of here, will ya?”
“You get out of here.”
“Yeah, yeah …”
Megan, who is a manager at Patrick’s, watched that, heard that and understood it. Everybody understands. Yet, nobody complains. Not at Patrick’s. Not on Monday, March 16, 2020 — when the bars closed the day before St. Patrick’s Day.
“John Lennon said it,” Megan said: “ ‘The more I see the less I know for sure’ ”
It was quittin’ time. But for how long? We don’t know.
Everybody other than the employees who were handling the carryout had left, before two gentlemen walked in and asked for menus.
“Sorry,” Sean D’Atri said, “we’re closed. Unless you want carryout.”
At about 4:30 p.m., 30 minutes before “Last call!” one of the guys asked, “Can we order carryout and wait outside?”
After a brief pause, “Yeah, go ahead,” D’Atri said. “We’ll bring it out.”
And they went outside. And then Sean D’Atri said to me, “I don’t know … I’m just trying to keep people working.”
Mike Burke writes about sports for Allegany Radio and Pikewood Digital. He began covering sports for the Prince George’s County Sentinel in 1981 and joined the Cumberland Times-News sports staff in 1984. He was the sports editor of the Times-News for nearly 30 years. Contact him at [email protected] and follow him on Twitter @MikeBurkeMDT