St. Patrick’s Day soon. March 17th. One day a year. A day of massive celebration for many.

I have spent my active partying St. Patrick Day’s in 3 communities. New York City. Key West and Utica, N.Y. All good. However some better than the others. The best New York City. Followed by Key West and Utica in that order.

Nothing could compare to New York City. Enjoyed my St. Patrick Days while attending college in New York. I recall one very clearly. I was in the ROTC at the time. Ergo I marched up 5th Avenue in Air Force attire. Loved it! Something special. Especially when we passed St. Patrick’s Cathedral and heard the sharp Eyes Right to honor the Cardinal!

The partying after the parade the absolute best. As only New York City could provide.

I recall one St. Patrick’s Day especially. We had planned where we would party. We needed a hotel room. Picked out the Biltmore. The problem was how to reserve the room, how to register, how for all of us to get to the room, how to get 3 suitcases full of booze to the room, how to get a ton of girls to the room. Not easy.

One of our group had a friend of his make a reservation through his father’s company in Philadelphia. He was a retired service man. Looked older than the rest of us. Show up at registration dressed like a business man. Homburg and all. Got away with the registration!

The problem were the suitcases loaded with booze. Heavy! I thought the bell man was going to get a rupture when he tried to pick them up.

Our dressed up person who had registered quickly went over and hand him a $20 bill. Big money in the mid 1950s. The bell man understood and handled the bags well thereafter.

I had a difficult time getting to the room several floors up. Note I was 19 or 20 and was dressed in an ROTC Air Force uniform. A dead give away for a college student.. The Biltmore was ready for people like us. The elevators were impossible to get on. The lobby stairs to the floors were guarded by Biltmore personnel. Ingenuity was called for.

I went to one stair case. The Biltmore guard easily recognized I was a student. As he took a step or two to stop me, I darted left as he moved right and ran behind him and up the stairs. The guard was probably 50 years old. He only lasted 2 floors before he gave up the chase. Nothing like youth to be a winner!

Several floors later, I made the room. Jam packed. Guys and girls. Wow, I thought. A great time ahead.

And it was.

I ended up in the bathtub with a lovely from Manhattanville. The curtain remained closed. We remained fully clothe. Only necking. Eventually she and I fell asleep.

Suddenly, the curtain was pulled and someone yelled…..What are you doing here?…..Get out! Three Biltmore older personnel were in the room. We were the only two students remaining. We had been overlooked when the crowd had been thrown out.

I was sober. The girl drunk. I dragged her down and over to Grand Central. I assumed she needed a train to Manhattanville. Fortunately we ran into several of her girl friends. They were happy to have found her, I was happy to get her off my hands.

The following weekend I went to a dance at Manhattanville hoping to run into my bathtub companion. I did. Went over to talk with her. She apparently did not like the way I looked. Did not recognize me at all. Gave me no time to bring to her attention the previous week. She left.

She really did not recognize me nor did I meet whatever her standards might have been. Manhattanville was a rich girls’ school, Manhattan College my school a poor boy’s school. The difference in our economic status was obvious. I was not Brooks Brothers attired. I was wearing a suit I had purchased for $15 from a factory outlet.

Such was life in those days.

At 90 years old, I will not be going to downtown Key West today. In fact, I have not celebrated a St. Patrick’s Day in years because of my age. No problem, I can live in my memories of them.

Enjoy your St. Patrick’s Day or memories of earlier happy ones!

Note: My apologies for getting the date of St. Patrick’s Day wrong. It’s the 17th, not the 15th. My good friends Fran and Tom Dixon from Buffalo let me know in a phone call I had erred. I find since the stroke, my mind makes these type errors.