The Car Mor

The Car Mor The nineteen fifties saw me arriving In New York the Car Mor was my savior after work On 207th street in the Inwood part of the City lay this Irish bar that was never really pretty It didn’t need to be as it was strictly a mans bar a little rough and tumble if you went too far But for most, it helped to get rid of ups and downs and changed heavy problems to just nagging frowns There were characters galore, mostly from the auld sod one sticks out in my memory and deserves my head nod His name was Mike Carmody, a carpenter by trade he didn’t get along with work, he preferred to read in the shade During sing song times he would close his eyes and push his head back as if looking at the skies The songs he chose were sad and quite long so one night we all left the bar in the middle of his song He was given it his all as we stole out the front door it was something that could happen, only in the Car Mor From the street outside we looked in at Carmody holding our sides laughing at this wonderful comedy As his song came toward the end with his arms stretched high we roared with more laughter as he opened one eye Realizing what had happened he began to rage and shout he quickly closed the front door and locked us all out Next he went inside the counter and from the top shelf took a bottle of Jamison’s and poured for himself We could not get back in, as he held the key while pouring from the bottle looking at us with glee The bartenders red face and the language from is mouth could be heard for miles through the north and south The police arrived, someone gave them a call they thought it was murder, until they heard it all They got through a window in the back of the bar and carried out Carmody to their police car The crowd took the blame as Mike slumped on the seat they carried him home and he fell asleep Michael Christopher Daly Dec.13, 2008