Over P. J. Clarke's Bar Read online

  Over

  P. J. Clarke's Bar

  * * *

  Over

  P. J. Clarke's Bar

  TALES FROM

  NEW YORK CITY'S FAMOUS SALOON

  * * *

  HELEN MARIE CLARKE

  Copyright © 2012 by Helen Marie Clarkes

  All photos ©Helen Marie Clarke unless otherwise noted

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any

  manner without the express written consent of the publisher,

  except in the case of brief excerpts in critical reviews or articles.

  All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing,

  307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Clarke, Helen Marie.

  Over P. J. Clarke's Bar: Tales from New York City's Famous Saloon/Helen

  Marie Clarke.

  pages cm

  ISBN 978-1-62087-197-3 (hard cover: alk. paper)

  1. P. J. Clarke's Bar (New York, N.Y.)–History. 2. Irish

  Americans–New York (State)–New York–Social life and

  customs. 3. New York (N.Y.)–Social life and customs–20th

  century. 4. Bars (Drinking establishments)–New York (State)–New

  York–History. I. Title.

  TX950.57.N7C53 2012

  647.95747–dc23

  2012025442

  Printed in the United States of America

  Over P. J.'s is dedicated to the Clarke family, especially to my parents, Helen and John Clarke, who were elegant and generous, and led their lives with integrity. Years ago they were the first to hear how much I wanted to tell the tale of P. J. Clarke's and the family who lived over the saloon. My husband, John Molanphy, and our three sons, Paul, Brian, and Tom, gave me the kind of support I needed to write this book.

  Many thanks go to my first editor, Vanessa Fox O'Loughlin, for her patience and intelligence. Vanessa is located in Dublin and can be reached at www.ie.writing.com. I am also grateful for the excellent editing and guidance from senior editor Jennifer McCartney at Skyhorse Publishing.

  Souvenir of the Boys From Our Place—P. J. Clarke S. and B. Association

  * * *

  COMPLIMENTS OF-

  P. J. CLARKE

  915 THIRD AVENUE

  TELEPHONE. J 609 PLAZA

  Miles' Cream Ale shall never fail to quench a thirsty throttle,

  The imported wines are very fine to make the weary frisky,

  But there is nothing made that can compare or equal Clarke's whiskey,

  As they all say Clarke's for good whiskey it is a household expression and a family suggestion

  To beat Clarke's whiskey is out of the question

  With a Patrick Henry Cigar.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter One | Through the Ladies' Entrance

  Chapter Two | The Second-Floor Flat Over P. J.'s

  Chapter Three | City on a Still

  Chapter Four | New Beer Day

  Chapter Five | New York's Finest

  Chapter Six | The Little Bar That Could

  Chapter Seven | Lost Weekend

  Chapter Eight | Birds' Eye View

  Chapter Nine | Return to Clarke's Bar

  Chapter Ten | The Little Bar That Still Could

  Author Biography

  A New York History Viewing List

  Introduction

  WHAT IS IT ABOUT P. J. CLARKE'S MANHATTAN SALOON THAT HAS attracted the likes of Frank Sinatra, Marilyn Monroe, Jacqueline Kennedy, Nat King Cole, Rocky Graziano, Johnny Carson, Woody Allen, and Buddy Holly? There are few bars that match the clientele at Clarke's for both diversity and fame—working-class folks, entertainers, athletes, business executives, and members of New York society—all enjoying an escape from modern life in an Irish bar located in one of the oldest Victorian buildings still in use, next to a forty-seven-story high-rise on 3rd Avenue and East 55th Street. In a city known for tearing down its old buildings, P. J. Clarke's is special.

  Celebrities who frequent P. J. Clarke's include athletes such as Wayne Gretsky and Barry Switzer, as well as entertainers such

  Welcome to P. J. Clarke's – 2012

  as Sigourney Weaver, Ben Kingsley, Tony Bennett, Sharon Stone, Peter O'Toole, and Michael Flatley of Riverdance fame. Despite having diverse careers, these athletes, musicians, and actors have one thing in common—they love P. J. Clarke's. I too have had a love affair with the saloon founded by my granduncle, Patrick Joseph Clarke, (aka “Paddy”) 100 years ago, in l912, and now owned by Clarke's Group.

  The Irish call their pubs a “third place.” The pub is neither a home, the first place, nor work, place number two—it is a third place, a neutral ground. The pub erases the distinction between a host and a guest, unlike a private party or gathering. For the Irish, conversation in the pub is the primary activity, along with drinking; the best pub is family owned and operated and is unpretentious with modest decor. And, best of all, the Irish pub lets people be playful and feel at home.

  P. J. Clarke's playfulness was what made my granduncle's saloon the best third place for me, a location where I can never remember being unhappy—and it had nothing to do with the alcohol. Rather, it is the history and the charm of Clarke's that so many people (myself included) have enjoyed. And the food is reasonable and good and the conversation lively. Perhaps the celebrities who flock to P. J. Clarke's are especially in need of a third place because they often live in a fsh bowl—they too like its playful atmosphere and, in turn, we ordinary folks enjoy rubbing elbows with them.

  P. J. Clarke's was founded by an Irishman almost “straight off the boat.” On the day in l912 when my granduncle took possession of the saloon, which had been serving alcohol since 1884, he had a sign-maker paint gold letters spelling clarke's on the window. Above the saloon were several fats—one of them rented by Paddy himself, which he later shared with my grandparents, James and Mary Clarke, and their six sons, the eldest of whom was my father, John. The Clarke family lived over the saloon from l916 until l937—hence the title for this memoir.

  Paddy Clarke's neighborhood saloon survived Prohibition and evolved into one of the most popular watering holes in New York City. After Paddy died in l948, his nephew, Charlie Clarke, stayed on as manager under the new owners, the Lavezzo family; it was under their leadership that the saloon became known as the “little bar that could.” Beyond withstanding the Prohibition years, the saloon survived East Side Manhattan development in the l960s, and bankruptcy in the l990s—and today it is an Upper East Side historical landmark.

  In l945, when a glass of beer cost $.15 and a shot of whiskey $.35, Hollywood director Billy Wilder used P. J. Clarke's mahogany bar as a setting for his film, The Lost Weekend, a story about an alcoholic writer. My granduncle would have been surprised that The Lost Weekend was not the only film to use his bar as a locale. The main character in French Connection II, Popeye Doyle,

  The current sign outside P. J. Clarke's – 2012

  asks for a P. J. Clarke's hamburger while in rehab. The l990s film The Insiders, a true tale about a tobacco company whistleblower, features a cameo appearance by
Daily News journalist Pete Hamill, standing in front of the mahogany bar at P. J. Clarke's.

  If you listen closely to the film you can hear actor Al Pacino say to a reporter, “Let's meet at P. J.'s.” The 2006 film Infamous also has a scene where actors, playing the roles of the writer Truman Capote and his friend Harper Lee, author of To Kill a Mockingbird, are lunching at P. J. Clarke's on hamburgers and beer.

  Indeed, P. J. Clarke's Bar has been celebrated in many ways. The November 27, 1971 cover of the New Yorker had a drawing of the front bar at P. J. Clarke's by the noted cartoonist Saxon. (The New Yorker was founded in the l920s when Uncle Paddy had turned his saloon into a speakeasy out of necessity.) Later, Leroy Neiman, well-known sports artist, painted a picture of famous customers, including Jacqueline Kennedy, Frank Sinatra, and New York Governor Hugh Carey, sitting at P. J. Clarke's. Other artists produced images of the outside of the saloon that were printed on Christmas cards.

  In the Broadway play, Barefoot in the Park, the lead character says, “Do you know, in P. J. Clarke's last New Year's Eve, I punched an old woman?” A famous song, “One for My Baby (and One More for the Road),” was composed by Johnny Mercer, while leaning on the bar at P. J. Clarke's. Author Jacqueline Susann mentioned P. J. Clarke's in her l969 novel, The Love Machine. Most recently, the television show, Mad Men, a 1960s period piece, featured the Sterling Cooper advertising agency employees enjoying happy hour at P. J. Clarke's.

  All over the world people gather in bars and cafés to tell their stories and forget their cares. In Manhattan, bars are important for networking and social climbing—and because most people living in small apartments want to gather elsewhere. P. J. Clarke's is heaven for talkers, their heads bent around tables close together. Even in its early days, my granduncle's saloon offered customers an entry into another world, one of Irish bartenders and portraits of Irish revolutionaries; in the years since, the successive owners have kept the ambiance of the place and built on it. Besides the celebrities, what makes Clarke's bar distinct is that it was not just a bar, but a home. Welcome to the story of P. J. Clarke's.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Through The Ladies' Entrance

  IT WAS A MILD DAY IN OCTOBER 2011 WHEN I APPROACHED THE East 55th Street entrance of P. J. Clarke's, known as the “ladies' entrance” in a prior era. I was in Manhattan for my high school reunion at Dominican Academy on East 68th Street, as well as for a video interview about my granduncle, Patrick Joseph Clarke, and his saloon.

  Paddy Clarke was an Irish immigrant from the town of Cloonlaughil in County Leitrim who arrived in New York in 1902, at age twenty-three. According to my Uncle Joe Clarke, he worked at the 19th-century saloon, originally designed by beer baron George Ehret, and saved enough money to buy the place in l912 from the owner at the time, a Mr. Jennings. Uncle Paddy may have received financial help from a local brewer in exchange for offering

  The author as a young girl

  a particular brand of beer—many saloon owners sought this kind of assistance. However, there is no doubt that Paddy was a careful, thrifty man, and this allowed him to purchase a business at a time when incomes were very low.

  As I opened the dark oak door on 55th Street, many memories returned to me—stretching from the 1940s all the way to the 1970s, when my husband John Molanphy worked here.

  In 1943, my heart would beat fast in my five-year-old body when my father approached the side door to the saloon next to the shoeshine stand on 55th Street that had operated since the l920s. Beyond the stand, where men got their nickel's worth of polishing, were the two steel cellar doors for delivery of liquor and food. In l902, when Uncle Paddy first worked at the saloon, there were many shops along 3rd Avenue as well as plenty of other saloons, breweries such as Peter Doelger's, and even slaughterhouses. Hundreds of immigrants lived in the neighborhood, and they all liked drinking together and telling stories.

  I found it exciting and mysterious to come to this place where my granduncle Paddy reigned. In those days it was the custom for the children in Irish families to accompany the adults to a saloon. Because of Uncle Paddy's rule against women entering and sitting at the main bar, my parents, my maternal grandmother, and I always used this side door on 55th Street—the “ladies' entrance.”

  Helen Marie with parents John and Helen Clarke – l941

  Uncle Paddy had a reason for his strict rule about where females could enter and sit—he didn't want his saloon to be a hangout for local prostitutes. He wasn't alone in providing a special space for couples; unaccompanied women were not welcome in many saloons of that period. In fact, in the early 1900s, many New York women would not enter a saloon for fear of being labeled a prostitute, because some enterprising Manhattan saloons provided a back room for streetwalkers to meet customers.

  Later I learned that this male-only custom at various bars in New York, such as McSorley's, originated in Ireland. Irish fathers liked to take their sons to a bar for their first drink—a rite of passage from boyhood to manhood. In a country dominated by the English, drinking became a symbol of “Irishness” and masculinity. Uncle Paddy's “no women at the bar” rule was simply reflective of the culture at the time. In Ireland these ladies' entrances that led to anterooms for women only were known as “snugs.”

  This rule at P. J. Clarke's lasted longer than it did at other saloons, but it was changed in the l960s when several women appeared one day and stood in protest at the front bar. During my visit in October 2011, it was clear that even the saloon workforce had become integrated—there were women hostesses, as well as several barmaids and waitresses.

  When I was a child, however, the gender restriction was quite clear, so I would skip through the ladies' entrance and run up to Uncle Paddy, standing by the bar, welcoming me with his broad grin. I liked older people, especially when they smiled as much as Uncle Paddy did. I felt happy in his saloon.

  Moving inside, the darkness of the saloon surrounded us, but Uncle Paddy's brilliant white hair always seemed to brighten the place. After Uncle Paddy greeted us, whoever was behind the bar that day would wave to me. The bartenders were usually burly men with accents that I came to know as Irish—a brogue, my dad told me. Other men holding glasses of alcohol in front of them stood at the mahogany bar with their feet on the brass rail, and they turned toward us with curiosity. The smell of beer hung in the air.

  As soon as we arrived, Uncle Paddy dropped a quarter in the jukebox, and the Irish songs began. Then he took our orders— usually ham and cheese sandwiches on rye bread, Manhattan cocktails for the three adults, and a Coke for me. Today P. J. Clarke's has a much more diverse menu that has grown and developed over the years, but still retains that wholesome, down-to-earth favor.

  I remember one particular occasion when, feeling restless after we had finished our lunch, I sidled up to my granduncle.

  “Uncle Paddy, do you think you could walk with me into the big bar?” I was fascinated by this area that was off-limits to girls.

  Uncle Paddy threw his head back and laughed. “Sure, Marie, let's go.”

  The whiskey selection at the modern-day P.J. Clarke's Bar – 2012

  Strolling into the front bar, holding my granduncle's hand, I examined the huge beveled-glass mirror at the back of the bar. Then I caught sight of two fags—one was American and the other, which I knew to be Irish, had green, orange, and white stripes. Hanging beside the fags were framed photographs of three smartly dressed men.

  “Look at them, Marie. That's Robert Emmet on the left, Michael Collins next to him, famous Irishmen. And you know who the third one is on the right.”

  “Abraham Lincoln,” I said proudly. “And what's that fourth picture with all the writing on it?”

  Uncle Paddy chuckled.

  “That's the Proclamation of Independence from the l9l6 Easter Rising in Ireland.”

  This was a foreign piece of information. That day Uncle Paddy discovered that my Irish American family had not passed on much of the Irish heritage. He may have already mourne
d the fact that we did not bake soda bread or learn step dancing—and certainly it was a disappointment that we did not know a great deal about Irish history.

  Uncle Paddy was showing his support of the Irish nationalists by hanging the Proclamation of Independence over the bar. The year l916 was a turbulent one at home in Ireland due to an Easter Monday rebellion against Britain led by Padraic Pearse, James Connolly, Constance Markiewicz, and many others. But when the British made martyrs out of fifteen leaders, shooting them in Kilmainham Jail without a trial—one of them, James Connolly, wounded and with gangrene, tied to a chair—they set off a strong reaction among the Irish at home who had at first opposed the Easter uprising.

  The British executions also horrified Irish immigrants like my uncle who were the most vociferous anti-English voices. The 1916 Irish leader Padraic Pearse once said that without the support of Ireland's “exiled children in America,” the Easter Rising could not have taken place, nor the continuation of the rebellion afterwards. Having left their colonized island, these immigrants tended to blame any problem they had on English rule, for they were acutely conscious that the Irish had not gained the same freedom as the Americans who had fought and won their independence from Britain.

  Their nationalist efforts also provided the new Irish immigrants with excellent experience in building voluntary associations and writing newspaper editorials and articles. The cause of Irish nationhood bound them together. While Uncle Paddy and my grandparents had lost the solidarity of village life when they emigrated, Irish nationalism became a substitute in their fraternal societies, their newspapers, their lodges, and especially their saloons.