The watchin’ of the green

On a day when it persistently snowed it was hardly the best place, exposed as it was to a biting wind from the wide cross street on an unseasonably cold March 17. Many of those pressed two or three deep against these police barriers, near the Trump Tower, were visitors, there to view the spectacle, not to make noise. Among them were three young Englishmen of different racial backgrounds and two Asian women who conversed in their own language.
A local woman in her 50s, with a green carnation in her lapel, and accompanied by two younger women, struck up a conversation with a young couple from the South. She was impressed that they were in New York to see the parade, though nothing about their attire suggested that they came just for that.
She explained much of what passed by: “Oh there’s Mike Sheehan,” she said at one point.
She recounted his story: how he was a detective and then became an investigative reporter for Channel 5. “He’s a nice, nice man,” she said.
“They must be absolutely freezing,” said one of the Englishmen, stating the obvious about bear-legged high school band members.
Then came the long blue line, and things picked up. But this corner was still quiet.
As they passed, members of the NYC Auxiliary Police Department looked to the crowd, which in turn looked beyond them to the next band. Except that is for the two Asian women, who picked that moment to wave, catching the eyes of a few auxiliary policemen, who waved back in delight.
The spectators got a little restless as the United Irish Counties and the first of the societies, Roscommon, passed. There were surely better things to do in the snow than watch civilians walk on Fifth Avenue?
But another band approached, playing “Danny Boy,” and everyone was happy again.
And the patience of this corner’s tall, gray-haired marshal was tried too. At one point he indicated that a group of youths, walking ahead of their school’s band, should have reacted more quickly, taking advantage of the stop light in their favor. But they were awaiting instructions from elsewhere.
An older man and woman, both apparently Irish American and from Manhattan, talked city politics. They spotted Gov. George Pataki, but, oddly, not the tallest ever mayor of New York, Ed Koch.
Some of the bystanders speculated about what Mayo meant.
And then the stylish Xavier High School Blue Knights Cadet Band prefaced an emotional high point — the sizable FDNY Color Guard carrying huge American flags. “That’s the clip for tonight’s news,” the older woman said to her companion. Then came the FDNY members, thousands of them.
They got the crowd going, inviting them to cheer and applaud. There were calls of “Charlie.” One firefighter broke ranks and hugged the marshal. Others emerged to shake his hand.
The Asian women had gone by now; so had the older couple. The woman with the carnation said she was leaving, but one of the younger women said she’d stay for a bit. Two more Englishmen arrived; their compatriots were soon to leave. One was short, fair-haired and about 30. He found a spot at the police barrier and directed his camera.
There were more calls to Charlie. Even above the din, it was clear that he was someone to know. The marshal beamed. The snow got heavier but everyone’s mood was lighter.
The girlfriend of the short, fair-haired man arrived. He pointed to the tall figure about 15 feet away. “That’s Charlie. You know Charlie, don’t you?” More shouts of recognition to the marshal. A firefighter ran up and kissed him.
“He’s the most famous man in New York,” the girlfriend said.
“We’ll have to have our picture taken with him,” said their friend.
Another joined them, and the four visitors sang a familiar and adaptable soccer chant. “We love you, Charlie, we do, We love you, Charlie, we do . . . ” But he didn’t hear it. The noise levels had picked up.
A couple of teenage girls further along screamed at each passing contingent. Young women shouted “nice legs” at middle-aged pipers.
People crossing the street reached for cameras in pocketbooks and pockets and snapped pictures of pipe bands bearing down upon them.
A young man joined the quiet corner and decided to get into the spirit of things. He didn’t look Irish and had nothing green on him but he shouted encouragement at a passing high-school band from New Hampshire: “Yeah, Londonderry, go Londonderry.” A female teacher or parent ran from the parade hugged him and put a string of green beads around his neck. He immediately walked away, down the street, looking pleased with himself and his gift.
A lone firefighter walking against the stream was wolf-whistled.
People kept a lookout for suburban police bands and marchers they knew. “Denis, Denis,” one woman screamed. Denis waved and smiled. “Did he see you?” her friend inquired.
“Hey, look at that dude,” someone said at the sight of particularly large drum major.
Spectators now were offended if marchers looked too serious or if they talked on cell phones or if they didn’t keep a smart pace.
“Very nice, now keep moving,” shouted one woman.
A kilted pipe-band passed, impressive in a striking red-and-blue plaid, and yellow ribbon in their socks. They played “Wearin’ of the Green.”
Though keeping a low profile, police on all corners ensured that the two-way vehicular traffic flowed smoothly. And, with the marshals, guided the hundreds that crossed in four directions every few minutes.
One imagined that if a pipe band ran into a pedestrian it would set off an unfortunate and unseemly domino effect, with piper falling upon piper.
Helicopters came and went, but one decided to join in the parade, coming fast up Fifth Avenue, momentarily drowning out the Tietleman High School Band.
Then a siren was heard as the huge Kingston High School Tiger Band approached, impressive in their wine-colored caped outfits, which seemed perfect for the weather. The band kept going; the stoplight was in its favor but the siren got louder. The police quickly took up positions on the wet street, and somehow created a space, and the St. Vincent’s Hospital Midtown ambulance sped through. The wine-colored ribbon of musicians never stopped playing, and by some trick of the eye, never seemed to have stopped moving, despite having being perfectly dissected in two by the officers of the NYPD.
A couple with a teenage girl asked if we’d seen the Bishop Malloy High School pass. Their son was in the band. According to the official program, itself a little confusing, it was due behind the Tyrone Fife & Drum Corps. They were told that Tyrone went by about two hours ago. The man left. The woman and her daughter watched the parade. Then the woman jumped up and down excitedly when she saw the drum major of the Blackthorn Bagpipe Band, who, against all apparent tradition, was tiny and female.
The woman asked Charlie about Bishop Malloy. He told her it had gone by an hour ago. She instructed the girl to call her father to tell him.
The crowd had thinned. It was easier to ask Charlie questions. Somebody inquired about Fordham. An hour ago, he said again.
One hour was running into the other.
As the County Offaly Association approached the stoplight, it was waved on. But among the pedestrians quickly scrambling toward the sidewalk was a tiny, elderly woman limping with a walking stick. The police didn’t see her, nor the marshals. A few spectators did. “The old lady!” one shouted. But she disappeared safely from view and County Offaly made it through the parade without incident.
Now the counties, something of a distraction earlier, sustained the march. Big contingents from Cork and Kerry had their own bands. Some societies had a mere handful under their banner; others a respectable few dozen. But Sligo, Armagh, Waterford, Longford and Donegal impressed with large groups of civilians.
Some transit workers kissed and hugged Charlie, as the firefighters had. The high-school bands and the police bands and counties kept coming. And so did the snow.
All day, scores of people came to these couple of barriers, taking 10 or perhaps 30 minutes out of their day. It was clear from the body language of some that they’d happened upon the parade by accident but decided to stay for a while — like the Hispanic man in a mustard color suit who took photos with his digital camera and the young, smiling sandy-haired young woman with a peaked cap who stood apparently transfixed.
In the later stages, several groups of middle-aged Irish and Irish-American spectators came and went. Finally a woman from Putnam County who witnessed the parade from various points, and sheltered for a time in the entrance of the Trump Tower, found herself at the barrier with two friends. She’d decided not to march with the Catholic League this year because of the weather.
It was now over bar the shouting of the Celtic hordes, supporters of the Glasgow soccer club who took up the rear of the parade with the committee.
Five hours had passed and only Charlie — full name Charles Bohan — was there from beginning to end.
The Putnam stalwart said: “You should have brought a hat today.”
“Yeah. That was my one mistake,” he said.