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Remains of an old Irish lot

It’s here again. As I write this it’s here, and as you read this, it’s over. It’s St. Patrick’s feast day, that day when the first born on American soil celebrated by cooking up corned beef and cabbage, and when my grandfather slammed his beer glass down on the bar at Skeeter O’Neils and shouted, “Tell me again just exactly who it was who could afford corned beef?”

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