I don’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. Sorry, but I’m not Irish. Not even a wee bit. One of my best friends who is from Belfast doesn’t celebrate it either. So at least I am in good company.
That is not to say I haven’t had my share of corned beef and cabbage and green beer over the years. In fact, I drank so much green beer one year that I was still pissing it out the next morning, which scared the crap out of me.
But all these pseudo celebrations pale in comparison to my jaunt one year as the chauffeur for the Veneer Kings, two guys in Seattle who had a lot of money and who celebrated St. Patty’s Day from the McCrack of early to the McGloom of night with reckless abandon.
I was 22 the year I met the Veneer Kings. As their nickname would suggest, they made their fortune in veneers, that slivery thin wood that covers cheaper wood to make furniture. It is obviously a very profitable business.
They called my brother one day. It seems they had seen the tank around town and they wanted to use it for St. Patty’s Day.
Why? Well, if you saw it in color it was camouflaged… black, brown and green. OK, it wasn’t really because it was green. It was because it was so much fun to be seen in and it stopped traffic wherever it went.
As I’ve written about before, the tank was built by my brother Jeff and I when I was 18 or so. A summer project that spun totally out of control, like most Zerr projects. The Veneer Kings couldn’t wait to ride around in the turret and enjoy a day of drinking at their favorite establishments in Seattle.
On March 17 I hopped in the tank and drove to the rendezvous point in downtown Seattle. We were to meet in the Kingdome parking lot and head out from there. The Veneer Kings were a lot of fun. Initially I thought this was going to be a fairly boring day, but the Kings would have none of that.
So off we go. I don’t remember all of the stops we made that day, but there were many. If it had a vaguely Irish sounding name to it, we stopped there. I know that included Kells, the Owl & Thistle and FX McRorys. There were many more, trust me, for they had booked the tank and I for the better part of 12 hours.
These guys weren’t your average Fauxrish. They were full blooded Irish and they seemed to know everyone in town. Everywhere we went there were huge lines waiting to get in, even in the middle of the day. That didn’t bother the Veneer Kings. They just boldly made their way to the front of the line, greeted the doorman, palmed a $20 in their hand and walked right in.
Once inside, they would greet the owner and the bartender like old friends because they were.
Me, I stayed out in the tank for the first few stops. I knew my job. But it didn’t last very long. The Veneer Kings would have none of that. I was their new best buddy and they were going to ensure that I was Irish for the day, whether I liked it or not.
Even today I rarely turn down a free beer, but I didn’t think it very wise to be driving the tank around town while becoming increasingly intoxicated. The mere appearance of the tank was like having a big neon sign on your back that said, “Stop me!” To my credit I was only stopped once in the tank, by a police officer in Renton who hadn’t been told about the Zerr brothers and their whacky cars – which included a fire truck, super car we made for Rainier Beer, a 1950s black and white cop car and the tank. The officer wanted to know if the spun aluminum barrel mounted in the turret could shoot anything. I said, “No, of course not!” knowing that the rocket we had for it was in the trunk. Thankfully, he didn’t look any further and took me at my word.
But back the Veneer Kings. At McRory’s the Veneer Kings had the valet watch the tank in front and beckoned me to follow them. What else could I do? I went inside. The green beers began to arrive one after the other. Two, three, four. They were really mounting up. I grudgingly kept up with the Kings, who were toasting Ireland, the Irish, everyone in the bar and generally becoming the life of the party.
By now my head was spinning a bit, given the fact that I had only started drinking the year before and had absolutely tolerance level built up for green beer.
We jumped back in the tank. One of the Veneer Kings grabbed the army helmet and climbed up into the turret. Before I knew it he had jumped up top, sitting on the hatch, holding on by the .50 caliber machine gun I had crafted out of a fence post and post anchor. Thankfully, we weren’t going very fast through town or I might have lost my drink ticket for the day.
Off we went to the next place, then the next. The Veneer Kings didn’t bother with something so pedestrian as a green beer. They were drinking top shelf Irish whiskeys by the bucket full, literally.
By the third bar they couldn’t string five words together and I wasn’t much better. But no matter, for they were feted everywhere we went and it was the first time I had ever been in the presence of what could be thought of as local celebrities. And I was one by osmosis, at least for that one St. Patrick’s Day.
I guess that’s why I don’t celebrate the wearing of the green to this day. There is no way the day could ever be better than the year of the Veneer Kings and the Irish bars of Seattle.
Out on the Treasure Coast, going wine tasting this St. Patty’s Day and I’m assured there will be no green wines,
– Robb