Mike Houlihan at Dingle Pub

Houli Stops Drinking!! Happy St. Patrick’s Day

By Mike Houlihan

March 17th, 2025

March 17, 2025, will be the first “dry” St. Patrick’s Day for me in over 60 years. I probably didn’t start drinking on the high holy day until the age of oh, around 14, I guess.

And that’s conservative, cuz I can think of another unseemly habit I started as early as age eleven. And it wasn’t smoking.

Regardless, I have concluded that 76 years of age is the time to STOP the boozing.

I haven’t had a drink since Nov. 14, 2024, so I’m buoyed by my sobriety. My first inclination to quit occurred back in April when myself and old pals Pete Nolan and Denny Kearns were honored with “Irish American Hero Awards” in Buffalo NY at an event sponsored by The Irish Echo newspaper.

We had a blast that weekend carousing and drinking, but after mega “sharting” TWICE that weekend, I decided to cut back on the ol’ Guinness “scutter.” I only brought two pairs of pants to Buffalo, so I had to spend most of one entire day going over my bruised khakis with the hotel hair dryer after an impromptu scrubbing in the shower stall on the lesser damaged trousers.

On the way home at the airport, I spied tons of souvenirs scrawled with “Keep Buffalo A Secret.” Well, that cat’s outta the bag I thought as I purchased Buflo baseball cap.

But I was fine until last Nov. 14th at the Emerald Society “turkey dinner” gathering at FOP Lodge 7. I’m so old I can no longer drive at night so I took the Metra downtown to make sure I wouldn’t drink n’ drive. I figured I could get a mild buzz on and hop the train home afterwards.

So, I was pacing myself as I carried my plate overflowing with turkey, dressing, and all the fixings and sat down at a table full of coppers from The Emerald Society. We began the feast, and I was nursing a can of Old Style when retired copper Buddy Clancy asked me, “Houli, what is that horse piss you are drinkin’?”

“Au contraire, my friend!,” I laughed, “This is like mother’s milk to me.” I would regret those words later, no doubt my late mom’s revenge for using her name in vain.

Then another police pal, Kevin who lives in my hood, greeted me, “Hey Houli, I drove tonight, so I can give you a ride home if you wanna get drunk.”

Challenge accepted!

Jameson Irish Whiskey had introduced a new orange flavor, and Clancy had won a bottle that night in the raffle. Jameson Orange, (nothing Irish should ever be called orange fer feck’s sake)!

I began sampling this new orange venom and it was potent. Which made me think it might go perfectly with the pumpkin pie slices offered as dessert. The night kicked into high gear with Irish music from the Larkin & Moran Brothers, belting out “Wild Colonial Boy,” interrupted only by the stomping of feet, cheering, and laughter of Buddy Clancy and his copper pals.

Kevin is a drummer in the Emerald Society Pipes and Drum band, so he stayed for clean-up afterwards. No problem since the bar was still very much open as the crowd kibbitzed and told stories. They had a full tray left over of pumpkin pie slices and somebody said, “Give those to Houli, he can share them with his boys and grand kids.”

That seemed like a good idea at the time.

It would eventually lead to my demise.

By the time Kevin dropped me off in front of my senior housing apartment, I was shnockered. I skated to the door with my keys in one hand and the tray of pumpkin pies in the other singing “Wild Colonial Boy” as I waddled to the elevator. I made it up to the fifth floor and staggered then before my door, with keys in hand, yodeling “He was born and bred in Ireland…in a place called Castlemaine!” doing a bit of a two-step for fear of losing the pies. Just as I hit the crescendo, “A bullet pierced his proud young heart from the pistol of Fitzroy”, I dropped my keys, looked down, at the tray full of pumpkin  pies descending, along with me, to the floor as I bent over to save them and took a header in slow motion in the hallway, watching the pumpkin pie slices slowly roll off the tray and splatter majestically across my front door as I landed forehead first in front of my door, with a severe rug burn on my head as my lovely wife Mary opened the door. I slowly looked up at her, watching her mouth OMG as if performing the silent scream from Bertolt Brecht’s MOTHER COURAGE.

“And that is how they captured him…the Wild Colonial Boy!”

I had stopped singing at this point of course except to mutter, “I am too old for this shit.”

So now I’m four months sober, cold turkey. I even survived my entire 7th Annual Hibernian Hooligan Ball fundraiser on my birthday last December, without a drop!

Still had fun.

Mike Houlihan and family

Still having fun, but as Falstaff instructed, “discretion is the better part of valor” and I am clean.

Pray for me St. Paddy!

-30-

Known around town as “Houli,” he is former features columnist for The Chicago Sun-Times, Irish American News and currently Chicago correspondent for The Irish Echo. He began his career in 1973 as an apprentice with The American Shakespeare Festival, appearing in the classics there and in regional productions across the nation as well as Off-Broadway, on Broadway, on TV and in major motion pictures. He is a playwright and author of anthologies “Hooliganism Stories” and “More Hooliganism Stories” and the gonzo Mayoral campaign journal “Nothin’s on The Square”. Founder of the Annual Irish American Movie Hooley film festival each Fall at The Wilmette Theatre. He was honored as 2020/2021 “Irishman of the Year” by the Emerald Society, the Irish American Police Association. His Hibernian Radio Hour podcast can be found at hibernianradio.org and streaming worldwide on Sat. nights from 7-8PM on Global Irish Radio, GIR.ie.

His latest book ” Chicago Irish Mythology” is available on Amazon and wherever else you buy your books.

https://abbeyfealepress.com/

Even more info about Houli is available here, on his latest adventures: hibernianmedia.org

Comments 32

  2. Wise decision [if true] and good luck! I never understood the attraction of going out to get plastered. I don’t drink myself and never have – not from conviction I just hate the taste [probably the alcohol] and the sensations have no appeal to me. I’ve steered more friends safely home then I could count [especially back in my college days] and seen it wreak more than a few marriages – in many ways.
    BTW, despite the Slovak name I’m 1/2 Irish on both sides w/many full- blooded cousins. Happy St Patrick’s day and Éire go brách!

    1. Well said Mark! I agree. All alcohol tests bad to me and what’s the fun of a hangover.
      Now let me just state that I am the grandson of a man who operated a ‘tavern’ in his word. He hated term saloon, bar, etc. For my first 7 seven years n earth I was in the prescence or sat next to my grandfather/grandmother while they tended ‘bar’. I had my first drink at 5 years: beer and rock n rye when with a cold. Never liked it. In high school, college, med school, residency I rarely drank. Never understood it. Then recently rock solid medical evidence proves ALL ETOH IS BAD FOR U. THERE IS NO REDEEMING VALUE IN DRINKING. The BS that wine has phytonutients and therefore good 4 u IS FALSE. Well THEN, EAT THE DAMN GRAPES WITHOUT FERMENTATION. ALL ETOH IS CONVERTED TO A DEADLY CHEMICAL THAT IS A WELL ESTABLISHED CARCINOGEN. IT CAUSES CANCER. If smoking (including pot), drinking as well as an increase in exercise were to occur
      well over 50% of diseases would be reduced or gone. Drinking is stupid!

  3. A great story. I had many an Irish partner over the years working the job. And we explored many a watering hole in the city. I was usually the designated driver but I did have a great time none the less. Ah, those were the days. I agree, however, as you age the days get lesser and lesser as your tolerance fades into the sunset. Age is a mysterious creature. It sends messages that if ignored can be quite hazardous to your health. Many have said, “ the Golden Years”. It’s probably more truly described as “ the Rusty Years”.

  5. Great job as always, and this fellow Irishman loved it. When I was a young Cop we’d regularly stay out until past midnight, even though, as an Old Cop once told me “Kid, nothing good happens after midnight”. As the years went by, the ending time grew earlier.

    I just met with some old buddies- we met at 4:30 and were done and home by 6:30. Maturity? No, just common sense.

    Have a wonderful Highest Holy Day, Mr. Houlihan, and enjoy that grandchild.

  6. I was lucky . I experienced a lot of rough times at an earlier age, twenty-four. It was 1965 , a year after I got out of the Marine Corps , I was a mess . My Father had been on AA for over ten years by then so I was well indoctrinated. Yet I to started at a young age.
    One night that summer I found myself or the local police did driving down Ashland straddling the medium . I was locked up in the Monroe Street station. I was saved from an all nighter in the lockup by a friend’s father who was stationed there . I was still charged with a DUI that I had to deal with . I was able to get that dropped but cost quire a few dollars .
    So that was my final awakening , I had tried quitting a few times.
    It will be 60 years this summer and I have no regrets.

  7. I could almost see those pumpkin pies hitting the ground. Thank you for your column. I think it’s admirable that you have realized it was time to stop. Best wishes on your continued sobriety.

  9. Thanks, Houli, for early morning frolics. As one who has been on the front and back lines of the curse. I see that the skies have not fallen, and the Pope is still a Catholic(jury’s out) since you started “behavin yourself.” I am near 75 and have patches and years of behavin and misbehavin, sort of a hit or miss Irish life of vapors and airs. When I pass on, you can scribble a “friend of Ebb T” on my obit rather than a “friend of Bill W.”

  11. Great column. I have worked in senior living communities the last 20 years. When I talk to my friends my age (early 70s) about drinking, I always tell them that there is a reason why there are no wild parties at these retirement homes.

  13. Well done. Congrats on the four months. Almost wanted to imbibe last night as my HS Brother Rice lost to DePaul Prep (pka Gordon Tech) in the State 3A basketball Championship. Rice is 65 years old and never got that far. Common sense kept me to half a beer over a pizza with my wife. Happy St Paddy’s day nonetheless.

  16. Interesting read Houli. After several years playing Rugby and enjoying after games refreshments. I did a lot of testing and proved my drinking skills weren’t improving. Now a days maybe 1 per month if that many.

  17. “ I’ve a million and one reasons for drinking, and one has just entered my head. If a man can’t drink when he’s living, how the hell can he drink when he’s dead”.
    Unknown
    Great story Houli.

  22. Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all who read my column and the blessings of St. Paddy on John and Betty Kass and all the readers of JohnKassNews. Had a great weekend with many Epiphanies, luncheon with Dick Quigley and the gang from Blue Cross at Plumbers Hall on Friday, watching them dye the river green Saturday at the Irish Village on Pioneer Court with Kevin O’Shea, Sunday mass at St. Cajetan’s and then to Johnny “Vegas” Sheahan’s open house with Skinny, Tucker, Mary, Marty, Kelly, Mary Rose, “June Bug”and many more Sheahans and the Southside Parade on Sunday, including Uber ride home and fight with Chinese driver who “no speakedy English”, on the phone with Pickle Joyce last night, and today, St. Patrick’s Day mass at St. Luke and just chillin’. Thanks to all of you and enjoy “for the day that’s in it”! God bless the Irish!

    1. Just as a reminder Houli, I would do a public low-key boast of my refraining from demon rum and the likes and then be admonished by my buddies “you will never get those days back,” followed by “when you get up in the morning that will be the best you will feel that day.” Good luck Houli in your endeavors.

  23. Mike,
    A few years ago the doc told me that’s it, no more drinking. I thought about getting a new doctor, but knew that wouldn’t change my bloodwork. I still miss it! Hang in there. Duke

  24. At Chief O’Neill. Music is great.
    According to historian Ciaomhin Mac Aoidh, 3522 s washtenaw was the Mecca for great Irish musicians from Chicago and the world.

    Im going to buy that house. My wife’s ancestral home
    The Mecca. God, and my wife willing and the current owners

  25. You only get a set amount of drink tickets in life, when you try to snatch the extra….that is when you get into trouble. Sober ain’t so bad, just got to keep your company intoxicating.

Leave a Reply