An image arrives, the cover of a new book in French showing American icon Marilyn Monroe 56 years ago in a legendary Irish saloon, a convergence of cultures for St. Patrick’s Day.
In that place, where my generation learned about life, Tim Costello was our teacher. One of us, Daniel Patrick Moynihan, a budding sociologist and later U.S. Senator, would famously say when JFK was killed, “To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart.”
Now, as the world batters our hearts every day, it’s comforting to recall Tim’s lost lessons–modesty, respect for learning and, above all, decency toward others.
He was our Irish godfather, keeping us happy but grounded and civil. When Frank McCourt, who later wrote “Angela’s Ashes,” came over as an 18-year-old immigrant, Tim would not serve him a beer until he went to the New York Public Library to read Samuel Johnson.
John McNulty wrote about the place in the New Yorker for a dozen years, but Tim kept it from changing. A stern look over his teacup at the back table was as effective as the rules committee of any private club. Costello’s never went trendy in the way of another saloon, “Nobody goes there any more, it’s too crowded.”