A night to remember with William Kennedy, greatest Irish American writer of his generation -- Recalling the Saratoga Springs glory days of Mafia, molls, gambling, and Irishmen

William Kennedy

Saratoga Springs: Close to 1,000 people crammed the Canfield Casino in Saratoga Springs in upstate New York on Tuesday night to absorb a talk by William Kennedy, Pulitzer Prize winning author of the great Albany novels such as “Ironweed’ “Billy Phelan’s Greatest Game”, and “Legs”.

Kennedy is the greatest Irish American writer of his generation and at age 84 looks and acts as spry as a man 30 years younger. Impeccably turned out in a white suit, Kennedy held the audience enthralled for almost two hours with tales of derring-do, gangsters, crooked pols, and influential Irishmen of the era.

Kennedy explained how Saratoga became the gambling Mecca, how they managed to fix the card games, who got paid off, what gangsters were behind the scenes, and how Saratoga eventually had to shut down its lucrative casino haunts because of political pressure.

In his long life Kennedy met many who had taken part in that golden era. His tales of those times were incredible, from the man who could control the dice when he rolled them, to how playing card manufacturers printed up entire packs of crooked cards with secret identifying signs so that the house could always win.

While nearby Albany was the font of corruption and home of political fixers, Saratoga Springs was home to the most colorful characters in America.

Mafioso legends Legs Diamond, Lucky Luciano, Frank Costello, and Meyer Lansky were among the hoodlums who roamed around in Saratoga at the time, as did the smooth-as-silk gangster Arnold Rothstein who allegedly fixed the 1919 World Series.

Damon Runyon was the chronicler of Saratoga, his essays today about the place as fresh as when they were written generations ago.

The creation of Saratoga gambling and racing was thanks to an Irishman, John Morrissey, a native of Tipperary, whose family brought him to America at a young age.

The town was already famous for its springs and for the high society types who made it their summer home before airplanes and Florida retreats.

Kennedy memorably described how mothers would parade their daughters up to six times a day along Broadway, looking for suitable men to marry.

Morrissey, as Kennedy outlined, grew up in poverty in nearby Troy where his family settled and he soon made his money using his fists. He parlayed his fistic prowess into becoming an enforcer for Tammany Hall, but took time off to stowaway to California when the Gold Rush hit.

There, instead of digging for gold he discovered a popular card game called Faro, found out all the tricks, and made a fortune.

Back home in New York he decided he wanted to expand gambling and horse racing in Saratoga Springs.

He achieved it in incredible fashion and it became the Mecca of the underworld and the fashionable center for summers away from New York City.

After Morrissey passed at the untimely age of 57, in 1878, Saratoga continued on its merry way until the casinos were eventually closed in the 1940s

These days the casino gambling is back legally in Saratoga Springs and the horses are running as they have almost every year since 1863 with a few pauses during the World Wars.

Bill Kennedy evoked the era, the backroom deals, the card sharps, the gangsters, their molls, the incredible atmosphere of the era, with such richness that the old Canfield Casino site where his talk took place, seemed to resonate with all the history and you could almost sense the ghosts of Morrissey and Canfield nodding approval.

Truly a night to remember with one of the greatest American writers of all.

Writer Maeve Binchy was truly a one in a million Irish treasure -- Remembering her kindness and humor even more than her writing

Beloved Irish author Maeve Binchy

When you hear the term national treasure used to refer to someone who has just passed, it is usually exaggeration of the worst kind.

In the case of Maeve Binchy however, it is correct. Maeve passed away on Monday at age 72.

She was a national treasure of Ireland and much more; hilarious, profane, an incredible friend, and a hugely talented writer.

I knew her but not very well. Years ago I hosted a dinner for her and her beloved husband, Gordon Snell.

They were just embarking on the literary career that brought her huge fame and fortune and I did what I could to make sure Irish Americans knew all about her.

It was not much, but she never forgot that small act I did for her. Every year without fail would come a Christmas card with a letter, not just any letter but a warm personal one full of details of her year, questions about how I was doing and always, an invitation to come see them when in Ireland.

I never thought to bother them but perhaps I should have, she made you feel good just being around her.

I met her on subsequent visits to America and she was incredibly funny company.

She told one of the most hilarious stories I have ever heard. Maeve was a large woman and she described being invited to the White House to meet Barbara Bush who was a huge fan.

Barbara had two tiny corgis at the time and they were wild, galloping round the First Lady and Maeve as they sat and talked.

As I remember it, when Maeve got up, she accidentally stepped on one of them, leading to a scene of mass confusion and mayhem as the barely injured pooch was attended to.

Maeve left me in tears of laughter at her description of the scene. Like in her books, she was a marvelous storyteller.

She loved cats and called one Prionsias (Gaelic for Frank) after the then Workers Party leader Prionsias De Rossa -- she showed me a picture of her tabby and there was clearly a massive resemblance. It would make a cat laugh. She had a way of telling a story.

Here is how she described her early life to the The Irish Times,  “My mother hoped I would meet a nice doctor or barrister or accountant who would marry me and take me to live in what is now called Fashionable Dublin Four. But she felt that this was a vain hope. I was a bit loud to make a nice professional wife, and anyway, I was too keen on spending my holidays in far flung places to meet any of these people.” She spent time in those years “on the decks of cheap boats, or working in kibbutzim in Israel, or minding children as camp counsellors in the United States”.

Indeed, her breakthrough in journalism was when an Irish Times editor got hold of letters she had written home to her family describing people and places during her time abroad in France.

Her books were huge hits and did much to shape the image of a New Ireland.

“Circle of Friends” was enormously influential, especially on young American women, I found, who often quoted it to me as the reason they went to Ireland in the same way that many young women today cite “PS I Love You” by Cecilia Ahern as their inspiration to come to Ireland.

I know from other mutual friends too that Maeve was enormously generous in private to people in need. She would never have spoken about it publicly, she was never that kind of person.

She will be deeply missed by no one more than her devoted husband Gordon who was a true gentleman and perfect foil for Maeve’s banterings.

May she rest in peace.