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Garrison Landmark Will Close January 31, 2008
Guinan's: For many it's a very personal story
by Mike Turton
 | | Jim Guinan signs an autograph on a CD of his musical meanderings |
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Reporter's Note: It's Sunday morning and "Objective Reporting" is the furthest thing from my mind. I'm about to write a story about Guinan's closing its doors for the last time and there is no way I can write an objective "news" story about it. Instead, I will simply report what I have experienced during the past week as the closing date has drawn inexorably closer. For those who "get" Guinan's I can add nothing new. I have never approached the rank of "regular" but consider myself an "appreciative occasional" visitor. I hope that I can capture a tiny fraction of what the regulars have known for a long time. For those unfortunate enough to have never experienced Guinan's, I can only attempt to provide an inkling as to what you have missed.
The basic story is pretty well known. Jim Guinan and his wife Peg emigrated from Ireland in 1957 and opened their Country Store at Garrison's Landing in 1959. Since that time it has served as deli, newspaper stand and pub, not necessarily in order of importance. While larger places often boast a formal "Community Center," Guinan's has been the center of the Garrison community - probably since shortly after serving its first cup of much-needed morning coffee. That forty-nine-year run will come to an end on Thursday, January 31, 2008. With Jim now in his eighties and his son John, who had taken over day-to-day operations of the business, now and now fighting to regain his health, closing may have been inevitable.
Leading up to the closing, I've kept a sort-of day-to-day record of my efforts to capture the story of Guinan's. The following is that chronology.
Wednesday, January 23 - Tomorrow is "Irish Night," a long-standing Guinan's tradition of Irish music, beverages, stories and laughter, shared among friends and former strangers on the first Thursday after each full moon. I have a story to write and figure it will be quiet at lunch time. Maybe I can get a word with Mr. Guinan the day before the pandemonium. I'm happy to find him sitting alone at one of the bar's two small tables, enjoying the bright sunshine and a cup of tea. I grab a bowl of chili prepared earlier by his daughter Margaret. We exchange greetings and I have a seat next to him. Mr. Guinan gazes out at the sparkling waters of the Hudson River. I've heard that he will be moving to Florida and so I ask, "Think they'll have rivers in Florida?" just to get a conversation started. "Oh they'll have rivers that's for sure - but not like this one," he responds. I think Jim Guinan will miss the Hudson. He tells me that next month he is going to Ireland to celebrate his sister's golden wedding anniversary. There's a long but comfortable pause. I don't tell Mr Guinan that I'm writing a story and in fact by now I've forgotten about it. He reminds me, when without prompting, he says, "It's about how you treat people. I believe in friendship." A woman comes in with her young daughter who entertains us all with her unedited chatter. As they go to leave the little girl runs over and hugs Jim. "Goodbye Mr. Guinan. I'll never see you again." The mother is aghast but Jim laughs heartily.
Thursday January 24 - It's the last Irish Night. Luci and I arrive at about 7:00 and it's already getting crowded. We shoe-horn our way into the bar and join our friends Debbie and Jimmy. In no time the place is totally packed. Jimmy gives up his seat - one of four at the bar - so that Luci can sit with Debbie. Conversation rises to an unwavering roar. Live acoustic music begins, barely audible above the din. It is a major challenge to get to the rest room. A woman sees the look on my face as I try to squeeze politely past her and says, "I had to get between two guys when I tried that. We got so close I think I married one of them!" Safely in the rest room I notice the framed 1930's train schedule on the wall. As I come out the next guy in line yells, "Hey - there's fifty people in there!" Someone else comes back with "Yeah and it's less crowded than out here!" Rick, a tall, silver-haired gentleman bravely makes his way from the bar to the middle of the deli and begins to play the flute. One person after another says "shhh" and amazingly the room goes completely quiet. The only quieter moment all night comes later when Jim Guinan sings Danny Boy as he has on each of these Thursday nights. There's loud applause when Rick finishes then instantly the roar is back. I nudge Rick and ask, "Was that a traditional Irish tune?" He laughs and says, "No, it was English - just don't tell anybody!" I spot John Guinan holding court with several friends and fight my way over to him. He's sees me and half shouts "Welcome to the Guinan Zoo." As we exchange a firm handshake I recall the numerous times we shared early morning coffee while mocking the crazy people driving out in what we dubbed "The Zone of Chaos" as people arrived late to drop someone off for the 6:55 to the city. Behind the "formal" bar and the deli counter Kelly Guinan, Dean, Wendy, Todd, Ed and others hustle just to keep up with drink orders. Jim Guinan is busy signing copies of his recently released CD. Those hollering out, "Musician coming through" or carrying a fresh box of beer seem to slide through the crowd almost magically. I feel more like a fish swimming upstream as I head back towards the bar. The comments I overhear capture the essence of this event and this place perfectly. "I've been here thousands of times." "If I had known about this place sooner I would have moved up here." "I can't think of a thing that could possibly replace this." "This feels like home." "Too bad this can't be franchised." "It's just incredibly sad that it has to close." "I have to face it. This has been my watering hole for a long, long time." "This is joyous chaos."
I find myself thinking about wakes I have attended. There's often a point at which an almost giddy exuberance sets in. Old friends meet, shake hands, hug and recall stories of happier days - before the reality of the loss sets in. This last Irish Night is the storm before the lull. I stop and talk to a woman named Susie Crowley. She's from Boston, has never been to Guinan's before, but within the past day or so heard a radio interview with Gwedolyn (Wendy) Bounds, author of "Little Chapel on the River," in which the author recounts the story of Guinan's. "I just felt compelled to come here tonight," Susie says. With family and friends telling her she was crazy, she got in her car and drove to Guinan's to be a part of the final party. "And I'm driving back tonight," Susie says adding, "It exceeded my expectations." On that note I call it a night.
Friday, January 25 - At lunch I feel the need to hear the after story so I take the short drive over to Guinan's for yet another bowl of chili. Wendy Bounds is there helping with the clean up as is Mary Ellen Yanitelli, a true "regular." I ask Wendy what she thought of last night's party and she says, "My biggest concern was that the floor wouldn't hold up!" Mary Ellen, confirms that opinion stating, "I'm sure the floor has a slightly different slant today." They estimate that six to eight hundred people came through the previous night. The front door was finally locked at 3:30am.
Saturday, January 26 - I'm heading home in mid-afternoon and think to myself, "I could use a couple more quotes. Think I'll stop by Guinan's and see who's there." Any excuse is better than none. I'm not surprised to find more than twenty people there. "Old Mike" Mihalik is standing at his trademark spot at the end of the bar and greets me with a broad grin and an equally big handshake. Before I know it he's bought me a beer. He already knows I'm doing a story. I ask him what Guinan's means to him. "Let me think about that for a few minutes. It's hard to put into words." I sip my beer. The tone in the bar is pleasant but noticeably subdued compared to Thursday night. It's sinking in. Especially for the regulars. I can see it in their faces. Mike interrupts my thought. "I used to bring people who worked with me in White Plains here. They were in awe of what we have here. It's hard to explain." Mike Murphy and his dad are there too. I ask the younger Murphy the same question. "Well, when I graduated from SUNY Rockport in 1994, my dad asked me where I wanted to have my graduation party. I told him Guinan's! More than a hundred people came" Murphy explains. Mike Mihalik can't resist telling a story. "One Saturday, years ago, Jim asked me to keep an eye on the bar 'for a few minutes' while he goes to pump gas for a boater. Four hours later - still no Jim. Seems someone offered him a beer" Mike says and he breaks into laughter. His laughter fades and he says, "You could make a museum out of what's gone on here." There's a short pause. He looks around the bar and adds, "This will never happen again." A few minutes later Mike Mihalik leaves. I meet three newcomers from the upper east side of Manhattan who only came to Guinan's a few weeks ago and have been back more than once since. Their friends, first time visitors, arrive to join them. A threesome from Highland Falls, occasional visitors, make their way to the bar. Before long, everyone knows everyone. The procession continues.
As I exit through the deli, someone comes in and says to Jim Guinan, "Behaving Jim?" to which he answers "Yes - worse than ever!" A man buys an ice cream for his young son and tries to hand Mr. Guinan a five-dollar bill. "How much do I owe you? "he asks. Mr. Guinan replies, " Oh no, that's on me." Surprised, the man responds "I can't do that." Mr. Guinan comes back quickly, almost abruptly, "Didn't you hear me? I'll only tell you once!" and then smiles broadly. The man says "Thank you sir." I think to myself, "That's Guinan's" and leave.
End Note: It is now Sunday afternoon and I have finished my article. I have a lump in my throat. I find myself wishing that I could continue this story. But I can't think of anything to add. It is Sunday afternoon and I am completely at loose ends. Maybe I'll drive down to Guinan's and see who's there. On the next Thursday after the next full moon I will no longer have that luxury.
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