Recently, on a rare sunny morning, me friends and I were breaking bread at the Ann Street Deli in Little Falls, where one finds the best pancakes this side of heaven, when the subject of St. Patrick’s Day arose.

What began as an innocent discussion of the annual parade in Utica devolved into a boisterous debate over how the day should be celebrated-as a strictly religious, solemn day of tribute to the patron saint or a secular remembrance of all that is Irish highlighted by toasts in the memories of those who contributed to the great Irish culture. Beads vs. beer. God vs. grog. Out of character (right!), I jumped in to mediate, suggesting that it could be both. I was shouted down. Fortunately, the waitress arrived with java refills and once again, there was peace in the land. Conversation morphed into why that was a catch (Bills game).

While Kelly (Dawg) Brown was driving me home, I wondered whether the boys really knew the story of one of the best-known saints of them all. According to scholar Eoin MacNeill, St. Patrick wasn’t even Irish. He was a native of Wales. Captured as a teenager by raiders, he spent several years as a slave in Ireland where he took his name and learned the language.

Later, after making his way home, he dedicated his life to Christ and worked his way up the ranks. After consecration as a bishop, he earned a missionary commission to Ireland where he hoped his knowledge of the language would help him succeed where others had failed in converting the masses. It was the early fifth century and he was in his 40s.

Shortly after his arrival at the Emerald Isle, near the River Quoile, a local dignitary presented Patrick with a barn. There he celebrated Christian rites thusly establishing his first church in Ireland. As Colum stated, “He combined great visionary power (intuition) with a political sense (intellect) and soldiery audacity (courage)” in doing God’s work. Years later with the conversion of Ireland well at hand, he returned as an old man to where is missionary efforts began. Not long after, he passed away and was buried in the place where, with the little bell that never seemed to leave his hand, he summoned his first congregation.

An extremely humble man, Patrick would probably have been uncomfortable with the hoopla accompanying “his day.” The parades, frivolity, cocktails. But because of his deep love for his adopted land, he might have welcomed a more subdued (one cocktail raised in a toast) celebration of the Irish people and culture. (note: St. Patrick didn’t drive the snakes out of Ireland-there weren’t any.)

I also wondered how much my buddies really knew about Irish culture. Or for that matter, how much most people knew. Its literary and musical heritage is among the richest in history. Regarding the latter, no one captured its essence better than the late “Irish Balladeer” Vince Colgan. His ballads provided listeners with lessons in Irish history and tributes to love, both lost and lived. Regarding the former, “The Rising of the Moon” and “Four Green Fields” teach us about the struggles of the Irish people against their brutal English overlords, while “The Fields of Athenry” bring to mind the horrific Potato Famine . Our emotions can’t help but be stirred by “Willy McBride,” “Waltzing Matilda,” and “Christmas in the Trenches” which reflect how senseless man’s inhumanity to man is (war).

As for love, “Rose of Tralee” and “Red is the Rose” warm the cockles of any heart, while “Danny Boy” will inevitably bring a tear or two to one’s eyes. Amhran na bhFiann, Erin’s national anthem, memorializes another love-of one’s country. And, last but in no way least, echoing through every bar in the land on the 17th are those remarkable drinking songs performed by the Clancy Brothers or Dubliners or John McDermott. During a family trip to Ireland, I sat in the same bar as John Wayne ( The Quiet Man) and had a pint (truthfully pints) listening to The Wild Rover, All for Me Grog, Finnegan’s Wake and Whiskey in the Jar-lively, rowdy and nostalgic pub anthems all.

As for a literary heritage, how about William Butler Yeats, Sean O’Casey, Georger Bernard Shaw, James Joyce, Samuel Beckett and Seamus Heany among others. My favorites are the warrior poets Padraig Pearse, Joseph Mary Plunkett and Thomas MacDonagh whose works trumpeted the cause of a free Ireland. They lived and died their words, helping to organize the Easter Rising (April, 1916). Easter week was symbolic. As Christ gave his life to insure the salvation of mankind, Pearse and the other martyrs were to give theirs for the salvation of Ireland. Their executions (note: Pearse was strapped to a chair because of his wounds) helped spark a national movement to end over two centuries of British rule, and they’re remembered until today with the rewritten words of an anonymous street song: Oh paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that ‘goin round? The shamrock is by law guaranteed to grow on Irish ground. Saint Patrick’s Day we’ll always keep, his color everywhere to be seen. We’ll honor his memory and Pearse’s too by the Wearin’ o’ the Green.

So, regardless of whether yours is a sacred or secular celebration of the day, on the morning of the 17th throw on something green, attend mass if you’ve a mind to, head to Genesee Street and enjoy the best danged parade this side of Dublin, check out the Irish Culture Center, enjoy the drinking songs, toast a cold one or two to the warrior poets, head home and say a prayer for peace. Erin Go Bragh!

Ray Lenarcic is a 1965 State University of New York at Fredonia graduate and is a resident of Herkimer.