Pat D'Arcy Memorial

Still in recovery mode from yesterday's memorial and grand sendoff. We sent Cousin Pat off in style, we did. Neil sang Morning has Broken. Jerry D'Arcy, who lost his twin, gave an eulogy that had us rolling in the aisle with laughter, and then he sang a rendition of Danny Boy that knocked us right outta the ballpark. John McCormack move over. Jerry has some pipes. I get goosebumps thinking of it.

A kilted SFPD bagpiper led us out of the church, and onto the party at the Irish Cultural Center where we ate and drank and told stories. The stories. One favorite: Jerry and Pat moved to Treat Street in Hunter's Point. To say it was a rough hood, is practically gentrification. Anyway, there were some incidents. Then, one morning Jerry heard Pat fire up the chainsaw. Only thing was, there were no trees on Treat St. There was Pat outside cutting up a huge pile of cardboard boxes with a chainsaw. To his way of thinking, it was the most expedient method. There were no more incidents after that. Crazed Irishman with chainsaw drew some serious street cred. 

It must've been quite successful, as the din was so loud we could hardly hear ourselves talk. The PA system didn't work in the church or in the hall. we sang anyway. Lots more men than women, unusual turnout. 

Lovely touch: photos of Pat on every table. 

Afterparty number one was in the pub downstairs, and afterparty number two was in the hotel rooms at Seal Rock Inn. We took armloads of funeral flowers home, rather than let them go to waste (apparently mortuaries don't recycle flowers...they imprison them in a backlot until they rot.) Pat, an arborist, kept Golden Gate Park's trees in fine fettle. Even the trees will miss him.