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The Legend of McFinn
In 1910 Sean McFinn left Ireland, bound for Canada. He was 19 years old. Tough and hard-headed, he wasn't much for conversation but if necessary, would rely on his fists to do the talking.
Sean found ready work in bars and had some success as a prize fighter. When the bars closed during Prohibition, he turned to bootlegging, where he made a lot of money and just as many enemies.
After Prohibition, he had enough stashed away to open his own place. This place. With Sean at the helm it prospered - but his ruthless past eventually caught up with him.
On the evening of the 16th of March - the day before St. Patrick's Day - he was jumped by four men outside the bar. He fought them off and they fled, but not before one managed to slip a blade into Sean McFinn's guts.
Friends anxiously laid him out on the pool table. Sean called for whiskey, mumbled one last 'Slainte, lads,' raised the glass to his lips and closed his eyes forever.
McFinn's legend grew and a popular ballad about him was composed:
"Twas the night before St. Patrick's Day The deed was done, the dogs fled away McFinn lay dying - his last light won Pride of them all, bold Erin's son!
-from The Ballad of Sean McFinn
Ever since, on the 16th of March, it's become customary around here to raise a glass and shout "Slainte, Sean!' And it's said that if you listen carefully enough, you'll hear a faint reply, 'Slainte, lads.
Which is why many believe Sean McFinn's spirit is still around, keeping an eye on the place and watching out for rogues, rascals and ruffians.
