Guinness

Episode #861

August 2, 2025

I’m not much of a beer drinker, but it was cultural at Notre Dame.

I learned to chug-a-lug beer at Kubiak’s Polish Tavern in Niles, Michigan. Drinking age was 18 in Michigan, so all of us underclassmen were regulars at Kubiak’s. We learned how to polka, play billiards, and chug Stroh’s.

The first car I bought in college was a 1960 Studebaker Lark. One of the criteria for buying the car was that a case of Stroh’s beer in long-necked bottles fit in one side of the back seat. Studebaker built the Lark in South Bend, Indiana, about seven miles from Notre Dame. In 1973, it was said that you could buy all the parts for a Lark in South Bend and build one yourself.

Another favorite watering hole was The Library, a couple of blocks south of the ND campus. They also served beer to undergrads with fake IDs.

The phone in the dorm rang:
“Hi Mom,” answered the student.
“What did you do last night?” said Mom.
“I was at The Library all night.”
“You’re a good son.”

Years later, I had finished working in Newport Beach, CA, and stopped into The Shamrock Bar and Grill.

This Irish pub was empty except for me, the bartender, and one other customer wearing a USC hat. I bellied up to the bar next to the customer.

I pointed to his hat.
“USC? I went to Notre Dame.”
“Sorry to hear that. My name’s Paddy,” he smiled.
“Those football games were usually close.”
“Remember the Bush Push?” he asked.
“We were all sure that ND won when Leinart was tackled near the goal line.”
“Turns out the ball was fumbled and should have stopped the clock. SC got the ball with seconds left on the clock. Leinart was pushed over the goal line by Reggie Bush for a 34-31 USC win!”
“I lost money on that game,” I said, “But the NCAA vacated that win since it was illegal for a teammate to push the ball carrier over the goal.”
“I still think we won,” said Paddy.

“Since you went to Notre Dame, I guess you’ll have a Guinness,” interjected the bartender.
I said, “You know, even though I’m a fighting Irishman, I have never had a Guinness.”
Both Paddy and the bartender shook their head at me.
“This one’s on me,” said the bartender as she poured me a pint.
She set the beer on a back bar shelf, reached over, refilled Paddy’s Sam Adams and handed the glass back to him. She went about cleaning the bar. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes passed. My beer was still on the shelf.

I motioned to the bartender and pointed at my beer. “Have you forgotten something?”
She laughed and said, “It has to settle to give you the classic creamy head.” She finished the pour and handed me the glass.

It was delicious.

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