Making Resolutions at Ned's 1944

“I thought you hootch hounds weren’t drinking anymore,” said Ned.

The men at the bar looked at each other and balked.

“Don’t sound like us,” said Vinny the postman. “Does it sound like us, fellas?”

At the end of the bar old Thelma let out a laugh and took a sip of gin.

“The writings on the wall, fellas,” she said. “Or should I say, in the bucket.”

Ned lifted the bucket from beside the register and placed it on the bar.

“The bucket,” he said, “don’t lie.”

The men stared down the bucket and thought about what might have happened two nights before.

“After all,” said Vinny, “it was New Year’s Eve. We weren’t in our right minds.”

Ned reached into the bucket and pulled out the first of four beer coasters, on which the resolutions were written.

“I, Vinny McGee,” read Ned, “being of sound mind, do hereby forego the evils of alcohol, tobacco, swearing, and the wearing out of the patience of the much beloved Ned Muldoon; proprietor of Ned’s Tavern.”

“Definitely a forger in our midst,” said Vinny.

“Yeah,” said Jimmy the butcher. “Too coherent. Vinny’s a border line idiot. And, besides, he’s not so fond of you as you think, Ned. But he hates Nazis even more. So, don't feel so bad. Much beloved? Defiantly the work of one of your Wimpy tab runners.”

“Wimpy?” said Ned.

“You know. Wimpy. I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today?”

“I only got one of those," said Ned. "That would be Father Mallory. But he pays me back every Monday after he’s pocketed the Sunday offerings. But he wasn’t here New Year’s Eve. So, on to coaster number two. I, Jimmy Coogan, will forthwith cease to imbibe the devil’s whisky. And shall likewise refrain from entering Yen’s laundry establishment for a late nite smoke in the back room.”

“I plead the fifth,” said Jimmy.

“Coaster number three,” said Ned. “Me and myself, Sal Matthew, do hereby take a solemn oath and pledge my word of honor on my beloved mother’s grave that I shall, with one hand on the Bible and the other on my heart, promise to go to my grave as sober as the day I was born.”

“Don’t forget I knew your ol’ man,” said Vinny. “There’s a good chance that your being born sober was an exaggeration.”

“Coaster number four,” said Ned. “I, Fred Stanley, proprietor of Stanley’s Funeral Home—where your eternal rest is our first consideration—do hereby offer a twenty percent discount to those patrons whom I expect to be taken to an early grave after having given up the alcohol and shortly thereafter dropping dead from the shock of it all. I shall refrain from taking the pledge this year in order to keep up with supply and demand at the funeral home. You are all in my thoughts.”

“I cop to that one,” said Mr. Stanley. “It’s the least I could do for the new year. And I truly cherish the thought of laying you bunch out while I can still raise a coffin lid. Happy New Year!”

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