Paul Monahan has seen his fair share of action. His well-earned reputation as a tough-living night owl, Paul is uniquely placed to carry on the legacy of Norman "Sailor Jerry" Collins as well as the 92 proof Rum that bears his name. Originally hailing from Boston, Paul now works as Sailor Jerry's Brand Ambassador. Paul has developed and expanded his craft within the world of mixology. This drive to be imaginative with spirits and develop engaging events has brought him to New York, where he continues to embody the spirit he finds in dive bars, cocktails bars, tattoo parlors and motorcycle shops.
You are fifty square miles of bittersweet emotion.
When the sun is out, your streets bustle with commuters rushing for trains and meetings - not to mention the duck boats and freedom trail walkers. Horns from cavalier drivers play honky tonk. Your eyes see beautiful old buildings surrounded by green grass and turning foliage.
After sunset, everyone rushes toward the quickest watered down draft and local sports bar. Lines into clubs and bars are filled with patrons practicing all manners and styles of cultural regression. Sirens from cavalier police officers and city officials plague your ears. The night's streets are welcoming, but also unforgiving.
After working for a decade in your bustling bars, I miss that singular darkness.
I miss the die-hard sports fans that have never played a competitive sport in their lives. I miss the intoxicated faces selling their souls to get into mediocre drinking establishments. I miss the pretentious city officials attempting to crack down on underage drinking and fire codes. I miss the single-serving friends claiming false promises to get through your doors. I miss the cold weather bringing in five hundred jackets but no where to put them. I miss the quiet nights at the bar when the thriving local sports teams are in the playoffs. I miss after-hours card games full of bartenders and club managers. I miss sleeping all day during the winter months and seeing only two hours of daylight before work. I miss telling myself I didn't care what time I got home that night, I was going to get up before noon.
I miss taking the red line home in the morning after work and watching commuters start their days. I miss watching the city repeat itself every night, where commuters and city dwellers drink like there is no tomorrow. I miss their attempt at an escape from their next Monday.
Today, I spend over 75 percent of my time on the road, in planes, in hotels and, naturally, in bars. Regardless of the time zone or latitude location, I still see the same faces, efforts, and intentions as I did the past ten years.
Still, I am forever grateful to have been shaped by the toughness of Boston.
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