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The last of the drums

A few of my closest friends along Fifth Avenue

It’s just after 4pm, and in the distance from a nearby window I can hear the drums.  The St. Patrick's Day Parade is still spooling its way up 5th Avenue, having started at 11am this morning.  As I try to every year, I went down to the nearest intersection and worked my way through the teeming hunk of humanity to get as good a view as I could.  Through a break in the crowd, I was able to see the Mayor and Police Commissioner as they walked past near the head of the parade, preceded by a few bands, active duty and military veterans and bagpipers. 

The weather today in New York is stunning, the mood outside was great.  When, hours later, I ventured out for a few minutes, the celebration had taken its toll on a few revelers (including the unresponsive man who appeared to be napping on 51st Street while the NYPD wrote out a summons for him), there was still a great spirit to the gathering.  It made it even better that a couple next to me in the crowd were sporting a genuine, thick and terrific brogue.  I wondered what they made of New York's celebration of their homeland.

It might well be that I was propelled outside for escape from the topics we're dealing with in the newsroom: they couldn't be darker, couldn't be more grim.  We'll update you tonight on the desperate effort to put down a nuclear disaster, and the effort underway to squelch America's nuclear fears.

We hope you can join us tonight.