Author

Sean Patrick

SEAN PATRICK was born in Cleveland, where his widowed mother raised him in an Irish Catholic neighborhood of tenement apartment buildings following World War II. He retired from a career in law enforcement and began a second career writing Patrick’s Corner in 1987.

Patrick’s Corner

The victory garden

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For those of us who lived through World War II, the words “victory garden” hold a special meaning. This term, along with catchphrases such as “Kilroy was here” and “loose lips sink ships” represent the turmoil and uncertainty that boiled…
Patrick’s Corner

A hit for Hanratty

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I have often wondered why stickball was never considered a sport with Olympic possibilities. In spite of the variety of organized sports my brothers, friends, and l were involved with, stickball was really the great neighborhood pastime,…
Patrick’s Corner

Nothing like home cooking

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by Sean Patrick Eating out was something one just didn’t do in our world. “Why waste good money on food that you can prepare better yourself?” Mama often complained when she looked at the streams of people going toward Leah’s Home Cooking…
Relationships

The mother’s day rose

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by Sean Patrick I was looking over Danny’s shoulder into the Fanny Farmer Choice Candies box where Mama kept the tiny items that meant something special to her. There, hard as a rock and with only the barest hint of color on the tip of one…
Patrick’s Corner

The carver’s hand

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St. Columbkille Church had some pretty impressive artwork in the form of wood carving, thanks to Mr. McNeeley, who had been one of the first parishioners. Mr. McNeeley had put a lot of time into carving decorative scrolls on the…
Patrick’s Corner

The Confirmation name

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Like most of my brothers before me, I was destined to be called on for many of the typical “sponsorship” duties we had in our parishes. St. Columbkille Parish was one of the largest and most Irish of the plethora of Catholic church/school…
Patrick’s Corner

Sir Knight

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It does not take much for my aging mind to return to those memories stored in that part of me I call my “treasure box.” This causes some of my family to give me that “ho-hum!” look and get ready for me to float back in time again. Anyway,…