Here was one, among many. McSorley’s Ale House in the East Village is one of the saloons that competes for the title of the oldest in New York City. It had sawdust on the floor, and a policy of admitting men only. Came feminism, and the policy came under legal scrutiny. McSorley’s was determined to resist, John went down to write the story up. When he arrived, he found the door guarded by an aged Irishman sitting on a stool, whose name was . . . John Coyne. Small (green) world.
R.I.P.