Welcome to the home of Mary Theresa McLaughlin from Plymouth, Penn. Such a beautiful Irish name, I was sure that like me you lived in the Old Country. Rather than the Land of the Brave. I chiefly remember the name McLaughlin from an old working class pub I spent a considerable part of my misspent youth in. I recall one day quietly having a pint when a great fight broke out. The gentleman beside me was in a wheel chair and I recall diving under the table for cover when the guy in the wheel chair landed on top of me. I was very happy about this as his body afforded me additional protection from the levitating bar furniture.
Old Patrick McLoughlin the guy who owned McLaughlin's Bar was very tight. I had drunk there for many years and one occasion he offered me a free pint. I was so shocked my mouth fell open and when he saw the look of awe on my face he got offended and promptly took the drink back But an interesting thing happened to Pat after he retired and his wife died. He was diagnosed with an incurable aneurism in his brain and was told he could literally drop dead at any moment and no one could do anything about it. Well since then I see old Pat at mass everyday. I would say he is certainly a holy old man now. But I often wonder if it was the dropping dead at any moment thing that brought him so close to God. This is the famous ship that was built in my home town. It was alright when it left here.
