As Irish as Paddy's pig.

Erin Go Bragh.

"If it weren't for whiskey, the Irish would rule the world."

Add in every other description of the Irishman you can think of and you have Pat. Mc. Pat even carries around calling cards with the headline, "When Irish Eyes are Smiling...Your Personal Emissary From The Emerald Isles to the Emerald City." Actually, he's never been to the Emerald Isles, but you'd never know it by looking at him. His face is the mirror of his Celtic ancestors from County Cork, and just so there's no doubt, he wears an emerald green cap that was made in County Cork.

Pat's grandparents came to this country by way of the mines in Missoula, Montana in the late 19th century. Then Pat's grandfather made a strike in the Alaska gold rush and settled in Seattle.

Pat, sober since Oct. 21, 1992 but with a lifetime of intimate acquaintance with both alcohol and sobriety, carries his calling cards around to give to anyone interested in joining the A.A. fellowship. Currently, he's sponsoring three people, and says that's about all he can work with and do a good job. At one time, when he was on a high from bi-polar disorder, he was sponsoring a dozen folks, but he says that's far too many.

For the past six years, he's had a good handle on his bi-polar problem through the use of lithium. Till then, though, "the higher you go, the lower you go," so he's had to cope with depression as well as manic attacks. Though he's only been sober officially for 13 1/2 years, he's struggled with the problem since he was a young man. At one point, he'd been sober for five years when suddenly he couldn't sleep at night. He was up for 72 hours straight and working around the clock to stay out of bars.

Pat's sobriety was triggered by a traffic accident. He hit a cab coming home from his daughter's volleyball game, "God told me I could drive in a blackout." That was Oct. 21, 1992. He quit drinking on the spot.

A friend drove him to Skagit Valley Hospital and helped him get on medication. He came home sober, but then fresh disaster: his wife told him their marriage was over. He moved out, and they were divorced four years later, in 1996. Pat has lived by himself since then in Kenmore. He says it's an okay lifestyle. "I like the peace and quiet, but on the other hand, it's nice to have somebody to talk to when I come home." He's solved that problem with an extensive list of phone contacts.

Pat has spent nearly his entire life around Alcoholics Anonymous. He was 11 years old when his father joined A.A. His dad, who died in 1986 with 30 years of sobriety, was the manager of the late-lamented Alano Club at 915 East Pine Street for 17 years. Pat said he was often there 16 hours a day, starting at 7 a.m. "If we wanted to see him, we had to go to the club. He'd be working or playing cards or just keeping the place in order. One time, he had to counsel with a seven-foot Eskimo who'd been throwing chairs out the window. Dad just put his hand on his shoulder and he sat down."

One of his father's prized possessions was an autographed picture from Bill W. thanking him for his dedication to the program. It didn't play that way with the family, though. They resented all the time he spent at the club. But they also participated in club activities. Pat and his sister and brother all went to the dances that were a feature of the Pine Street club. His sister checked coats, Pat sold coffee and his brother sold Cokes. "We were called the A-brats," Pat said. All the time they were growing up, their mother was active in Al-Anon. Now 89, she answered the phones for Al-Anon until three years ago.

Despite his near total-immersion in A.A., Pat had no interest in sobriety for himself. He spent his early years in the Grand Union at Fourth and Yesler streets, a downtown Seattle institution that catered to railroad men. His grandfather had bought the hotel with money he'd made in the Alaska gold rush. Three generations of McGinleys lived there until it was sold in 1960.

Pat was three when he started draining the dregs from the shot glasses of the hard drinking railroad men who frequented the Grand Union. "They gave us booze 'cause they thought it was funny," Pat recalled. And unlike many alcoholics who have to work at liking their poison, Pat said he liked whiskey from the get-go because it helped him to sleep. Speaking of sleep, "My brother and I used to sleep in sinks in vacant rooms. My grandmother made us." Their playground was Yesler street 'til the winos started throwing bottles at them.

Life in the hotel ended when Pat's mother gave his grandmother an ultimatum: "Find us a home or I'm divorcing your son." So the family moved to Capitol Hill and Pat enrolled at Garfield High School. "We called it 'The School of All Nations.'" Liquor was easy to come by, he said, and he drank a lot of it during his high school years. Someone wrote this in his yearbook in his junior year: "Pat. You deserve to be Alcoholics Anonymous." He once complained to a girl that she hadn't invited him to her party. "Pat, you were there," she told him.

"So you see, I was already a blackout drinker in high school." He had plenty of opportunities. When his parents were out of town at A.A. events, the kids would party at home. Nevertheless, he graduated with "pretty good grades" and went to work clerking in a grocery store. He stole all the beer he needed 'til he went to work for his uncle as a carpet layer. "I was good. The faster I did the work, the faster I was done and the faster I could get to drinking beer." He went into the business for himself, but finally quit for health reasons. Carpet laying ruins the knees, he explained.

He took a job as a truck loader for the Post-Intelligencer, and was usually loaded himself. "We were allowed to drink on the job," Pat said.

He had a few brushes with the law down through the years. Once, when the 520 bridge still had a toll plaza, Pat thought the flashing red light was a stop sign. Deep in a blackout, he drove right on through 'til police from Redmond, King County and the state police to got him stopped.

When he went to court to answer for his DWI, he mentioned to the judge that he was getting married in a few days. "Pat, that ought to be punishment enough," said His Honor. "So there will be no fine and no jail. That's my wedding present to you."

Pat was married shortly after that, and spent his entire married life trying to quit drinking. He had a long period of what he calls "controlled drinking," and was actually on the wagon for five years. "I was doing all the right things 'til all of a sudden I couldn't sleep at night."

Bi-polar disorder took over his life until he was able to find the right medications to control it. It was the Oct. 21, 1992 accident that finally led him to a sobriety that has lasted.

Through all his trials and tribulations, Pat worked and supported his family, was active in his church, and for 25 years, coached Catholic Young Organization (CYO) soccer. His team won a championship one season. Although he had the nickname "CIA" for "Catholic Irish Alcoholic," Pat said he was usually sober when he was coaching his team.

"Volleyball and soccer are my games," Pat said. He plays volleyball with an 85-year-old man at the Northshore Senior Center in Bothell. His daughters got him involved there when they decided he needed something other than A.A. in his life.

Pat's a poster boy for public transportation. He goes everywhere by Metro since he quit driving six years ago. His many heart medications make driving unsafe. Friends give him rides to meetings sometimes too. "We like to talk after meetings. They must want some of my experience, strength and hope."

Interviewed and written by Dick S.