They don’t make them like Steve Duggan anymore. The question is – did they ever?
The Monsignor was like many immigrants – neither here nor there. His heart was back in Ireland, while his soul was firmly entrenched on 2nd Avenue.
He lived for the present with a hawk-eye on the future. He rarely dwelt on the past, except on long drives, when it would come pouring out in a darkly humorous torrent.
He was no saint, nor did he ever claim to be. Like many of us he delighted in the company of rogues - the merrier, the better!
He never spoke about his education, but he could have been a great mathematician, for I never knew a man with such a command of the comings and goings of money.
Responding vocally to the "monsignor's" introduction. Photo courtesy Bill Murphy.
He was acclaimed right half forward for County Cavan, yet one of his rare regrets was that he could have been a star soccer player had the times been different.
Steve was an amazing booking agent. Should there be a problem all we had to do was dial his number and the offending promoter would blanch at the thought of verbal combat with this ferocious Cavan competitor.
He had been a greyhound trainer, a bookmaker, and, most importantly, he co-owned and successfully promoted dances in the Cavan Sports Center Ballroom.
While Country and Irish was the most popular dance music in the 1970s Steve recognized the pent-up local demand for the harder-edged pop showbands.
He also promoted Horslips and other Celtic Rock groups out of Dublin, like Spud. Thus did he become friends and associates with Paul McGuinness who would go on to manage U2.
In the end though, rural Ireland was too repressive and unaccommodating for larger-than-life individuals, and Steve joined the exodus to New York in 1983.
With Paddy Reilly and manager Jim Hand, Steve opened Paddy Reilly’s on the corner of 2nd Avenue and 29th Street.
Their idea was to create an upscale lounge bar, but that concept gained little traction in the swinging 80s. Eventually, the pub settled into a sedate neighborhood center for darts, and Reilly’s team was formidable.
Steve continued to book Paddy Reilly around the U.S. along with other acts managed by Jim Hand, one of Ireland’s great showbiz characters.
Contrary to popular lore, Steve did not book Black 47 at Reilly’s. His head bartender, Monaghan’s Dympna McDonald, did after discovering us in The Bronx. We were causing an unfavorable stir up there back in early 1990 because of our insistence on playing originals and a refusal to accept that “the punter is always right. Seditious behavior at the time.
Reilly’s was just what we were looking for, an open space - as I once stated in an interview, “the place was doing so bad, even the cockroaches were leaving.”
From playing the various boroughs, we had amassed an audience of music aficionados, ne’er-do-wells, and Irish Republicans, who brought a very different vibe to Reilly’s.
Steve could read cash registers better than anyone and recognized that Chris Byrne and I had come up with a very different take on Irish music and weren’t shy about sharing it. The Monsignor’s genius was the realization that if this could work in Reilly’s, it could take off all across Irish America.
And thus, with a little help from Leno, Letterman, O’Brien, and EMI Records, Black 47 became a national phenomenon. Steve masterfully handled all the Irish pubs and festivals, while The Agency Group looked after the rock clubs and colleges.
Within months we had lines around Reilly’s block, and soon Joe Strummer, Matt Dillon, Danny Glover, Brooke Shields and a slew of celebrities arrived.
In short order, Steve became King of Second Avenue with a beaming smile and a welcome for everyone. He booked great bands like Spéir Mór, Paddy A-Go-Go, Rogue’s March, Eileen Ivers, Joanie Madden & Séamus Egan, Tony DeMarco’s Seisiúin, and The Prodigals, who still play Reilly’s on Friday nights.
Steve was an amazing booking agent. Should there be a problem all we had to do was dial his number and the offending promoter would blanch at the thought of verbal combat with this ferocious Cavan competitor.
There were no deals. Every cent had to be collected. As he once put it, “What owner gives you a bonus on a good night?”
Actually you did, Steve, occasionally.
Some weeks back we laughed at old times, despite Steve being sorely tried by the recent death of his son, David.
Good night, old friend. We changed the way Irish music is listened to in America, and from humble monsignor you went on to become King of Second Avenue.
