Boardwalk Empire

Two more.

What do you say, Charlie? Give me a hand here, huh?

- All right, roll it down. Easy now. You got it?

I got it, I got it.

Roll it down.

All right. Keep it going.

As far as I'm concerned,

they can take St. Patrick's Day and sell it for scrap.

Dad says it's 'cause you hate being Irish.

I love being Irish.

What I hate is the yearly display of crying, arguing,

and public drunkenness that goes with it.

Centuries of loss. We're a sorrowful people.

Maybe it'll snow.

Good morning, Mr. Thompson.

Good morning to you.

Would you care to order some breakfast?

No, Martin. Thank you.

Who am I, the Forgotten Man?

I beg your pardon, sir. Would you like something?

No.

How come they ask you about breakfast and I got to raise a stink?

I live here. It's a courtesy.

- You got to live here to get served? - I'm a big tipper, Eli. Okay?

You act like it doesn't mean anything.

Because it doesn't.

The Celtic dinner, we're moving it up to 7:00.

Why so early?

The Civil War vets,

one of them snored over the Attorney General's speech last year.

You don't got to be old for that to happen.

You think you can do better?

Actually, I was thinking about saying a few words.

- What for? - Some electioneering.

Those reformers are looking to replace me.

I don't think a speech is a good idea.

It's a captive audience of the biggest pooh-bahs in the county, Nucky.

Who are there to celebrate their heritage, not be bored by your palavering.

I've been practicing, taking lessons at the YMCA.

It's an important night, Eli.

Bad enough I have Dad to look after.

I don't need you upsetting the apple cart, too.

I want to say my piece.

Fine. Daniel fucking Webster.

The widow Schroeder.

The widow Schroeder.

Mr. Thompson, good morning.

I was just on my way to your office.

Some soda bread. I thought you might enjoy it.

It's from an old family recipe.

You can leave it with the bellhop. He'll see that I get it.

I'm sure for your birthday you received many fine gifts...

I'm late for a meeting, Mrs. Schroeder.

But thank you.

- Not a bad looking woman. - My life's complicated enough.

Jesus! Did they even wash these things from last year?

I was Baby New Year in '17.

Even the diaper was second-hand.

There's blood on this.

Captain Haddock's.

Some wiseacre tossed him off the Boardwalk. He landed face first on an ashcan.

Fuck this.

No more leprechauns, no more cupids, no more goddamn elf costumes.

Kiley, Green, you're up.

- What's with you? - I'm done, Carl.

We all are. No more midget shit.

Midget shit's what they're paying us for.

Not boxing. That's a show at least.

We're talking about this nonsense!

This fucking Celtic dinner.

It's degrading.

Yeah, not to mention having those drunk assholes put their filthy mitts all over you.

What am I supposed to tell Nucky?

- He's depending on us. - Yeah?

Let him wear a leprechaun getup.

See how he likes dancing around like a fool.

Fuck him! Yeah.

What if I can get us a raise?

- How much? - Double.

I'll tell him we want 10 bucks a man.

I might do it for $10.

10 clams for a few hours' work?

Where's my fucking shillelagh?

Making a mess of this.

That's okay. I like the smell.

Oranges in the winter? Huh?

From California?

Long trip.

A couple nights in a sleeper car,

and then you're there.

Wading up to your waist in the ocean.

I love you.

-(DOOR SLAMS) - What was that?

Someone shut a door.

I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Pearl.

Doc says you're doing good.

Does he?

But you got to leave it alone.

It itches.

That's good. It means it's healing.

Did your leg itch in the hospital?

For a while.

But not anymore?

No. Now it's hitting all six.

You're so handsome in your new suit.

Everything's going to turn out fine.

You'll see.

How about that? As fresh as it gets.

Any more laudanum?

What happened here?

Poof

Don't be stingy.

It's opium, not a milkshake.

It's like the sun just came out.

Come on, George, it's the busiest day of the year.

St. Paddy's or no, with Prohibition,

we're in uncharted territory.

So it's dead reckoning then. (LAUGHS)

To the Irish.

They drink when they're happy. They drink when they're sad.

I drink to forget, but I can't remember what.

Well, it ain't just the micks.

My entire ward, the speaks are packing 'em in every night.

Everybody wants what they ain't allowed to have.

Psychology.

Whatever it is, they can't keep the booze on the shelves.

Hidden under the shelves, you mean.

I'm going to need to up my order.

- You hearing this, Captain? - I'm going to need an extra boat.

Hey, deal me in, will you? - When do you shove off?

The stroke of midnight on the sea of green.

That from money or beer?

- How we fixed on that anyway? Green beer?

Food coloring came today. They're dyeing it as we speak.

Make sure that dinner's supplied.

Going to need those poor Celts well lubricated,

so they can get through Eli's re-election speech.

- What speech? - Didn't you hear?

- He's Daniel Webster now. -(ALL LAUGHING)

- Yeah, you made that joke already. It's true!

He's taking Dale Carnagey lessons.

To the great orator.

Go on, give us a sample.

Fuck you. There's your sample.

Ah, the Irish, they're a surly lot.

Well, give him a drink.

Some green beer.

Yeah, well, in a couple of days the town's going to be swimming in it.

They can drown for all I care, so long as they pay.

And pay they will, Nucky, through their pug Irish noses.

Oh, Nucky boy, the cash is coming

Right from their hands into your bank account

MRS. McGARRY: None of us was so naive as to believe

that Prohibition would end all drinking.

Mrs. Schroeder, how nice to see you again.

I was beginning to think you were ill.

No. Thank you for your concern. I've been working.

Who's looking after your children?

A neighbor woman.

I've asked Bettyanne Mulhaney to share with us

an incident related to her by a relative.

Mrs. Mulhaney?

I received a letter

from my cousin Martha in Nebraska.

One of her neighbors, the widow of a dairy farmer,

had fallen on hard times.

"With six children to feed, temptation got the better of her.

"So she decided to mix up some gin in her bathtub,

"using a formula she'd gotten from a farmhand.

"The idea being they'd sell it in town for a profit."

The Devil's elixir.

Yes, it is. Sinful.

Devil. Sinful.

"She mixed some water with juniper berries and denatured alcohol,

"let the mixture set while she went off to fix supper.

"As she did, her little one got in to the alcohol,

"poisoned herself dead."

Right here it's the same thing. Illegal stills everywhere.

I passed by Ettinger's.

All those men at the counter drinking from coffee cups.

Well, you know as well as I it's not coffee at all.

Ettinger's isn't the only place.

There's Abe Klein's too.

It's clear. The local authorities lack the ability or the inclination to enforce the law.

And with our numbers dwindling,

we have to work even harder to capture their attention.

I heard Doc Holland is writing prescriptions for whiskey.

You don't even have to be ill.

It's a disgrace is what it is.

MRS. McGARRY: Ladies, please. With all this clatter

I'm not hearing what we might do about it.

A rally at the parade. Get out there marching like the old days.

MRS. McGARRY: Marching is all well and good,

but we need to stop the alcohol at its source.

This morning I saw barrels of beer, dozens of them,

being loaded into a garage behind my home.

This is what I'm talking about.

Perhaps Mr. Thompson could be of help.

The sheriff?

His brother, actually. Enoch. He's a friend.