The house sat at the end of a single lane road in the tiny town of Garrison, N.Y. Looking at the house, the railroad tracks ran to the left and the Hudson River to the right. The United States Military Academy stands guard over the river directly across from the house.

A simple mailbox with Guinan printed on it stands in front of the screen door. Step inside and it was as if time had stood still for years. The deli counter on the right; drink cooler on the left.

Once a youngster asked the kindly Irish man behind the counter if he had an ATM. The man, Mr. Jim Guinan, raised a quizzical eyebrow and said, “No.” He may not even have known was an ATM was.

Down the short hallway sat a bar with a huge mirror behind and windows all around providing a priceless view of the Hudson.

Every other Thursday, Irish musicians from far and near would gather inside the tiny bar — outside if the weather cooperated — to play and sing and revel in being Irish.

Behind it all was Mr. Guinan, a joyful man who moved his family from Ireland to America more than a half century ago. He welcomed all with loving, open arms. Anyone who met Mr. Guinan left for the better.

Following the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, Wall Street Journal reporter Gwendolyn Bounds found her way to Garrison — and to Mr. Guinan. Her subsequent book, “Little Chapel on the River” paints the picture that is Mr. Jim Guinan perfectly.

Mr. Jim Guinan died April 1 in Florida. He was 83.

Sadly, I saw only one Irish Night at the old store, nearly two years ago.

The musicians played outside, through the rumblings of the passing trains. They played fast songs and songs that made you think. Inside, the bar stayed busy as tabs were kept by hand and money went into an ancient cash register, the likes of which haven’t been seen in years.

Then all got quiet.

The talking ceased.

Even the trains stayed away.

Mr. Guinan had the floor.

As the words to “Danny Boy” flowed from his lips, the August sun began to set behind the western highlands. The sky a mass of red, blue and yellow.

Dare I say it was as close to perfect as perfect can get.

So perfect was that evening, the tears that flowed from my eyes listening to Mr. Guinan were pushed aside by the smile that covered my face.

Sean P. Murphy is Web editor of The Vicksburg Post. Write to him at Box 821668, Vicksburg, MS 39182, or e-mail smurphy@vicksburgpost.com..