Philbin, an alumnus of the University of Notre Dame, then reminded viewers that his school's mascot was a leprechaun.  "But," Philbin exclaimed to a beaming Jimmy Neary, "You're the real thing."

 The description would surprise none of the "regulars"  at Neary's , 358 East 57th Street.  People there have been telling the diminutive, impish Neary the exact same thing for many years.  At what some lovingly refer  to as "The Irish 21 Club," the gang of regulars takes a whimsical pride in the almost mythical origins of their friend and host.  For them, Jimmy Neary is as real as it gets.

 Neary's clientele includes some of the most successful exponents of the art of politics; his walls are filled with the autographed photos of big shots and little cheeses, from former Presidents Ronald Regan  and John F. Kennedy to former New York Governor Hugh Carey, Massachusetts' Senior Edward Kennedy, and Connecticut's Senior Christopher Dodd. Jimmy Neary's place on the East Side of Manhattan  is quite unlike any other Irish restaurant in the city.  Neary's is conservative in the best sense of the word.

 It isn't easy finding the right words to describe the New York institution that Neary's has become.  The influential Zagat's restaurant survey tried when it said: " The quintessential Irish Pub, serving good hearty fare at reasonable prices to East Side pundits, politicians, prelates, plutocrats, and the pulchritudinous..."  Despite the elegant alliteration, these comments don't capture the magic-mix that hangs above the atmosphere of the place like sea-fog on the Liffy.  Entering through its double doors beneath the long, green, street canopy, the warmth within is experienced when Jimmy Neary jumps up to meet you, like an old friend at a wedding.

 The room is a frenzy of talk and conversation, long New York "A"s, Back Bay brogues, mid-town melodramas, and enchanting local heroes-the romance of grand-hotel. Sinking into the cushy, clubby, red-leather banquette running the length of the left wall, no one would be the least surprised to find Frank and Kathie Lee Gifford finishing an Irish coffee in the adjecent seat, or Senator Ted Kennedy polishing off the last of  his french fries.  Neary's customers are an eclectic mix.  Smart, single women of means, the Barney's  and Bloomindale's crowd, and neighborhood residents from chic, smart Sutton Place condos mix with sports commentators, top businessmen, the occasional monsignor, and the not infrequent nun.

 Ultimately, the chemistry that gives the place its rarefied character bubbles from the enchanting personality of its owner.  As bright and chirpy as the cocksparrow, Jimmy Neary would have made a marvelous politician; indeed he works the bar with all the energy of a vote-squeezing candidate in a neck-and-neck campaign.  An ever-present host and unabashed workaholic, his work day, beginning around 11:00 a.m., does not end until the wee hours, often after 2:00 a.m., 7 days a week, 364 days a year.  Jimmy Neary is a hands-on guy.  Devoted to his restaurant, he has become a man of significant financial means. Few would begrudge this affable Irishman his success.

 At 23 years of age, Jimmy Neary was a shop boy by day and a hackney driver by night in sleepy Tubbercurry, a small rural town in County Sligo.  Going nowhere fast, like a large number of young Irish men and women at the time, his eyes were fixed on the employment opportunities of the U.S.  In 1954, he landed in New York and got himself a job as towel boy at the New York Athletic Club - not the most auspicious start - but this ebullient Irishman loved the work, and was soon a popular figure with the club's affluent patrons.

 Working nights at P.J. Moriarity's  on 3rd Ave., Neary  saved up a sum of money and cleverly invested part of his savings in the stock market.  He made a killing - enough to make a deposit on 358 East 57th St. where he opened his restaurant on St Patrick's Day 1967.  In 1986, he borrowed $1.3 million from the Bank of Ireland on Fifth Ave to purchase the building.  He promptly hopped across the road to St. Patrick's Cathedral to light a few candles for the success of the venture. 

 Neary's has built up a colorful and distinguished group of patrons in the almost 30 years of it's existence.  A steady, faithful coterie of daily customers is not unusual.

 Daughter Una Neary says her father's eyes dance in his head and genuinely sparkle as he moves among his patrons.  His soft West of Ireland voice and gentle humor bring an air of civility to the sometimes cynical Manhattan landscape.  Jimmy can lift the heart of even the most sanguine of hearts.

 Where else but at Neary's could generations of Irish-Americans, nourished on the humor and characters of directors John Ford's The Quiet Man, actually discover Maureen O'Hara quietly having her dinner amid the polished energy of Neary's, respectful admirers maintaining their discreet distance.

 What charms many of the non-Irish regulars at Neary's, and that includes the largest percentage of the customers, is the friendliness of the Irish staff.

 With the food at Neary's as real as its patrons, Jimmy has no aspirations to compete with the great wine lists offered by New York's more famous restaurants.  But few will deny his well-founded claim of making the best Irish coffee in the U.S.; certainly television host Hugh Downs or Pat Kennedy Lawford could both testify to this; so could best selling novelist Mary Higgins Clark and Barbara Taylor Bradford; sports commentators Dick Stockton and John Madden; or Wall Street scion Gerald Corrigan.

 Neary's good, wholesome food served by pleasant and charming staff, in comfortable surroundings, is the essence of Neary's success.  His menu includes marvelous succulent steaks, the finest lamb chops and fish imported directly from Ireland.  So, at Neary's the compliments flow.  A tall man had been dinning alone made a point of walking over to the bar to have a few words with his host before leaving: "Thanks Jimmy, that was as good as you'd get."  The solitary, bookish diner was none other than Jonathan Bush, brother of former President George Bush.

 But as a host, Jimmy works the crowd with polish and aplomb, the dignity and savvy refinement elegant new Yorkers expect.  He know his patrons and their tastes, engaging each with the dignity and smooth style reminiscent of a legendary New York proprietor/host.

 Jimmy Neary embodies the American dream as imagined by many young people in the West of Ireland.  He had the singular honor of being elected to membership in the New York Athletic Club by chairman William McCarthy, and seconed by the incoming president, Joe Ingrassi.  As Jimmy sits in the elegant eleventh floor dining room at the NYAC, with its glorious view of Central Park before him, one can easily detect his quiet pride as he surveys his adopted city: "I love New York," he says, with an enthusiasm that one can imagine has changed little since his arrival in Manhattan as a young, green Irishman 40 years ago, with only $94 in his trouser pocket.

 All Neary's efforts  have been well supported by his family, who despite their academic success, can be found helping out on 57th Street.  Daughter Una, a senior bank examiner with the New York Federal Reserve, particularly enjoys working in the evenings as a waitress/hostess. She says she can see the day fast approaching when she may play an even larger part in the family business.

 But  it is not only the Neary family who has done well on 57th Street but the famous Neary staff as well.  Jimmy reckons that none of them got past high school before they left Ireland.  But between them all, they have put some 30 of their own children through college.  Surely this is the American dream come true.