About 150,000 are expected to attend San Diego’s 29th annual St. Patrick’s Day parade, which launches at 11 a.m. Saturday, March 14, from Sixth Avenue at Laurel Street in Balboa Park’s west end. That’s about one San Diegan in nine, or the population of Imperial County, our region’s next-door neighbor. Impressive indeed, that figure – if Pat were with us today, he’d likely choke up at the thought of it. And since San Diego’s fete is only one of about a million such events nationwide, he should have plenty of moral support to draw from until next year’s crop of parades rolls around, even as he’s been dead for more than 1,500 years. But amid his spiritualist fervor, Ireland’s patron saint and figurehead would be the first to tell you that nothing is as it seems. And his story itself would appear to bear that out. Records say he was born in Wales or Scotland, not Ireland, under the name Maewyn Succat. Some reflect he died in AD 461; others show he checked out as late as 493. He’s credited with banishing snakes from the island, yet postglacial Ireland probably never had any snakes on it. The rest of the world thinks of him as a lifelong devout Christian, but he was totally into pagan rituals for the first 16 years of his life. That last part weighs heavily in the balance as Pat’s feast day nears — seems a wee bit o’ the Wiccan colors this lore, and according to several historical sources, the shade isn’t exactly green. The snakes that St. Patrick supposedly drove out of Ireland weren’t snakes at all. At the time, the snake was merely a pagan symbol, and Pat is credited with the era’s most sweeping conversion of pagans to Christianity. But this reform isn’t something he accomplished by himself — Christianity was getting to be pretty de rigueur in fifth-century Western Europe, and it took a large contingent of Roman missionaries to make it that way. Even then, they had to configure their teachings to fit ancient Irish traditions, which were awash in gods and pagan beliefs. Enter St. Patrick, supposedly the best public speaker of the bunch. He landed a particularly effective gig in Munster province one day, snatching up a three-leaf clover and explaining that each appendage symbolized one member of the Blessed Trinity. Little did he know that the pagans had beaten him to it — for them, the leaves represented the iconic Triple Goddess and her traits of love, wisdom and fertility. The day’s greatest orator had been scooped by a three-headed pagan figure. In the process, the coveted clover would lose the preponderance of religious luster he was so hoping to promote. You’ll reportedly find many modern Wiccans staging a subtle protest on March 17, the Roman Catholic Church’s official day of reflection on Pat’s life — they might wear a little snake pin or an upside-down clover to mark the date that he supposedly converted Ireland’s pagans. But some take quiet satisfaction in the Church’s practice. After all, the clover has a deep spiritual meaning for them, too. And if it hadn’t been for St. Patrick’s efforts, the world might look at the little symbol as just another weed. While we’re at it, let’s not forget Ostara, the pagan feast that ushers in the spring equinox. This year, it takes place on March 20, only three days after the rest of the world toasts Pat for the trillionth time. It’s been hailed as a day of rebirth and plenitude for many, many centuries, with Christianity’s own such holiday — Easter, whose name is derived from Ostara — a relatively new concept over time. Happenstances like that make religious lore the fascinating social science it is. Think about that as you top off that Guinness next week. An extremely fine line separates two sides of modern religious thought, and St. Patrick’s Day makes an ideal case in point. —Martin Westlin is the editor of San Diego Downtown News, a sister publication.