The dust busters at the DOH told McSorley's that management had to clean up the bar's famous wishbones, placed there by doughboys headed off to war...
Per Dan Barry's article at the Times:
So, with heavy heart, the proprietor, Matthew Maher, 70, climbed up a small ladder. With curatorial care, he took down the two-dozen dust-cocooned wishbones dangling on an old gas lamp above the storied bar counter. He removed the clouds of gray from each bone. Then he placed every one of the bones, save for those that crumbled at his touch, back onto the gas lamp — where, in the context of this dark and wonderful establishment, they are not merely the scrap remains of poultry, but holy relics.
[T]imes have changed: old New York and new New York remain in conflict, and old New York is losing. For example, lounging cats had been a furry part of the McSorley fabric since Lincoln. But word recently came down from City Hall: no cats. A longtime regular, Minnie, has been barred as a result.
We reached out to Minnie via Facebook. She told us the following.
"I actually contacted Mr. Barry hoping he'd do a follow-up to his previous column on the wishbones. He asked about my current status, and I explained that Mr. Maher has said I'm not allowed into the bar during drinking hours...officially. Since the only heat I want coming down is from the stove, that's the fact as it must be reported and as we must maintain.
It's a sad turn of events about the bones."