Madelyn Kennedy Bourbeau

Remembrances

My mother’s sister Madelyn played many roles in life and played them well – daughter, sister, cousin, and friend; girlfriend, wife, widow, and girlfriend again; student, beautician, manager, and business owner; and mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt and God-mother.

She was an integral part of my life longer than anyone. I never knew one of my grandparents and the other three had all passed away before I graduated from college. My mother died when I was 25 – she never had the pleasure of meeting her daughter-in-law or enjoying her grandchild. My father died when I was 41 and my daughter, only 4 at the time, has some memory but not a lot. My father’s only brother joined him when I was 47 – a career military man, he was someone we took pride in from a distance but the connection was intermittent at best.

Aunty Madelyn was a part of every significant event in my life for 49 years. Days after my birth, she became my Godmother. Each summer she would join us for a week at Hampton Beach. She, my uncle and my cousin would suddenly appear in the wee hours of a Saturday morning, having gotten a sudden urge to visit home and driven to Massachusetts from Washington, DC. My two childhood excursions out of New England were to see her. She was there when I graduated from high school. When I attended Georgia Tech, I would get a ride to her house from a classmate and then fly the rest of the way home. She was with us when I got married – the first time and the second. She sent the baptismal gown first made for my cousin, then used by me, when it was time for my Madeleine to be baptized. She sat on our patio and introduced us to her boyfriend after my uncle had died and she had moved to Florida. She called or I called (never often enough), and when I took a business trip to Florida in late 2004, we had dinner together at one of her favorite spots. She was so full of vim and vigor – even at 85 – it is hard to believe that she is gone so suddenly.

My grandfather worked for the railroad. My grandmother had a pass to travel by rail. When I was 6 or 7, my grandmother and I took the train from Lawrence to Boston and then from Boston down to Washington, DC. I believe that my mother joined us but that she came down by plane to minimize the amount of time away from work at the Arlington Trust Company. As a youngster, the memory I came away with was “President Kennedy’s Christmas tree.” This was my first time out of New England and my first time visiting my Aunt, Uncle and cousin instead of them visiting us.

In my eyes, they were always my “rich” Aunt & Uncle. They always wore stylish clothes, drove a nice car and brought presents even when it wasn’t Christmas or a birthday. Over the years I would hear about their trips to places around the world. It seems that Spain had a particular charm – especially for my Uncle. Her favorite, however, was, I think, the Bahamas. Later, when I spent almost a year working in the British Virgin Islands, we spent time discussing the similarities between these two British protectorates.

One of my Aunt’s favorite stories was how when I was young, she asked me to do something. I asked here why and we got into a discussion of why I should do it and how it should be done. She said that after a while it dawned on her that she was holding a debate with a 7-year old and told me to just do it!

In the late 1960s, I went to visit them for Thanksgiving. It was my day of three Thanksgiving dinners. My mother and stepfather had moved to Derry NH. So I started with a noontime Thanksgiving with them. Then at about 4:00 PM, I had Thanksgiving dinner with my father and stepmother. Then I was driven to Boston for what I think was my first flight and was certainly the first time I had flown by myself. In a matter of hours, I was being picked up at Washington National. They had been waiting to eat with me and we had dinner at a Valley’s Steak House at about 10:00 PM. This was quite a new experience for me. I rarely stayed up that late and was amazed to find out that in Washington it was not that unusual to eat dinner at 9:00 or 10:00 at night. In my grandmother’s house dinner was served at about 5:30 every night like clockwork and if you were not ready then you didn’t eat.

It may have been at this time that my Aunt told me a story about how things worked in Washington. She explained that there would be times when my Uncle would call one of their favorite restaurants and ask for a reservation in the name of Bill Bourbeau only to be told that nothing was available that evening. He would hang-up the phone and hand it to my Aunt. She would call and ask for a reservation in the name of Madelyn Kennedy – suddenly a table was available. We were not related to the Boston Kennedy’s (at least not the American generations), but nobody in Washington wanted to take a chance!

My Aunt first worked in, then managed, and finally owned Fairlington Beauty Salon in Alexandria, VA. And lived in a townhouse not far away. During my visit, I spent a day helping her out at the “shop.” We had lunch at a small restaurant around the corner. It was this day that I discovered that when something needed remedying quickly – mopping up a spill, getting a towel, etc. – Auntie Madelyn would snap into action. Things would happen quickly, but her focus was totally on the situation at hand and not the people around her. At this point everyone – young & old, male & female – became Gertrude. It was the first of many times I was called by that name. In the evening, Aunty Madelyn, Uncle Bill and I walked to the local movie house. It was a balmy evening compared to what I had left behind in New England. We were going to see Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple.” I remember walking along with them in the dark with all the lights of the movie house marquee. It was exciting and I felt very grown up – it was a new and wonderful experience.

Unfortunately a memory of this trip was a bookend to the previous trip. In the family photo album is a picture of a somber youth in a dress overcoat standing alone behind President Kennedy’s grave – watching the eternal flame flicker out of the center of the oval of stones. Not in the picture, behind some shrubs behind me was the plain white cross that marked the new grave of Robert Kennedy.

I think it was when my Grandmother passed away in 1971, that Aunty and I started to discuss family history. Just the two of us were sitting in a booth at a restaurant on South Broadway in Lawrence. In this conversation and others I heard a number of stories . . .

Once she graduated from St. Patrick’s High School, she went to school in Boston to learn to be a beautician. She would walk out to the corner of Broadway and wait for the bus to take her to Boston. Sometimes she would be standing in deep snow without proper footwear. At one point her feet got a bit frost bitten. She said that from that day on her feet were overly sensitive to the cold and that this was one of the reasons she was happy to eventually move south.

She told me about her Uncle Joe who was an architect. I was shocked to find out that he had designed the school I had attended from kindergarten through second grade and I had never known. More amazing, he had designed the exterior of Sacred Heart Church – the French Church up the street. She explained that her grandfather and grandmother had been one of the founding families of the parish.

Her grandparents had emigrated from Quebec, met in Lawrence and had been married for over 50 years when my great-grandfather died. He was a builder and had built many of the houses in the Shawsheen sections of Lawrence and Andover. She told me that around the time she and my Uncle Bill had gotten married, she was telling her grandfather about how excited they were to have found this great apartment in a double or triple-decker. He asked her the address. When she told him, he confirmed that it was a good apartment. Surprised she asked “Oh you have been in that house?” “I built that house” was his reply.

She came up for my high-school graduation. Just before graduation there was a senior event of some type. About three of my classmates and I ended up crashing in my room at some very late hour. My Aunt said that the next morning she tried to open my bedroom door. She counted three pairs of feet on the floor and saw me in the bed. Based on this she concluded we had had a fun and safe evening.

In the early 1970s, the husband of one of her favorite personal clients became President. She would tell us what a wonderful down-to-earth person Betty Ford was and she proudly displayed the formal White House Christmas greeting she received from the Fords.

In 1980, I took a job at the US Department of Energy in Washington and bought a townhouse in Greenbelt, MD. If you were to look at the Washington Beltway as the perimeter of a clock, my new home was at about 2:00 and my Aunt and Uncle lived at about 8:00 – we were at opposite ends of the DC world. Even though my father’s brother lived relatively close in Suitland, MD in the 5 years I was there I never visited him – while I was a frequent visitor to my Aunt’s house. I was able to visit her when she was in the hospital for kidney stones and looked sicker and in more pain than I had ever seen her. We were able to console each other when my mother died. And I was there to comfort her when my Uncle had his first heart attack. After leaving DC, the next time I saw her was at my Uncle’s funeral following his second heart attack

The next few times I saw Aunty was when I got married in 1990 and when my sister Kerry got married several years later. Although I did not call often, when I did call we had long conversations. She was never afraid to express her opinion or her love and pride. Much of the information that I have recorded on that part of the family came from her. Unfortunately some of the details were lost at one point. I was amazed at the names, relationships and people’s hometowns that she remembered even when in her 70s and 80s.

One piece of advice she gave was in the form of a story about herself. She said that making a marriage last over a long period was not easy – that you need togetherness and also time to yourself. She described how over the years she and my Uncle had developed a system that worked for them. My Uncle worked a standard Monday – Friday schedule. My Aunt on the other hand chose to work Tuesday – Sunday. In this way she could take care of personal things on Mondays that had to be done during business hours. Another benefit was with regard to the relationship. Both she and my Uncle had clear strong tastes and ways of doing things and they were both pretty particular. They were not, however, the same and could come to loggerheads. The work schedule did a lot to ease this. My Uncle had one day a week – Saturday – to putter around and do his thing without interference. My Aunt also had one day a week – Monday – to do the same. And they made it a point of having Sunday be a day of rest during which they enjoyed each other’s company. It led to decades of good relations.

One conversation was typically Aunty. She was always planning something, going out dancing, etc. I called her one night and she started off the conversation by saying that now that she was in her 80s, she just couldn’t do what she used to do and was slowing down. We continued the conversation and about 20 minutes later she said she had better get back to packing – that the next day she and some friends were driving from Florida to Washington for the weekend. I told her that if this was “slowing down,” I hopped that I was that spry when I reached her age!

When our daughter was born, my wife suggested the name Madeleine Morrisette. She explained that she really like my Quebec great-grandparents family name and Madeleine could be both for my Aunt Madelyn and for one of her favorite authors and a friend of her Uncle’s Madeleine L’Engle. And she really preferred to spell the first name in the traditional French way rather than the anglicized version. Who was I to disagree with my wife? I think that this tickled Aunty, and while she could not make it up for the Christening, she did send up the christening gown that my grandmother had made. I think that she only saw Madeleine once – on a last visit “home,” but she did speak with her on the phone.

In 2004, three Hurricanes hit Florida. The first made landfall right near where my Aunt’s condo was located. She stayed through the storm and we kept in touch by phone. Once the storm was over, she said it was the most frightening thing she had ever experienced and next time when a storm was coming she would not stay. With the utilities all out, as soon as she could after the storm she went up to my cousin’s in Ohio for a few weeks. When the third storm of the season followed the same track as the first, she kept to her word and evacuated.

In early December 2004, I had a job interview in Florida. I made the arrangements in a way that would give me the opportunity to visit Aunty the night before the interview. When I called, she said that it was wonderful I would be there but that she had organized a trip to a Christmas concert and would have to leave a bit early. Once I arrived, I was honored to discover that she had decided to forgo the concert in order to have more time with me. We went out to dinner and had a great visit. Although I did not get the job, just having some one-on-one time with her made the trip a huge success.

In October of 2005, I was visiting relatives in Ireland when another hurricane was heading for Florida. Although this one was heading for the west coast of Florida, the track once again was heading toward Aunty. This time I watched the news confident that she was likely in Ohio and out of harms way. Upon my return, I called and was horrified to find out that she had decided to stay based on what turned out to be the false assumption that the storm would have significantly dwindled before reaching her area. The hardest thing on her was that her Condo was on the top floor of the building. Without electricity she had to climb up 3 flights of stairs on bad ankles. But as usual she persevered.

In February I received word that Aunty had been diagnosed with a heart valve problem. It was not necessarily life threatening but it was reducing her energy and stamina and unless corrected these things would continue to deteriorate. For her, the inability to be active would be worse than death. The operation to fix the problem had a 97% success rate. Although she was busy planning the complex’s upcoming St. Patrick’s Day festivities, she decided to get the procedure done as soon as possible. A few days later, I received word that during the operation it was discovered that her arteries had calcified to the point where the stitches would not hold and she had died on the table. She went to sleep anxious to get on with her planes and never woke up – if the alternative was years of limited activity then I am sure she is happy that things turned out as they did.

Aunty Madelyn led a full, rich life. She loved her husband, she loved her son, she loved her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. She had a special bond with her sister – often one would pick up the phone to call the other only to find that the other had called seconds before and the phone had not had time to ring, and many times they would call based on a feeling that something was amiss with the other and would be right. She took on an almost surrogate mother role when our mother passed away at a relatively early age. She was loved by her co-workers and then by her employees. She had style, grace and dignity. When my Uncle died, she grieved and then went on living a full loving life. I hope we are all able to say the same someday.

When you search, sometimes you don’t like all you find

January 2, 2006

Since returning from Ireland, I have used the Internet to search for more information on the Corliss side of my family. Unlike the McCarthy side, the only thing I really got out of the visit to Tuam and Galway City is a connection to the towns themselves but not my people. I also purchased a book of essays and articles providing a glimpse of what it was like to live in Tuam from the 1850s on – the period during which my great-grandfather lived and raised his family.

What I discovered online were a number of groups and bulletin boards. There is a Tuam Family History site. There are boards based on geographic location – like Galway, and based on surnames like Corliss. I posted messages seeking information on my family in all the relevant places I could find. There are very helpful people of no relation who have done quick searches to find bits of information for me. For example it appears my great-uncle Michael moved to Lancashire, England, married, became a widower and then remarried. I have also received responses from Corlesses in Ohio, Australia and Ireland who are also collecting information on their/our families. While it is likely we are related it seems to be at least a few generations back of the record collectively documented thus far.

The most diligent collector of Corless information I have come in contact with thus far seems to be Catherine who I believe lives in Ireland. In addition to some interesting tidbits, I received an intriguing message from her.

“. . . Also, Mary Kate, the youngest, died in tragic circumstances, in the Infirmary Hospital, Workhouse, Tuam. There is a long report on the tragedy, in the Tuam Herald, the local newspaper, (still going strong) for March 1900. Perhaps you are aware of this. As it is of quite a sensitive nature, that's all I will say, but I felt I should mention it, as it gives statements from some of the family, which may be of interest to you, and states that one son had emigrated to England, probably Michael, or Patrick, as they were the older ones. . . it makes tough reading, a very sad affair, but it is family history, and good or bad, I feel myself, that everything needs to be known.”

I did know that Mary Kate died at age 9 at the Tuam Workhouse and I assumed it must have been a sad story, but I found Catherine’s warnings odd. Yesterday, she faxed me the Tuam Herald article and now I understand her caution.

From my readings, things were quite bad in those days, especially for the people who loved in the section of Tuam where my great grandparents lived. It was a poor and quite an unhealthy place. Mary Kate was the youngest of eight. On the morning of Saturday March 23, my great-grandmother went to the market. Late in the morning all the other children still at home, except Mary Kate, went to a friends house leaving her at home with their Father still in bed – perhaps sick. Evidently he cracked under the strain of it all and murdered her with a stick and then walked to the police station and turned himself in. My then eleven-year-old grandfather was the first to find his dying sister bleeding on the floor. After the trial -- during which his sons testified -- my great-grandfather was declared insane and placed in the Criminal Lunatic Asylum.

I wonder what ever happened to him after that?

I wonder how my great-grandmother dealt with it all?

I wonder if grandfather ever told dad or Uncle Jim?

I wonder if that is why grandfateher seems to have left Ireland as soon as he was able?

Now I have even more questions and there may never be any answers. Not the story I would have hoped for, but I am glad to know.

A Returned Christmas Card

December 26, 2005

My father’s brother and his son Michael traveled to Lawrence 8 years ago this month for my father’s funeral. Uncle Jim’s oldest son James P. had always been sickly and could not make the trip.

My uncle was 2 years older than my father. He had enlisted in the Army during World War II and over his career he had advanced to the rank of full bird Colonel. He had taught at the war college in Maryland and worked at the Pentagon. He did two tours of duty on the General’s staff in Vietnam. For as long as I could remember, he had lived in Suitland, Maryland.

Every once in a while, until her death in 1976, he would return home to visit his mother. I remember one time him bringing James P. along. I was a young boy and James P. was seven years older than I. It was great fun to have an older cousin around if only for a few days.

While home, my uncle would help out around my grandmother’s apartment. One of my clearest memories was of him standing in the pantry in a bright white sleeveless undershirt painting my grandmother’s old sink with white enamel paint.

I vaguely recall, my father and I once visiting his house in Suitland – but maybe that is just in my mind.

Even when I too lived in Maryland, I never visited him. I did visit my mother’s sister and her husband who lived in Arlington, VA but my Uncle Jim was more of a mystery. The soldier who appeared from time to time and then was out of touch for a few years.

When he was passed over for General, he retired from the Army. My mother’s sister said that there was a small article in the Washington Post about his retirement so he must have been well known in at least some quarters. His wife, aunt Peg who was 5 years older than him, passed away in 1995. I don’t think that retirement fit him well and the loss of his wife of some 45 years was another blow. I think out of loneliness he began calling my father more frequently. I think they became closer during this time.

Then, when my father’s colon cancer returned, they talked even more often.

The one pleasant outcome of my father’s passing was the opportunity for my sisters, my stepmother and I to reconnect with Uncle Jim and to meet his son Michael. Standing in the receiving line at the wake, sitting in the living room at my dad’s house and spending an afternoon with him at my house, we had an opportunity to talk about many things: my career, his career, politics, government, world affairs. After the loss of a father a reconnection with his brother was a small but important comfort.

Since dad’s death, I have talked to Uncle Jim once or twice – like him and my father, for some reason I am not that good at picking up the phone or writing a note to keep in touch with family, there is always tomorrow. He has also called and talked to my stepmother a few times. Each year she sends a Christmas card to Suitland.

After I compiled the family information into the database I made note in my to-do list to write to Uncle Jim. Then I started work on the website and said after it is finished I will write him. Then I was able to visit Ireland and I said I would do it when I got back. Then I got a contract and had to abruptly leave for Louisiana and said I would write over Christmas.

On the day after Christmas we had a family gathering at my Stepmother’s house. Over dinner she asked if I had heard anything from Uncle Jim. I said no and she said that she had not heard from him in a couple of years – which was not that unusual – but that this year her Christmas card had been returned and she was concerned.

That night I searched the Social Security Death Index. My Uncle Jim had passed away in October of 2003 and my cousin James P. had died a few months earlier in August of 2003. Michael had not called. No one had called to let us know. I searched the online phone book but could not find a listing for Michael. Either he has an unlisted number or has moved out of that area.

I recently read The Undertaking, a book of essays by Irish American Poet and Undertaker Thomas Lynch. In it he talks about how funerals are unimportant to the guest of honor –who is after all dead – but very important to the living. Seeing with your own eyes that someone is dead brings closure. I recently scanned a photo of my uncle as a young man in uniform. For months now I have been thinking about writing him a letter on all the family history that I have been compiling and on my visit to Ireland and the discussions there about his long ago visit. In my mind he was alive, two years after he had died. And without being at the wake, without reading the obituary, without seeing the tombstone, it is hard for me to register that he too is gone.

A Prod for the Other Side of the Family

June – July 2005

In late June, I received e-mail from a woman named Linda Siegenthaler. She was trying to get the last active synagogue in Lawrence, Massachusetts on the historic register. She was looking for information on the architect Joseph Morrisette and had been told by several people that they thought he was my grandfather. Actually he was my great-uncle and his father, my great-grandfather was also named Joseph Morrisette.

I knew many of the buildings my great uncle had designed – especially Sacred Heart Church, my great-grandfather being one of the founding members of the parish. I did not know, however, that he was architect of this synagogue. Once I discovered the location, I did know exactly what building she was talking about. It was about two blocks down the street from my father’s house and grocery store. While never registering that this house had been converted into a synagogue, I had often noticed the rod iron gates with the Star of David as I walked past. It turned out that Linda’s interest in the project had been inspired by her relationship with her late uncle, Robert Goldberg, who, unknown to her, had been a good friend of my father’s.

Linda and I met and while together called my late mother’s sister in Florida. My aunt provided all of the information she had, explaining that both her Uncle Joe and his wife had died young and that their children had moved to Alabama. She said that while she had not been in touch with this part of the family, her cousin Germaine had been in touch.

After Linda had left I called Germaine and she gave me the addresses of my great-uncle’s two surviving daughters. I was amazed to discover that they both lived within about 1 mile of my mother-in-law’s condominium. As luck would have it, I was planning to visit my mother-in-law in a week or so to help her with her business. I quickly composed a letter and sent it to my two cousins asking if we could meet and if I could get some information on their father for this woman. I received a call back saying how delighted they were to hear from me and that they would love to get together.

One was married and the other was a former nun. I spent a wonderful afternoon with the three of them discussing what each of us knew about the family. They provided me with a copy of a family history hand-written by my Aunt Georgie, a copy of the design of sacred heart church, and loaned me a photo-album. I scanned many photos and returned the album the next day. My cousin Irene, the former nun and life long school teacher, asked if there was any special reason I was gathering up all of this information. I said no, just because I was interested. She said that listening to me, she had a hunch that I was a good writer and encouraged me to write about what I found. I am not sure if I will, but I may, and if I do, this blog will serve as the starting point.

I look forward to the next time the three of us go visit Birmingham and the opportunity to introduce Amanda and Madeleine to my Birmingham relatives.

Another Prod Forward

May – September 2005

In late may, one of my Internet search engines came up with a posting for a strategic plan project manager contract in Dublin Ireland. I submitted my resume and stated that I had dual Irish/United States citizenship. The person at the Dublin firm was a bit confused, assuming I had been born in Ireland and immigrated to the US. He asked how much time would I need and what rate of pay would I require to return home?

Once I had made it clear what the circumstances were, he was still interested in considering me for the position. Lacking another project and for the opportunity to work in Ireland for some period of time, I was interested. But the numbers really didn’t work. The problem was that someone already living in Dublin could just as easily fill the position. So there was no reason to pay for housing or living expenses. Unless I wanted to sell the house here and move to Dublin, the net after expenses was not really enough to meet our needs.

In the end, it became moot since the client company found an internal candidate to assign to the task. What I did learn however was that to take advantage of such offers, my citizenship alone would not really be enough – I really needed an Irish passport. So I again contacted the Irish Consulate in Boston this time requesting a passport application.

Once it was received, I got the necessary passport photos and filled out the application. Again I needed the signature of a witness who was a clergyman, medical doctor, school principal, bank manager, lawyer, policeman, or magistrate/judge. I had become friends with the principal of the grammar school up the street when my daughter was a student there and when I was working on the establishment of an education foundation. As before, having done this herself years before, she was happy to oblige.

In early September I sent in the application. I little over a week later it was back in my mailbox with a note saying I had failed to provide a required document. Within a day it was back in the post. On October 14, 2005, my Irish passport was issued in Dublin and mailed to me. Unfortunately, it arrived a few days after my unexpected first trip to Ireland.

Bringing Things Together

February – July 2005

Once again a half-year passed with little progress on the genealogical side of things. With finances tight, I did not spend the money to apply for a passport and devoted my time to developing project leads.

In January, a previous client offered me a 3-month contract managing a project for him in the British Virgin Islands. In preparing to leave, I stopped by the Apple Store and purchased Reunion Version 8 software to record all of the information I was gathering.

While in the BVI, I spent a many of my evenings entering in all the information I could cull out of the Limerick and Galway ancestry reports, the records I had gathered over the years and the other material in my file.

When I returned home, I scanned in some family photos, editing out a series of headshots to add to the records in the database.

The software allows you to automatically generate web pages of your entire database. By the end of June I had entered everything I had and was ready to share it with the family. Using the space provided with my .Mac account I created a Corliss Family website.

A New Impetus

January - June 2004

Sometimes it feels like God just keeps sending reminders to move things from the back burner to the front.

As an independent consultant, when between projects a lot of my time is taken up on networking meetings with colleagues. The start of the new year was no different. On Tuesday, January 6, I had lunch with a friend who works for a large, Boston-headquartered engineering and management consulting firm. Towards the end of the conversation, I related how after my BVI experience I had begun the process of claiming foreign born Irish citizenship so I could be eligible to work on European Development Bank projects.

His eyes lit up a bit at this piece of information. He explained that another group in the company had just won a large watershed based planning project in Ireland. Someone with my background who was an Irish citizen might be a good match for some of their needs. I told him it would likely be three months before it was final and he asked that I let him know as soon as it came through.

The next day, I faxed the General Register Office in Dublin and, using the information from the Limerick ancestry report, ordered a copy of my grandmother’s birth certificate. I then contacted the Irish Consulate in Boston and requested a citizenship application. Although it was not needed for citizenship purposes, I also faxed the Galway Family History Society and requested the report on my Grandfather.

A few days later and application arrived. Three weeks later, a Priority Aerphost envelope with an Eire postmark arrived – it contained Johanna Ita McCarthy’s birth record in Irish and English.

I then contacted a friend who at the time was the City Clerk of my hometown of Lawrence, Massachusetts. He provided me with the full-page versions of my birth certificate and marriage certificate, my father’s birth and death certificates, my mother and father’s marriage certificate, my grandmother and grandfather’s marriage certificate, and my grandmother’s death certificate. This turned out to be less straightforward than it seemed. Although her first name was Johanna, my grandmother always went by her middle name Ita. My father’s birth certificate lists her name as “Ida” McCarthy. Her marriage certificate was filed under Ita McCarthy and her death certificate was filed under Johanna Corliss, m.n. McCarthy. So on the three key records her name did not match each other or the full name on her birth certificate.

The final step was to have the application witnessed by a clergyman, medical doctor, school principal, bank manager, lawyer, policeman, or magistrate/judge. Since I was in City Hall picking up the other documents, I asked the City Attorney to sign as witness. He explained that he too had filed for Irish Citizenship several years before and would be happy to oblige.

With all my documentation in hand, on Monday March 1st, I headed for Boston and the Irish Consulate. I presented the paperwork to the woman at the window who reviewed everything for completeness. She noted the discrepancies in my grandmother’s name on the various documents. I explained that she went by her middle name – which was misspelled on one of the documents – and that I even had a family history report from County Limerick that provided additional information. She suggested that a photocopy of the report be included in the file when submitted to the Consulate General for review.

The end of May, a letter arrived from the Consulate containing a Foreign Births Entry Book certificate documenting my Irish citizenship. I could now apply for a passport if I wished. It had taken four and a half months from when I had lunch with my friend and then ordered my grandmother’s birth certificate. I called him and he said that he would contact the manager of the project in Ireland on my behalf.

As part of my normal networking, in June I contacted a colleague at another large engineering and management consulting firm. He asked if I might be interested in a project management contract in Phoenix Arizona? I asked for details and he said they had a large contract and the project manager, a fellow from England, had left the company to take a job as project manager with another firm that had recently signed a big planning contract . . . in Ireland!

Researching the Family History

January – July 2003

With the British Virgin Islands project complete, I began a more serious investigation of my father’s ancestry. Through online searches, I discovered the Irish Family History Foundation. This organization has affiliates in most the counties. Each affiliate seems to be independent and set up differently. Each will do an initial ancestry search for a nominal fee.

Limerick Ancestry seemed to be an official branch of the County government and was located at the Public Library building in Limerick City. They provided an online form that you could print, fill out and fax back. Within a few days, I received a fax from them stating that they would post my report in approximately 3 weeks. This turned out to be an optimistic estimate and in early May I received a fax stating that they could not read my credit card number and asking that I resend it. On May 8, a package arrived addressed to Mr. John McCarthy – my great grandfather’s name! Enclosed was a very informative report that provided detail on my grandmother’s family based on birth and baptismal records and provided information on where I could request a copy of my grandmother’s birth certificate. It also stated that additional information on the previous generation was available and could be provided for an additional fee.

The Galway Family History Society West, seemed to be more of an independent organization. They have an online application that I submitted. I soon received an e-mail stating that there was a 3 – 4 month backlog of research applications. In early February I also received a letter in the mail from them stating that due to a number of circumstances there would be a delay in responding to my application. In mid-July, I received a second letter summarizing some of the records found and providing the cost for a complete report.

Family and work activities became my focus at this point and I did not follow-up on these efforts until early the next year.

A Christmas Conversation

December 199_

Sometime in the early 1990s, my wife’s cousin invited us to a Christmas Party. In the buffet line, I overheard a man excitedly relating that he had just returned from the Irish consulate where he had picked up his Irish citizenship papers. He explained to the woman he was speaking to that by documenting his relationship to an Irish-born grandparent, he was eligible for foreign-born citizenship status. He also said that in claiming such status, Ireland did not require one to renounce one’s US citizenship.

Both my father’s parents were born on the emerald isle and I vaguely remember having heard this once before, but had never looked into it. This time the idea stuck in the back of my brain.

As the Internet became popular, finding out more about this became easier. To gain citizenship you needed at least one grandparent’s Irish birth certificate and the birth and marriage certificates confirming your relationship to this grandparent. Once you were a citizen for 3 years, your wife could also automatically become a citizen. Any children born after you were registered also became citizens although those born before registration would have to be naturalized if they so chose – too late for our only child.

From time to time I would document information from my father on his side of the family or from my mother’s sister on hers. I had a pretty organized list but it was incomplete and from time to time I lost things.

In 2002, I had a contract with a joint venture engineering firm managing the development of a Wastewater Master Plan for the British Virgin Islands. This was our first time living – even temporarily – outside the United States. It was a wonderful experience and I thought it would be interesting to do more international work. During this experience, I was introduced to the realities of international politics. Many projects in developing countries are funded through grants or loans from regional or national agencies – United States Agency for International Development (USAID), the European Development Bank (EDB), etc. Often these grants come with strings attached: supplies must be purchase from the funding country; non-local employees must come from the funding area, etc. Many projects in the Caribbean are funded by the EDB and the EDB requires that folks working on the project have a EU passport.

This was just the incentive to move Irish Citizenship from a fun thing to do someday to a good thing to do to increase the range of employment opportunities for which I might be eligible.

Dublin

Friday and Saturday, October 21 and 22, 2005

My lunch appointment in Dublin never confirmed a location, so I sleep in and delay my departure from Knockanbrack. Mary has generously offered to loan me a package of photographs – some a hundred years old – to bring home, scan and mail back to her. We go through them and for those that are not already labeled we write on the back who is in picture.

Departing, even at 11:00 AM, is far to soon for Mary.

I drive northwest through Tipperary and on to Cashel, taking a brief detour for a few photographs. Then it is a straight shot on the motorway to Dublin.

Dublin is a more cosmopolitan city. Many more people of color, Asians and Europeans than I have seen elsewhere. And this is seemingly not a new phenomena – during my stay I will order a sandwich from an Asian women with and Irish accent and purchase an item from a black woman with the same. It is an old “big” city. The buildings are no taller than what I saw in Limerick, but there is more litter and graffiti that is rarely seen in the west. It has the accumulated soot and dirt of centuries upon it. There is also big city traffic.

The maps are good and I find the guesthouse on the north side. I arrive around 3:45 PM. As I enter this building the co-owner gives me his card -- my hosts are Mary and Joseph, and my room at the inn is waiting. But this Joseph is a Romanian immigrant.

I decide to spend the evening catching up. After checking my e-mail, I do my last preparations for the work in London and catch up on these blog entries. That done, at around 8:00 I walk to a pub / restaurant several blocks down the street for dinner. Above the mantel in the dinning area are three photographs of Bill and Hillary Clinton during a Presidential visit. The friendly waitress speaks with a clipped German accent. The menu includes stir-fry, Mexican, Cajun, and pasta entrees. And this “historic neighborhood pub” is one of four owned by the folks. Dublin is an international city.

After breakfast, I fully catch up on my work and send out e-mails. Shortly after lunch I take the short bus ride into the center city. There are bus lanes along most of the major roads and bus transportation is well used. The double deckers are full and frequent, and even so there is much traffic.

As luck would have it, I get off a block from the Abbey Theater – I take photograph for my daughter the aspiring actress. I spend some time wondering the city and then head for Trinity College. I stroll down O’Connell Street. It is a beautiful, wide boulevard with statues of Irish heroes dotting the median. I find the College. You enter into the main court through an archway in the building facing College Square and what had been the Parliament during colonial rule. The architecture is wonderful and it has the feel of a rich academic environment – adjacent to but separate from the many attractions and distractions outside.

I follow the signs for the Book of Kells. I purchase my ticket and walk through the fascinating exhibit on how these works were done on by Irish monks over a thousand years ago. I learn many things including the fact that velum was originally made of calf’s skin and that is what the pages of these books are made of. I then have the opportunity to look at four open books – two are the Book of Kells and two are similar Irish bibles hand transcribed in the 7th and 8th century. They are quite amazing.

Next it is up the stairs to the Long Room that turns out to be the original College Library. This huge two-story room is full floor to ceiling with very old books. There are display tables down the center aisle containing texts used during the schools history. The first is a first edition of Darwin’s Origin of the Species. Farther along are first editions of books by Newton, Faraday, and others. There are anatomy and medical books that would fascinate Amanda. It is an inspiring room. Even though it is an Anglican school, this room makes me wish I had studied here.

As the sun is setting I wander through the Temple Bar area – an old section on the left bank out side the College filled with wonderful pubs, restaurants and shops. I stop at a shop to purchase some gifts fro family back home and then circle back to a place that advertised real Irish food and Music.

Oliver St. John Gugarts’s has a pub with modern music on the first floor, a pub with Irish music on the second, a restaurant on the third and guest accommodations on the forth. I start on the third floor. The food is Irish – I order a chicken casserole from a 1780 recipe – and the excellent wait staff is a mixture of all but. After dinner I walk down to the second floor. About 8:45 PM the next group on the daily 12-hour rotation of musicians begins playing. A few years ago, with my asthma I would not be able to enjoy the music but now all pubs and restaurants in the Republic are smoke free and I heard on the radio that the success of this has inspired the North to propose a similar policy. Here I am in Dublin, sitting in an Irish Pub, sipping Baileys and listening to very good Irish music – a dream that I had not expected to become reality even 4 weeks ago. All that is missing is my wife Amanda, or my friend Russell here to enjoy it with.

With a busy three days coming up as the 10:00 hour approaches I reluctantly depart. I stroll across the Half Penny Foot Bridge and then back down O’Connell Street. I catch a bus and by 10:30 I am in my room.

The McCarthys

Thursday October 20

First thing in the morning, I sit down with Mary and her daughter Katie and record as much information as I can on the Martin family. I also get information on my Grandmother’s sister Lena McCarthy O’Neill who did not have any children. Mary has kept the funeral cards of all the older relatives.

Shortly after noon, Mary and I get in the car and I drive to Ballyferode in Glenroe. This is land that was owned my Grandmother’s brother David. David also went to America although not at the same time as my Grandmother, Great-Aunt Mary and Great-Uncle George. The family story is that fellow travelers reported David cried with homesickness the entire six weeks over by ship. He soon sent back word that he wanted to return. My Great-Grandmother collected money from the family and sent David a ticket home. He then bought 27 acres of land and built the house my father visited in 1946. The land has since been subdivided and homes were built by his son David. We are going to the son’s home and near by are the homes of David’s children and several nieces and nephews – all buildings built by David. The younger David himself left Ireland for a period – going to England to build houses – and then returned to his family’s property.

We sit with David, his wife, one of his daughters and a nephew – also David. I hear stories of my father’s visit. My cousin Timmy Cronin (who was later best man at my mother and father’s wedding) was also on leave visiting his Cronin relations that Christmas and bicycled over from a nearby town. I see photographs of Dad in uniform and of my Great-Uncle David’s family.

The nephew David’s mother (the older David’s sister) has passed away and his father is in a nursing home. He has never married. He has been doing research on his branch of the family and shows me his notes. He will send a copy to me when he finishes and I will send him copies of what I have.

We have a grand traditional meal. The one thing I find odd is that the pitcher in the middle of the table contains not sparkling water, but 7-up. I have noticed that 7-up is a popular drink here and tend to recall that it was something my Grandmother had in the fridge also. I have also noticed that ice is not frequently used here and when it is it is only a few cubes.

After lunch we spend some time in a memory room they created a few years back. The walls are lined with old photographs and drums from the pipe and drum band David had long ago hang from the ceiling. They tell me they will make copies of some of photos and mail them to me.

We then get into two cars and drive down the lane to David’s late father’s house. This is where he grew up and where my father stayed when he was in Limerick. Then it is off to Curraghtuk in Ballylanders – where my Grandmother was from.

We stop at the home of Maureen (McCarthy) Kelly – the daughter of one of my grandmother’s younger brothers. They own the McCarthy land now.

They bring us to the site of Martin home (my great great grand parents and no close relation to my cousin Mary Martin’s late husband). All that remains are stones that form the rough outline of the cottage. In a touching moment David takes out his bagpipes and plays. He says that he knows that his father and grandfather played the pipes in the doorway of the house that once stood here and that he had always wanted to continue that tradition. When he heard that I was coming and arranged for us to visit the site he decided this would be the day.

We then traveled a bit further down the lane to the house Mary Anne and John McCarthy built. The thatch roof has been replaced by slate. Although occupied not too long ago, it is in need of maintenance, but its thick walls seem as solid as when it was built well over 100 years ago.

Back at Maureen’s home there is more food and more tea. She shows us George Martin’s will. It is dated 1908 in and is in wonderful condition. It leaves the 28 acres and other items in trust to Mary Anne McCarthy (his daughter) or David McCarthy (her oldest son). Several things catch my eye.

First, Mary is listed as a widow. In 1908 the oldest of this single mother’s eight children would have been 20 and the youngest 9. I seemed to recall that my grandmother and her younger sister and brother had left Ireland in 1910 or perhaps 1908 – this always perplexed me. If it were the earlier date, she would have only been 19 years old, George only 18 and Mary only 17. Now knowing that her mother was a widow with all these young children at home, it is more understandable that they might have left to relieve the burden on their mother and hopefully send back money from America. Having only once left New England, when I traveled to Georgia to go college just shy of my 18th birthday, it was a bit scary. It is hard to imagine the courage it took to start a 6 week sea journey to a new world at this age – knowing that it was unlikely you would ever be able to return. When my mother died when I was 25 and I became guardian of three of my teenage siblings that was difficult. What was it like for Ita at 19 with two younger siblings in tow?

Second, the will includes references to close relatives named Twoomy and Cassidy who had gone to America. At the Martin Farm, the descriptions on the back of the photographs of the family gatherings included those names saying that we were at their house in Concord, MA. So more of the pieces fit together. A copy of the Will is to be sent with the copies of the photographs.

We stop by Mary’s brother Patrick’s house. He was just released from the hospital that day and is puffy. He is glad however to have gotten out in time to meet me. I have a good conversation with his son Liam, an engineer who is trying to develop an online sales internet site.

There is still the get together at a Hotel in Michelstown tonight. We return to the Knockanbrack to prepare. I meet Mary’s son Patrick, his wife and two year old son. Mary is tired and asks Willie to go with me this evening. We head out at 9:00 and arrive at about 9:30. A small group is waiting for us – those we had dinner with earlier and a few more. I am stunned when over the next hour over 20 more people come in to introduce themselves to me. I am welcomed “home” by all. I sit and chat with several of the small groups that form and listen to the stories. It sounds as if my father’s and later my Uncle’s visits have been talked of with relative frequency over the past 58 years. And there was sadness when my grandmother died in 1975 and communication was lost. I am asked if anyone in the family still lives at 87 Alder Street – an address well remembered by many. The younger folks report asking their parents if they know the whereabouts of their relatives in America and are very happy that I made the effort to reconnect – “it is more than we have done.” All these people have on short notice turned out to meet me and I am honored, humbled and grateful – and I am told that many more wanted to come but could not . . . this time. I am also happy that I have clearly been a catalyst for many of them to reconnect with relatives that (like at home) they only tend to see at funerals.

Many encourage me to “return with my family in the summer when the weather is good,” and to “bring my sisters along.” A number tell me that they would be happy to have us stay with them if we don’t wish to stay at a hotel or especially if that would make it possible for us to come home sooner – that between the cousins they were sure there was room for all.

It is a wonderful and overwhelming night that ends after 1:00 am only because the hotel has turned many of the lights in the lounge off in an effort to close up – otherwise the conversations could have continued for hours more. As my Dad would say, “these are good people.”

The Martins

Wednesday October 19, 2005

The Martin dairy farm at Knockanbrack is at the top of a hill several miles outside of Galbally. This 20 acre piece of property has been in the Martin / Kelly family for at least 5 or 6 generations. It was left to Willie when his father passed away 3 years ago. The have 40 cows which produce approximately 150 liters of milk a day.

When my grandmother’s niece Mary Condon married John Martin 53 years ago, there was no electricity or running water. At some point part of the house burned and was rebuilt. The new portion is attached to the remains of the old stone building which now serves as a storage shed. The house sits just over and below the top of the hill to protect it from the cold winter winds. From the front pasture you look out on the Galtee Mountains and from behind the “shed” (barn) you look on the rolling hills of Limerick.

Mary and John Martin raised 10 children in this small home that contains the accumulation of generations. The walls are covered with family photos, religious prints or photos of the late Pope John-Paul II. Mary has been to Lourdes on several occasions the most recent this past summer. She has one brother and is in good health at age 72 although she did suffer a heart attack a few years back and is on medication. All but two of the children – Willie and Michael – are married. Willie and Michael live at home and all but one of the others live relatively near by. Catherine Ita (Katie) is named for my Grandmother.

Like their father and Grandfathers before them, many of the children, are farmers and with the exception of Patrick who is a carpenter, the remainder work in the meat packing plant. This is the main industry in the area although it employees far fewer than it used to. Jackie is on disability from the plant with disk problems in his back. Michael suffered from a severe case of Scardosis several years back that affected his lungs and other vital organs. He was in the hospital for nine months. The treatment was high doses of steroids. He survived but lost the hearing in one ear and some in the other, lost some of his eyesight, and suffered some neurological damage. He speech is often difficult to understand and he can become obsessed with tangents or fantasies. Although he requires close supervision, he can help Willie. The rest of the family members are in good health.

Simply keeping up with the daily chores is more than enough for one man – even with Michael’s help. And he has been making improvements required by the EU regulations. Willie laments that he doesn’t have time to keep up with the mounting number of maintenance and clean-up tasks he would like to do. Despite the hardships, there is great generosity, many smiles and much laughter in this family.

I walk in the door to a warm welcome and a seat by the fire. Food and drink is constantly being offered. While I am not a big tea drinker, I soon learn to sip tea with milk and sugar – sense it is constantly in front of me. While the family does not drink much, I am provided with a small glass of brandy before bed.

They have been going through stacks of photos and papers in preparation for my arrival. I had expected to see photos of family I had never known, but I am stunned to see pictures of my immediate family that I had never seen: me at 3 ½ months in my grandmother’s arms; my mother, father, uncle and aunt sitting on a coach together, my mother and grandmother, my grandparents, and on and on. As a child I have vague memories of going of to family gatherings at someone’s home in the country – I know that the Cronin’s are their but I can’t remember whose house it was. But here are photos of these events with carefully written descriptions on the back in my grandmother or my Great-Aunt Mary’s handwriting.

There are also photos of the Great-Aunts and Great-Uncles who stayed in Ireland and my Great-Grandparents. There are photos of the house my dad visited when on leave from the army the Christmas of 1946 and a photo of the thatched roof house my Grandmother grew up in.

Mary Martin tells me that she would often come across her mother in the fields or milking a cow with tears in her eyes. She would ask what the matter was and Bridget would say she was thinking about her older sisters who went away to America when she was very young and whom she would never see again. When she was older she saved money to go to America to visit Ita and Mary – but she did not want to go alone and her sister Lena was afraid to fly and Mary who was not afraid to fly had all the children to look after.

Mary reminds me of my grandmother. She is short with a rounded body. Her eyes sparkle when she smiles and she smiles often. She has a subtle sense of humor. As do most her she has a large statue of Mary. Without the room to create a separate grotto, she has placed this statue along with one of Jesus in the greenhouse along with some other statues she has collected. She laughs when she said that some might be surprised to see Mary and Jesus and Laurel and Hardy standing together.

The power in the neighborhood will be turned off for most of the day tomorrow while the electric company upgrades the system – another cousin (the sole surviving child of my grandmother’s oldest brother) has offered to have us to dinner at 12:30 while the power is out and to then show me some of the older family homes.

I go to bed feeling at home and delightfully overwhelmed with information.

Lost in Limerick

Wednesday October 19, 2005

On Wednesday morning I headed out to meet my cousins. I drive back southeast, past the Shannon Airport on towards Limerick City. I arrive at there late morning and drive around for a quick viewing and to get my bearings. I usually have a good sense of direction and this city seems like it is laid out on a pretty regular grid, but somehow it is confusing. I follow the signs for the information center – they lead me on a circuitous route that takes quite a while.

At noon I find the information center, and park in the garage across the street. The garage is attached to a small shopping center so I stop for lunch. This place is called Arthur’s Quay. There is a poster showing a map of the medieval Limerick sitting on an island in the River Shannon and surrounded by its wall. It turns our that for several centuries from when Limerick started having a mayor, the mayor was almost always a member of the Arthur family. Seeing the walled city ruled by Arthur, even though they are set in England, it makes me wonder if this formed any inspiration for the Arthurian books I love to read?

The Information Center is really a store – no free maps here. It seems nothing is free in Ireland – street side parking and even the use of public rest rooms is pay as you go. I suppose that is good but I kind of like not having to worry about having the right change in my pocket. I ask if there is nearby place where I can check my e-mail – I need to send out some things for the work in London next week. The woman at the counter directs me to the Library that the map in front of her says is also the location of the Ancestry Office. It was the Ancestry office that I paid to do the research on my Grandmother that resulted in the documentation to gain me foreign-born Irish citizenship. Since in the report they had suggested that there was information on generations preceding my great-grandparents, I had wanted to visit them anyway.

After walking about the number of blocks I had estimated from the map taped to the information center counter, I realized I was lost. I found a map on an information board in a pedestrian mall. I figured out where I needed to go and immediately set off in the opposite direction. Again I determined I had somehow made an error and returned to the map. I realized that is was upside down relative to where it was located. This time I found the Library but even though there was a sign saying it was here, I could not find the Ancestry Office. The woman in the Library informed me that the office had been permanently closed last February – very disappointing!

She also informed me that while I could use their computers to check my mail I could not use my own. She directed me to an Internet Café down the street. They said the same and directed me to another Internet Café near the bridge where I entered the city. I recognized his directions because I had noticed that the bridge was named the Sarsfield Bridge, which I remembered was my step-grandfather’s middle name – it is hard to forget a name like that. Since time was short I decided to check the trusty map on the information board. Yup, if I hadn’t checked, I again was about to head off in the opposite direction of where I needed to go.

I found the Internet Café, and finally successfully did something I set out to do. Turns out that it was located about one block from where I had parked the car two hours earlier. My wife would not be surprised that for me, Limerick sort of turned out to be a bad joke!

I continued southeast to Tipperary. I chuckled at the sign that said “Welcome to Tipperary – You’ve come a long, long way.” This seemed like a nice place. It was a bit larger than Tuam and also had a nice downtown. It had the first sign I had seen for “Free Public Parking.” It was about 3:00 and the children were getting out of school. It was nice seeing all the boys looking neat in their green sweaters, white shirts and green ties.

I was on the final leg now, heading back southwest into County Limerick. My grandmother grew up in Ballylanders in the south east corner of the county, near where the boundaries of Limerick, Tipperary and Cork intersect. Her niece Mary Martin lives one town over in Galbally (in Irish Bally means town, so this would be similar to a place name like Georgetown).

As I drove toward Galbally the countryside seemed much more familiar than Galway. Tree canopied roads with leaves beginning to turn. Rolling hills and small mountains with evergreens crowning their tops. Far fewer stonewalls.

At just about 3:30 I pulled into Galbally. It is smaller than Tuam and it too is an attractive little downtown. I found the Catholic Church. A man in a waiting car broke into a twinkling smile reminiscent of my grandmother and said “My name is Willie, follow me.”

Galway City

Tuesday October 18, 2005

I knew that Claddagh was a fishing village on Galway Bay. I thought it was a good ways away. It had not occurred to me that in the days when Galway was a walled city, what made Claddagh a separate village was it being outside the walls – as was the adjacent area on the other bank of the River Corrib, known as Fishmarket. This is where my great-grandfather moved as a young man to find work – and found a wife. Somehow this adds even a bit more significance to the Claddagh ring my wife gave me and is a replacement for my wedding band that was lost in the river that runs behind our house.

Galway City is a combination of old and new. It is somewhat similar to Boston. It seems a great place to visit but not really a place I think I would like to live. While my hometown of Lawrence – the place that my grandfather settled in when he went to America – is not on the ocean and is not as big, it does share some important characteristics. Both cities are divided by a river with one canal running parallel on each side and, periodically, spillways – and the rivers are both crossed by three bridges.

This river creates a vista to the dome of the Catherdral of St. Nicholas – a church opened by the late Cardinal Cushing, Archbishop of Boston, a church leader revered in my youth. The old church is where likely where my great-grandparents wed and is where their first child was baptized. The city has done a beautiful job of creating a river walk between one canal and the river. Pedestrians and cyclists move along it from one bridge to the next.

I start at Fishmarket and wander around to Claddagh. At home we have a flock of domestic mallard ducks and one gray goose. Each morning I open their pen and they dash through a gate and into the river. I chuckle each time since in recent years the old fence has decayed and I have removed most of the sections. All that is left at that end of the yard is the gate that the ducks continue to scurry through each morning. In the evening I go out with their food and my “quack quack” is returned in chorus and ripples appear on the water as our flotilla returns home for the night.

As I approach the new boat ramp at Claddagh, there are gulls and mallards and to my dozens of Swans on the water. I am as surprised to see the ducks and swans swimming together in Galway harbor, as folks paddling up our river are to see our ducks swimming wing to wing with a goose.

Soon it is raining. It is clear that this does not faze people here. Rugby practice continues. For most including me it has become business as usual.

I wonder if the building my great-grandfather lived in is one of the ones along the dock or if it has long since been replaced. As I wander through the old parts of the city, I think that he likely walked these same streets with his bride to be. He was an “older man” in his early 30s and she only in her early 20s. I stop in a bookstore and find a street map of Galway City and look up the Suckeen Lane – the street she lived on, but there is no listing.

At the appointed hour of half six, I phone back a woman who responded to one of my letters to folks with the surname of Fox. Her elderly mother received the letter and it was passed on to her. Valerie Fox Egan is about my age and tells me that she is quite sure that her family is not related to my great-grandmother, Delia Fox. Her family is from Clare Galway and moved to Galway City after my great-grandparents met and moved back up to Tuam. However, her family did have a shop on Suckeen Lane and she can tell me where to find it since the name has long been changed. Even though it is dark now, I follow her directions and find a short street that I think is Suckeen. There is a house at number 10. I don’t know if it was her father’s house or not. Someday I would like to go to the Galway City library and look at the old maps and find out.

Tuam

Monday October 17, 2005

My great-grandfather lived and my grandfather grew up on the Galway Road. It is now a relatively main road – part of the National system. As a result most of the buildings do not date back to the 1800s – it is unlikely his home still exists.

I pass St. Mary’s Cathedral – Church of Ireland – and follow the signs for the city center. I come to the cross roads of a very nice downtown – The Square. Here I find my lodgings, the Corralea Court Hotel. Parking is through a tunnel, barely wide enough for a car, into a back yard. It is a tasteful, modest rehabilitation of an old building. I have a room with twin beds and a bay window over the sidewalk looking out onto the main streets and the square.

Tuam is a people proportioned town. The buildings are not too high and the streets are not too wide. There are a good variety of establishments. The only thing I notice as different from the main street back home is the number of restaurant / pubs and the existence of off-track betting parlors. The sidewalks are active but not crowded. There is a small-scale vibrancy that is pleasing.

It turns out that Internet service is via a DSL line and I didn’t bring an Ethernet cable. Sandra, a delightful young woman expecting her second child on Christmas, suggests the Internet Café down the street. I ask if they have a map and she mentions that the Library is across from the Internet Café and has old maps of the city that might help me in my quest.

I find the Internet Café, bump into the owner and ask if he knows where I can purchase a cable. He doesn’t but his assistant could make me up one if I come back in a half hour. After a pleasant lunch, Carl, a pleasant pony-tailed young man has the cable. I ask if I can hook up my Mac there to send some e-mails before my excursion. He is unfamiliar with Macs and is willing to give it a try. It works smoothly and when I ask how much I owe him he says he has learned something useful so nothing.

Unfortunately the Library is closed on Mondays – and this week only, Tuesday also. There will have to be a next time.

I walk over to the Roman Catholic Cathedral. Tuam is a separate Archdiocese from Galway City. This is a very pretty church, in many ways similar to St. Mary’s where Amanda and I were married – but smaller and brighter. A striking difference is that each of the Stations of the Cross that surround its interior are beautiful large paintings.

I ask a woman cleaning if she can direct me to the Church Cemetery. It is a 10-minute walk across the Catholic girls’ school, past several Catholic colleges and down a residential street. I wander through looking for the name Corliss or Corless on any of the stones. About mid way through my search it begins to rain. I work my way back toward the road and find one very old stone but this Corless does not appear to be related.

I walk back to the hotel thinking how even though many of the buildings have been replaced; these are the same streets my grandfather had walked. Even though he died long before I was born, there was an opportunity to get to know him here.

After drying out at the hotel, I tried the Internet again. It turns out that in this case an Internet room means they supply the DSL line you supply the dial up ISP – I have broadband cable at home and certainly no Irish phone number to dial. I went down to the pub for a light meal – soup and salad. As I headed back up to the room, through the glass of the door I saw a hearse go by followed by over a hundred people. I ran up to the bay window and witnessed a scene right out of Angela’s Ashes. Except for the cars, it was a scene that had played out for my grandfather as it was appearing before my eyes.

After a good night’s sleep, I check out on Tuesday morning. I return to the Internet Café to confirm that the cable works properly. Even though it is not his normal time Carl is there and greets me by name. He checks out the cable – it is fine – and allows me to e-mail some things, again no charge.

I walk down to the Church of Ireland’s Cathedral. The two Cathedrals almost balance each other with The Square as the fulcrum. Unlike its RC counterpart, however, this church is heavy, its grounds cramped and its doors locked.

My last stop is to check out a few bookstores. One is very good and I pick up three books including one called Glimpses of Tuam, and an Irish / English dictionary.

When I return to get the car the gates to the tunnel are closed. This is a courtesy for a funeral that will be coming by soon (I think the body that was transported from the funeral home to the Cathedral last evening), but if I am leaving now they can open them for me. Minutes later I am heading for Galway City.