Marty's Ireland Journal - Day Four

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Day Four

Morning came really early and I got out of bed feeling a bit wobbly from jet lag, Jameson, and Guinness.  Brian stayed up later than I did last night so I don’t know how he looks so much more awake than I do, but somehow he does.  We had our Irish breakfast and all climbed into Michael Feeney’s car with Annie sitting on my lap and waved goodbye to the tour group who are heading up to Sligo and Donegal today.  We were taking our instruments to a military dedication for Tom Carey of Bekan, who was part of the U.S. Army and was killed in World War I.  Our friend Pat Gorman from Dixon, Illinois, has been working with Michael to help locate graves of American soldiers who did not receive plaques of honor from the U.S. government.  This grave was found through Pat’s research and Michael’s on-the-ground hunting for the actual grave site.  When Michael found it, it had been forgotten, covered with leaves and grass and needing an immediate sprucing up.  He and Ernie took it on, coming out to help power-wash the grave site and remove all the years of overgrowth.  Some relatives were found living not far from Bekan, and they had been invited to the cemetery.  One of them could remember visiting and seeing a folded American flag sitting in Tom Carey’s mother’s home.   

The  day was very cold with a stiff wind blowing from the East, but the sun managed to break through the clouds in time for the ceremony to begin.  Standing there was Ron Howko, an American veteran who fought in Vietnam and is now the post commander of the John Barry VFW post in County Mayo. (Yes, there are enough veterans of Irish descent and Americans living in Ireland that there are VFW posts here.)  In addition, there were four other veterans who had fought in World War II all the way through Vietnam.  They were here, each decked out in medals and wearing the distinctive military hat of the the VFW.  A representative of the British Army was also on hand as well as a member of the Irish Defense Forces.  A piper played a lament after the American National Anthem.  I stood there with Brian, hands over our hearts, and sang the anthem.  It is one thing to sing it on American soil, but quite another to be the representatives of America singing the the anthem.

It hit me that Michael Feeney had not only brought honor to people who live in Northern Ireland and the Republic, but he also had conveyed the understanding that no matter how they served and where they lived, they are still all Irishmen and women.  I felt a chill go up my spine as Ron Howko read the history of Tom Carey and how he served his adopted country and died.  Ron went on to talk about the great love that America has for Ireland and the debt it owes this nation for sending so many of its people to our country.  How many of these people willingly gave their lives for this new nation that offered them a decent chance at having a good life!  It was a sacrifice that Tom Carey made without ever having the chance to get married and have children of his own.   At several points during his talk, Ron paused, getting choked up with emotion.  I looked at the other veterans and understood from their faces that knowledge they each have to carry after being in war and seeing comrades die.  It was something that thankfully I never had to experience.

Ron called the soldiers to attention, and they slowly folded up the American flag.  Brian and I walked over with Ernie and solemnly rolled back the black cloth that was covering the bronze plaque.  After a short talk by Michael Feeney, we proceeded to play Falling Water River.  My cousin Liam suggested that it would be a fitting piece, and I told the crowd there about the song and how my own grandfather was very much like Tom Carey, that he came over in 1916 to America and was immediately made part of the U.S. Army Military Police.  He luckily didn’t see action but easily could have and just as easily could have been in a grave over in Ireland.
We took some pictures with the various branches of military and then headed off to Liam and Kay’s home which was not too far away for tea and cakes.  Later we spent time at Seamus’ home in Claremorris and had a nice dinner before saying our farewells and heading to Castlebar for the second evening’s performance.

The show was quite special in that the band felt much more relaxed.  During the performance, Brian, Nick, and I headed to the front of the stage and played an acoustic version of Climb That Mountain.  And the dancers really did a fantastic job!  Colleen Kosier, the director of the studio, explained to the audience how clogging was named that by Queen Elizabeth.  The dance is truly a mixture of Scottish, English, Irish, African, and American Indian dances…all coming together in the mountains of Appalachia in the early 17th century.  Hearing this, I think the audience was able to appreciate even more the girls’ dance steps.  I was very proud that they could now claim that they have performed internationally!

After the concert, we headed back to the hotel to round up all the folks to head back to Westport.  I walked into one part of the pub, and there were a good number of our tour, surrounded by the most ancient of Irish customs—Saturday night dancing.  There were teenagers dressed to the limit…the limit of taste perhaps and all heading onto the dance floor.  The music was terrifically booming, and I had to grin, as nothing had changed in the over 20 years I have been visiting Ireland.  What made the whole scenario great was that just down  from the gaggle of giggling girls and gawking guys were two elderly ladies, dressed in nice skirts and sweaters, each holding a glass of cider in their hands and looking around with sort of a bemused expression.  It was something that has always made Ireland special, that Saturday night is not just limited to the young, but an opportunity for everyone in the community to head down to the pub and socialize, even if the traditional music has been replaced with the thumping and bumping of hip-hop.

The Ringmaster

Next month we will be returning to St. Edmund Parish in Oak Park, Illinois for what has become an annual concert.  The parish holds great memories for us, especially the early days when we would play an Irish pub in Naperville, Illinois or even Milwaukee and get home around 3 a.m.   Our clothes would reek of second-hand smoke and it wasn’t unusual for us to stumble into St. Edmund wearing the previous night’s outfits so we would be on time for the 9 a.m. Mass.  Kathy Halfpenny, the director, would nod to us as we hurriedly opened our cases. The choir would comment on the smell of beer and Marlboro cigarettes wafting out of our cases.  We would be bleary-eyed but ready to play as soon as Father Ruiz would signal his presence from the back of the church.

One person, who had a personality like a cup of good java, was Tom, the energetic and outgoing husband of Kathy.  He was part ringmaster, part preacher, and even part liturgical dancer.  Where most men (and a few women, too) would shrink in horror at the idea of dancing down the aisle in praise of God, Tom was there, stepping in where angels feared to tread.  He had no sense of inhibition.  The 9 a.m. Mass became a favorite for us and some of our fans, who would come to St. Edmund after seeing us play at a pub.  Eventually it was the road that took us away from our standing Sunday gig, but our recollections of Tom and the choir would fuel many a nostalgic talk as we would roll along some back road in Kansas.

About three years ago we were commissioned to write Masses and songs of worship.  The first person we contacted was Kathy to see if St. Edmund would want a Mass and a concert so we could “test-fly” our first Mass.  She was elated, and we had a reunion at her Victorian house (that sports the world’s largest wind chimes) in Oak Park.  Of course, Tom was there. We would smell him before we saw him as his pipe smoke would precede his noisy entrance into the room.  All senses were entangled in his laughing, smoking, darting gestures, and quirky anecdotes.  Tom ran a jewelry business which eventually ended up in his house.  “Come into the parlor” had a vested meaning with him, as he would burst into the room during our music session with Kathy and dazzle us with rings, necklaces, and brooches at back-of-the-truck prices.  We would end up getting a jump start on our holidays and anniversaries and Mother’s Day with these irresistible offerings.   Kathy would tolerate Tom’s takeover during our work sessions until a certain point when she would banish him to his office.  That would last about 15 minutes until he came back again, a big grin on his pipe-clenching face, holding up a coral necklace he forgot to show us.  We would smile and obediently reach for our wallets.

Last fall we met with Kathy to plan another Mass and concert.  We were going on the road and she asked us to write five songs for a “Mass of Healing.”   It was a different house.  As we crossed the threshold, there was no whiff of the pipe.  The jewelry was stacked in cases. Tom had passed away suddenly over the summer.  The reality of that passing came full force to us when entering the Halfpenny house.  The ringmaster wasn’t there to greet us. We didn’t talk about Tom as we worked on the music, but the void of his zany presence was the elephant in the room.

One of the most rewarding parts of being musicians is that we’ve had a chance to meet people whose energies are larger than life. Like a Paul Bunyan, Tom would tower over people with his generosity, joy, and enthusiasm.  He was always excited about simple things like a church raffle or a new liturgical dance step.  Even when the power company tore his front lawn up earlier that summer, he took that as an opportunity and told his next-door neighbor that the fresh mound of earth was where he had buried Kathy.  The neighbor didn’t talk to him for weeks.

The impact of grief is always the wish of one more word spoken, one more bracelet bought, and one more chance to smell the pipe smoke.  Our best way of honoring a life like Tom’s is to continue to play music.  And play it with a bit more zaniness, enthusiasm, spontaneity, and yes, maybe a dance step or two.  If we start selling jewelry at the show, don’t blame us, blame Tom Halfpenny.

~ Brian and Marty

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