writing | The Irish in America

John W. Regan, ca. 1930 (Private Family Collection)

This is my grandpa John Regan, at his birthplace in Tara Township, Minnesota. The sun is in his eyes, and he looks a bit uneasy, as if his mom just pushed him out of the car: “Quick! Go stand out in the field, and we’ll take your picture!” Judging from his outfit, it must have been a special birthday or graduation. We’ll never know for sure, but certainly someone wanted to document this day and this place.

This place in Tara Township is not only where Grandpa was born but also the land his father and grandfather farmed. I think about how hard life was for them, the sacrifices they made, the grief they endured, and the joy they found. It has been years since Mom and I visited this place, saw the abandoned house tucked back in the grove of trees, with walls falling in on themselves where Grandpa was born and remembered.

Tara native Betty Doherty told us earlier this year that the house was pulled down and no trace remains. The 1896 Catholic Church was razed several years ago. Soon there will be nothing tangible left of our people’s lives in Tara and Clontarf other than their gravestones in the cemetery. I will go there, to this place where my grandpa stood, and remember.

“To expect too much is to have a sentimental view of life and this is a softness that ends in bitterness.”

Flannery O’Connor

Flannery O’Connor is my favorite American writer, and lucky for my list, she was Irish American! Born on March 25, 1925 in Savannah, Georgia, Mary Flannery O’Connor dropped the “Mary” when she decided to be a writer. She said her name sounded like that of an Irish washerwoman. She wasn’t denying her Irish heritage completely, though. A name like Flannery O’Connor couldn’t be mistaken for anything but Irish.

Mark from the Andalusia Foundation, Inc. (Andalusia was O’Connor’s ancestral home to which she returned and lived from 1951 to her death in 1964) describes O’Connor and her Irish roots in a great blog post – click here. O’Connor’s Irish roots were on both her paternal and maternal sides, and the name Flannery came from neither. It was the name of a cousin’s hued Confederate Army officer, John Flannery.

“If you don’t hunt it down and kill it, it will hunt you down and kill you.”

O’Connor’s short stories are the best I’ve ever read. She draws us into an often unfamiliar and violent world inhabited by peculiar, wonderful, and humorous characters as O’Connor explores the complexities of human nature. I just love those characters. O’Connor was diagnosed with lupus and given five years to live in 1951. She wrote over two dozen short stories, two novels, and many essays and died in 1964, nearly fourteen years later.