Grandpa Clohessy

Grandpa Clohessy

This past St. Patrick’s Day brought to mind my Irish heritage. It is interesting that in our pluralistic society the only day everybody is of one nationality is on the 17^th of March. I wonder what our world would look like if we had that commonality the rest of the year.

I remember my grandfather, Thomas Clohessy, saying with some distain that on St. Patrick’s Day everybody is Irish. Being a native born Irishman he steadily refused to wear the green on this day; instead he wore orange. An Irishman wearing orange mean only one thing: you were Protestant not Catholic. The ironic thing was my grandfather was Catholic!

I don’t remember a whole lot about my grandfather but I do remember he was short in stature and always smelled of Old Spice and tobacco. He was a Passenger Agent for the Santa Fe Railroad. He had a quick temper and was fond of alcohol. He married a Polish lady who immigrated as a child. If you know anything about nationalities, you recognize that their marriage was a volatile mix.

His daughter, my mother, often told the story of the time my grandfather got on the streetcar heading home after work and a visit to the bar. For some reason he got in an argument with a gentleman. My grandfather hauled off and slugged the man giving him a black eye. As it turned out that gentleman was the Episcopal Bishop!

Today not much stock is given to our roots. We are all Americans even though we all come from immigrants. More than looks are passed down from generation to generation. Family traditions, personal temperaments and worldviews make up a family tree. It is the diversity of family roots that gives flavor and color to the melting pot of our nation.

I don’t smoke anymore but every once in awhile I put on a splash of Old Spice After Shave to remind myself that I have more in common with Grandpa Clohessy than just looks.

Erin Go Bragh