It is that day again, where those of us descended from the great Irish diaspora celebrate our heritage.. and those who wish they did drink dyed beer.
I’ve been fascinated by trying to find out more about the people from whence I came, which as you move backwards in time can be extremely challenging. But year by year, I keep chipping away and occasionally glean new information, such as discovering this Obituary for the first Powers in America about a month ago:
Like many Irish in the Boston area, my Great-Great Grandfather Nicholas was a manual laborer working in a paper mill, and his wife Honora, also emigrated to the US.. she was an illiterate house cleaner in the Boston area. They worked for their dream of a better life. As noted here, Nicholas passed away at his son (My Great Grandfather) Richard’s house.
While Richard was also a laborer, he held a job which was more skilled at the time, as a cigar maker. His son, my grandfather went to school to be a teacher, then became an attorney & lobbyist.. (and it’s all downhill from there).
My mother’s Irish heritage took a bit of a different path, where instead of into Boston, they went from Ireland straight to Iowa.
My great-great grandfather James Foran and my great-great grandmother Mary Connell Foran. My great-grandfather, James W. Foran, is in the middle of the back row. James came to Iowa with his mother, Agnes Scully Foran, where – like many in Iowa – became farmers after coming to America in 1849.
And on this St. Patrick’s Day, when we celebrate the emerald isle, I’d like to remember and thank my ancestors for seeking a better life in the land of opportunity!
I have really big hands. Somebody at the bar told me that means I can’t be Irish because smaller fists hurt more.
I’ve been told we are Black Irish .. not sure if the American or European variety.
Have a good one.
This day’s for you.