When The Shantys take to the stage Sunday afternoon for a show at the Fainting Goat in Glenolden, Delaware County, they’ll be missing a longtime friend who tapped out the rhythm for all their tunes.
William E. “Bill” Whitman, Jr., of Ridley Park, who played a mean bodhrán—the traditional Irish frame drum—died at the age of 70 on Good Friday, sending shock waves throughout the Delaware Valley’s Irish community. Local musicians knew him. He sat in with all the bands. He made frequent appearances at traditional Irish music sessions. He was well-known throughout the pubs and clubs where that music was played, from Northeast Philly to the Jersey Shore.
But his influence and friendship extended well beyond the musical community. He was a longtime marshal for the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day parade, a member of Ancient Order of Hibernians Division 87 in Port Richmond, a volunteer for Irish festivals and many other events, a member of The Mayo Association of Philadelphia, and a frequent visitor to the Commodore John Barry Arts & Cultural Center (the Irish Center). In 2020, Whitman was named a member of the parade’s Ring of Honor—and quite the honor it was for a truly humble man.
Whitman grew up in the Swampoodle neighborhood, at one time an Irish hotbed in the city of North Philadelphia, and around here you can hardly be more pedigreed than that. He was a proud graduate of Roman Catholic High School.
He was such a presence that many people swore he had a twin—or perhaps more than that, a herd of doppelgängers. Somehow, he managed to be everywhere at once.
To say he will be missed by many is the mother of all understatements.
“Everybody knew Bill,” says Bill Donahue, Jr., the affable front man for The Shantys. “He was the center of the Irish Philadelphia universe, literally. He had the biggest heart in the world. He was a fantastic guy. He brightened up every room he walked into. He lived life to the fullest.”
It’s hard to say precisely who in the vast Philadelphia Irish community knew Bill Whitman best since he was a friend to so many. But a good place to start would be the musical community. Whitman was known for visiting a venue, bodhrán in hand, where he would find a seat for himself and patiently wait to be invited up to the stage—as inevitably, and happily, he would be.
“It has to be 10 or 12 years since I first met Bill,” says Donahue. “It’s five or six years since he’s been sitting in with us (The Shantys) part-time, and more recently, on a more permanent basis. But he just loved every kind of Irish music. He would sit in with traditional Irish sessions. He would sit in with Irish rock bands like Jamison. He would sit in with us, and we’re folk and rock and rebel music. He loved every single aspect of Irish music and he just loved to be out and about. Bill had always had an open invitation to sit in and play with us. He loved our music selection. He loved playing with us. He was always there for a joke and a couple of tunes. It was a match made in heaven between him and us.”
Jamison multi-instrumentalist John O’Callaghan also remembers Bill Whitman with fondness. O’Callaghan, along with local musicians Bob Hurst and Luke Jardel, are members of the Lost Legion Orchestra—so named for the American Legion post in Cheltenham Village where they have performed for years. That’s where he first came to know his longtime friend.
“I knew Bill through Irish circles, through music,” recalls O’Callaghan. “ I didn’t get to know him until about eight or nine years ago when Bill started showing up at the Lost Legion and playing along. Bill would come with his bodhrán in tow, and then we actually got him singing about four years ago, which was great.”
The friendship long ago grew beyond Irish music. O’Callaghan and Whitman would get together to watch Mayo Irish football. The O’Callaghans have a house in North Wildwood, and Whitman would be invited to visit. He always showed up with pound cake from Stock’s Bakery in Port Richmond. “We would sit out on the deck and have coffee, and he would talk about the weekend’s gigs and where he was going, because he always had numerous places to go,” says O’Callaghan. “I think that’s the memory I’m always going to have. The thing I’ll miss the most is recapping a weekend of gigs and just catching up with him.”
O’Callaghan’s band Jamison Celtic Rock played a gig the day after Whitman’s death. “That’s when it all soaked in,” O’Callaghan says. “We said, let’s play ‘The Green and Red of Mayo.’ And we had no choice because he would come back and holler at us if we didn’t. We have to keep his legacy going.”
Singer Karen Boyce, second vice president of the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Observance Day Association, which sponsors the parade, also nurtures fond memories. “He was totally into all the Irish rock bands and going out and playing with every band on the circuit,” she says. “But he also loved the traditional sessions. But he’d also go to all the county association balls and be up waltzing. He just enjoyed every component that our community offers. Everything he did in the community throughout his life—he was just a good man to know. And I am amazed by the number of people who have spoken about him since his death. It makes me very privileged to have known him and to have had a friendship with him because he was so well-loved.”
As for the parade, it was canceled last year and this year because of the pandemic, so Whitman never got to march in it. But he lived long enough, thankfully, to have been accorded the honor of receiving his sash.
John Stevenson was president of the board association in 2020, and responsible for selecting members of the Ring of Honor. Membership in that elite group goes to people in the Irish community who have provided exemplary service.
“I tried to select people who were behind-the-scenes, salt of the earth people—and that was Bill to a T,” says Stevenson. “He would always cheer on others who were being honored. He volunteered for the parade, and he showed up for every benefit and every function and played with all those bands. I used to say he was the hardest-working man in show business. And he wasn’t some kid. I don’t know how he did it. He truly appreciated Irish culture and was always there to lend a helping hand. So I thought it was his time to be honored for everything he has done.”
Stevenson recalls giving the good news to Whitman in North Wildwood. “He was walking from Keenan’s to Anglesea Pub, and I was at the Anglesea Pub going to Keenan’s. We met on the street,” says Stevenson. “I told him that it was about time he was honored and that I would be honored if he would accept it. You could tell by the look in his eye how much it truly meant to him. He didn’t take this honor lightly, and he was the first person I told.”
It was on March 7, at a special Mass celebrated for members of the parade association and honorees and later televised on Fox 29, that Whitman received his Ring of Honor sash.
“He didn’t really say much. He was just getting over a sickness,” says Stevenson. “But he was just so honored to be part of this. And when I heard the news that he had passed, it just hurt so bad. Out of everybody, I wanted him to be honored, coming down the parade route on St. Patrick’s Day. And it’s just so sad that he won’t be able to get to do that. But on the other hand, I’m so glad we were able to give him his sash.”
Mary Frances Fogg, member of the parade board’s executive committee and also a bartender at Paddy Whack’s in the Northeast, recalls her long friendship with Bill Whitman. “I met Bill at the Irish Center; I believe at a Mayo Association event. Bill was a member of the association. I had stopped by to drop off a basket or something. It was for one of the Mayo events they were having at the center.”
Fogg, known to friends simply as Frassee, was also on the receiving end of visits to the shore—and gifts of Stock’s pound cake. “He’d stop at five or six people’s houses and drop off Stock’s pound cakes. I’d come home from the beach, and there’d be a Stock’s pound cake at my door in a bag.”
She recalls Whitman’s presence, if not omnipresence, at North Wildwood’s Irish Weekend, and still wonders how he managed to do it. “He was just one of the good ones—a good soul, a good-hearted person. I don’t remember anyone asking him for anything in return.
“Last summer, I was bartending at a place called Tacos and Tequila in North Wildwood, across from Keenan’s. It was my 60th birthday last year, and Bill came in with decorations and a cake for my birthday, and it was just so beautiful. He did that kind of thing for everybody. If he knew something was going on with you, he’d show up with a gift or something. He just did it for everyone. He loved being part of the Irish community.”
Bill Donahue and his bandmates plan to honor Whitman’s memory Sunday at the Fainting Goat (105 South MacDade Boulevard in Glenolden) from 5 to 8 p.m.
It’s a fitting venue. Whitman last played with The Shantys March 13 at the Fainting Goat.
“We’re going to put an empty stool on the stage with his bodhrán on it, and hopefully have a picture of him and a pint of Guinness on stage for him, too. We’re just going to leave his chair empty. And we’re encouraging people to come and sing a song, or come and pay their respects in some way, if they’re able to.”
It won’t be the same without Bill Whitman, Donahue says—and his absence will be felt throughout Philly’s Irish community.
“Everybody loved him,” Donahue says. “It wasn’t just our band. People would come out to see The Shantys just to see Bill, to say hello to him, catch up with him. He was just a great all-around guy who touched so many lives.”
Here are comments from other friends.
Michael Bradley, 2020 Philadelphia parade grand marshal and longtime parade director:
“He was a gentleman, a nice person. And he was humble. That’s a very good word to describe him. His death was such a shock to say many people. He supported everything. He could also go into detail on Guinness and Irish whiskey. He was just well liked and respected. He left a good mark on the world. I hope his daughters will walk in the parade for him, although it will be such a sad day for them.”
Maureen Callahan, president of the Mayo Association of Philadelphia:“It was through the Mayo Association that I realized he was the same Bill Whitman from the Whitman family that lived around the corner from my grandparents in Swampoodle. I remembered his family, but I didn’t remember Bill in particular. I remembered his younger sister. Flash forward decades and when I joined the Mayo Association I met Bill and we got to talking. He said he grew up in Swampoodle, and that just opened up all these Swampoodle sharing stories. Everyone you talk to, certainly in these last few days, is just shocked and saddened. And across the board, everyone has said, what a nice man he was. He reveled in his heritage and it was so much a part of his being. It’s a real loss, certainly to us in the Mayo Association. But it’s an even bigger loss to the community.”
