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Immigration Center Gala Honors Immigration Activist

Anne O'Callaghan, right, with her award. To her left is Liam Hegarty, president of the Irish Immigration Center board, and Wendell Young III (center), retired union leader and Welcoming Center volunteer.

Nearly 200 people filled a ballroom at the Hyatt Regency on Penns Landing on Saturday, October 30, to see Anne O’Callaghan, founder of the Welcoming Center for New Pennsylvanians, receive the first ever Mathew Carey Hibernian Award in recognition of her years of service to the region’s immigrant communities.

The award was presented by Melissa Hancock of the Mathew Carey Association, whose late husband was a descendant of Carey, an Irish immigrant from Dublin, an American patriot, and publisher. A protégé of Benjamin Franklin, Carey also founded the Hibernian Society for the Relief of Immigrants from Ireland.

The award was the first ever to be given by the Irish Immigration Center of Philadelphia—and at its very first fundraising gala. Wendell Young III, longtime union leader and a Welcoming Center volunteer, brought the house down with his introductory speech in which said, “Nobody says no to this lady. When she sets out to get a program done it gets done. Her husband Sean said no to her once and look what happened to him.” He pointed to O’Callaghan’s husband, who was sporting a bandage around his eye. The crowd roared with laughter.

Accepting her award, O’Callaghan said it was “absolutely beautiful and quite, I believe, undeserved.” She thanked members of her staff and her clients, then made reference to Young’s introduction. “You can always count on Wendell to stir things up.”

O’Callaghan, a physical therapist who emigrated from Ireland in 1970, founded the Welcoming Center, which is a centralized employment and resource center for immigrants, in 2003. Since then it has served more than 7,000 immigrants from all over the world. She also founded a software company that serves the home health care industry. She is active in the National Alliance for the Mentally Ill and sits on the advisory board of the Southwest Community Enrichment Center.

November 1, 2010 by Jeff Meade

People

A Virtual Session at McGrory’s Culdaff, County Donegal

McGrory's, at the bend of the road in Culdaff.

Ten years ago, when we first went to the Inishowen Peninsula in Donegal in search of my McDaid family, we stayed in a little town—in Ireland, that’s a redundancy—called Culdaff. Like many Irish towns, it had a couple of churches, a shop, and a handful of pubs, and the one you couldn’t miss was McGrory’s. Set at the bend of the road—sitting nearly on the verge it is the bend of the road—it was and continues to be painted bright barn red, so you couldn’t miss it if you tried. (Given its precarious location, it’s a good idea to try to miss it if you’re driving.)

Technically, McGrory’s is a pub, restaurant and hotel but it’s probably best known in Ireland for luring some of the best and brightest in music to its front bar or back room—from trad musicians Finbar Furey, Altan, Mary Black, Martin Hayes and Dennis Cahill to Richie Havens, Arlo Guthrie and J. D. Souther–since 1924.

We didn’t see anyone famous back then—just a great little trad session in the dark and cozy Front Bar. But we loved the place so much that we ate there every night.

When my husband Ed and I returned to Culdaff a few weeks ago, we popped into McGrory’s for a few meals and a very different kind of session, anchored by the McGrory brothers Neil and John, and a group of local musicians including the Henry Girls, an up-and-coming folk/trad trio of sisters named McLaughlin.

Okay, you’re now thinking, why are they called the Henry Girls when their surname is McLaughlin? A little background: In Inishowen, which is still very wild and remote, certain family names are more common than sheep on a hillside. In fact, when we told a man we met in a Dublin pub that we were going to Inishowen to meet some cousins, he cocked his head and with a gleam in his eye asked, “They wouldn’t be named Doherty, would they?” (They are now, since the last of the McDaids had only one daughter who married a Doherty. It’s Inishowen’s version of “Smith” and the name of a famous and powerful family that traces its roots back to Niall of the Nine Hostages, a fifth century High King of Ireland. About 21 percent of men in Donegal carry Niall’s DNA, likely because he could also have been known as Niall of the Eight Sons. Right now, his DNA can only be traced through the Y chromosome, but many women are also probably Niall’s girls.)

When a place is that small and that remote, the consanguinity factor can be a little disconcerting. My 21-year-old cousin, Maria, who happens to work at McGrory’s, joked that she was so taken aback when a local woman went over every child on her school bus and explained to her how they were related to her that she felt compelled to make sure her boyfriend wasn’t also a cousin.

McLaughlin, likewise, is a very common name. To avoid confusion—or, if you’re an American, to help promote it–families with common names are given a nickname. My Dohertys are the “sean ban” Dohertys, or “old, white” Dohertys. And the McLaughlin sisters are the Henry McLaughlins, hence their name, the Henry girls. This becomes very important when you are sending Christmas cards and want them actually get to the recipient.

Local culture lesson over. On to the music. If you’ve attended an Irish seisun (session) at a local pub, you’ve probably only heard Irish traditional music played or sung. Our experience in Ireland was that there’s more to an Irish session than Irish music. We heard cabaret songs, rock, American country, American western, and even some politically incorrect ditties from a local songwriter.

At McGrory’s Thursday night session (Friday is for trad), we listened to songs from Richard Thompson, Johnny Cash, Blues Traveler, Sam Cook, The Band, John Martyn. . .not the expected fare in a pub with a peat fire blazing, but a warm, wonderful Irish experience nonetheless.

And you can be there since I brought back video. Just a warning—it was very dark in McGrory’s that night. You will not be able to pick the musicians out of a lineup after viewing, so just think of this as McGrory’s Session Radio.

October 28, 2010 by Denise Foley

News, People

Bradley Accepts the Emerald Society’s Man of the Year Award

From left, Man of the Year Michael Bradley, Megan and Patsy McDonald, and Harry Marnie, president of the Philadelphia Emerald Society.

If he does nothing else in his life, Michael Bradley is always going to be known as the man who, in the midst of a budget crisis that threatened the future of the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade, simply refused to believe the old adage, “You can’t fight City Hall.”

Last March, the city was demanding that the parade committee foot a hefty bill for parade-related municipal expenses. Either that, or no parade. Bradley, who directs the popular televised event, earned quite a rep for himself when, in return, he offered the city what amounted to a Hobson’s choice: a peaceful parade or an organized riot.

The peaceful parade went on.

The Philadelphia Emerald Society took note of Bradley’s gutsy accomplishment—and many other lifetime achievements—by naming him 2010 Man of the Year.

Bradley has two demanding jobs: he’s president of a commercial flooring company and also a commercial real estate firm. He’s also well-known as a coach of soccer and several other sports. Bradley also organizes the Penn’s Landing Irish Festival.

Bradley accepted his honor last week on the same night Police Sgt. Patrick McDonald and his father Larry McDonald, a retired city fire department captain, received the group’s police and firefighter awards. Patrick McDonald was shot and killed in the line of duty in September 2008; Larry McDonald, a retired fire department captain, died of a heart attack April 7, 2010, while riding his bike in Northeast Philadelphia.

The presence of the McDonald family was not lost on Bradley, who paid tribute to the fallen heroes.

“It’s an honor to be in the same room with the McDonald family,” he said. “I can’t say enough about those two men (Patrick and Larry McDonald) and how lucky I am to be here tonight. It’s something I’ll never forget.”

A proud Penn State grad, Bradley closes his e-mails with a quote from Joe Paterno: “Believe deep down in your heart that you’re destined to do great things.” In the eyes of the Emerald Society, that’s just what he’s done.

October 26, 2010 by Jeff Meade

News, People

Ghost Story 2

Kathy McGee Burns

By S.E. Burns

When she was a child, Kathy McGee Burns had a close relationship with her uncle, Hugh McGee. Their bond never wavered, even after a business rift between her father and his brother tarnished the brothers’ relationship. When Kathy was in her early thirties, married, with nine children, her beloved uncle fell ill with lung cancer. She visited him at the Philadelphia Naval Hospital, and it was here that he gave her a mysterious message. At the end of her visit, she told him that she would come back to see him the following week. Her uncle said: “Don’t forget, and if they tell you I am gone…don’t believe them.”

The next message she got from her uncle came, unbeknownst to her, after his death. “One night my dead uncle appeared by my bedside,” says Burns, who is former president of the Donegal Association and the next president of the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Observance Committee.

As someone with a strong interest in the paranormal—and, in the interest of full disclosure, Kathy’s daughter-in-law—I was impressed with how fearlessly Kathy shared her story and how much it sounds like other stories I have read and heard about people whose strong connection in life survives the death of one. But that’s part of Kathy’s philosophy—to not be afraid to contemplate the unfathomable and embrace every experience that life sends her way, however perplexing it may seem.

Recently, we sat down at her kitchen table to talk about her experience with the man she called Uncle Hughie.

Can you describe your uncle’s appearance and where exactly you encountered him?

My uncle appeared at the foot of my bed. It was 1 in the morning and I woke up to see him there. He looked like he did when he was a young man.

What were you feeling at this moment?

I was not startled. I knew he was dead and was appearing to me, so I wanted to ask him what it was like…being dead. He said he didn’t have time to tell me.

How did he communicate to you?

We communicated without speaking. We knew what the other was feeling and thinking.

What was the purpose of his visit?

He asked me to tell my Aunt Mary that he loved her (they did not have a happy marriage at the end). He said there was money hidden in the house and where to locate it. I specifically looked at the clock after he left me. It was 1 AM. I woke my husband Mike, and told him Uncle Hughie had just been there and what he said. Neither one of us was surprised. Maybe we should have been, but it seemed very natural to me. My mother called me at 8 AM. When I answered I said, ‘I know Uncle Hughie is dead.’ I asked her his time of death and she said 1 AM. I told her of my experience and she became furious with me and told me not to say a word to anyone. My family was very uptight about those kinds of things.

Why do you feel he chose you to share this with?

He chose me because we were very close. He and Aunt Mary had no children for a long time. My father and he were in business together and they lived seven houses away from us. I was always down at their home, visiting or staying the night. I loved him very much. He served in World War II, in Iwo Jima. My aunt moved to Norfolk, Va. to be able to see him. Since she was alone there, my brother Timmy and I took turns staying with her.

Have you ever felt his presence since this encounter?

I have never felt his presence around me again. He said he would come back and tell me what it was like, but he didn’t.

At what age did you feel comfortable enough with yourself to share this story?

I have always felt comfortable talking about this. I was a precocious child. I was always embarrassing my mother. I eventually told my aunt about the money and she found bank books exactly where he said they were.

If possible, is there one living person you would visit after you pass and why?

It goes without saying that I would love to visit my family, but if I were to only pick one person, it would be Denise Foley [editor/writer for www.irishphiladelphia.com].

For several reasons: She “gets” it. She is a wonderful woman with a deep spirit. She and I would be laughing our heads off. I could do some writing for the internet…IrishHeavenPhiladelphia.com.

Editor’s Note: Denise Foley edited this story and found the surprise ending very scary. Happy Samhain!

October 20, 2010 by Guest

Music, News, People

Haunted by the Memories of Molly-O-Ween … All Very Good Ones

Katie, our winged hostess.

Off in the back, the kids were carving and scooping out jack-o-lanterns.

On stage, kilted performer Seamus Kennedy was singing songs, telling stories (funny ones, not ghostly ones), and occasionally flashing a jack-o-lantern grin.

Oh, yes, and Elvis was in the house … about an 8-year-old version of the king who came and went before we could get his (her?) picture.

This was the very first Molly-O-Ween celebration at Molly Maguire’s pub in Lansdale, but it probably won’t be the last.

Luckily, the day dawned bright and clear and, by the time the festival began, the temperatures had warmed up. A little too warm for some of the costumes, maybe, but, hey, they’re kids, and kids put comfort aside in the name of Halloween.

Shoppers kept the Irish vendors busy, and musicians (Kennedy, Celtic Spirit and Doc Freeman) kept many of the festival-goers up and on their feet. Food and beer, too, of course, and inside the tavern, business was brisk.

We have photos from the day.

October 19, 2010 by Jeff Meade

Music, People

Luka Bloom Debuts His Latest CD in the US Next Week

Irish folk-rocker Luka Bloom will appear at the Sellersville Theatre.

Luka Bloom has a pretty good plan for his current east coast tour of the U.S. He’s timed it to coincide with the turning of the leaves from summer’s green to their full burst of autumnal glory. The Irish singer-songwriter, who spent a good number of years living in New York, knows his fall foliage.

The man who was born Kevin Barry Moore, and re-purposed himself as Luka Bloom when he launched his career in the States in 1987, was en route from Maine to Vermont when we talked on the phone about his tour (it’s a brief two and a half weeks), his latest CD (“Dreams in America”)and his nephew Donnacha Rynne’s recently published book (it was his idea).

Although a short one, his tour includes a stop at The Sellersville Theatre on October 7. “I’ve always had great shows in the Philadelphia area,” he said. “I’ve played at The World Café, The Tin Angel, The Chestnut Cabaret. I’m really looking forward to this one.”

He’s bringing with him some old songs that have been reinvented for his latest CD, “Dreams in America.”

“It’s really a celebration of twenty years of writing songs and recording them. I’m not a huge fan of nostalgia,” Bloom acknowledged. “I think it’s highly overrated. But it’s okay to take a look back and reflect. It’s like hitting the pause button.”

The songs on the album, eleven of them including the new incarnations of “The Acoustic Motorbike,” “Bridge of Sorrow” and “Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself,” represent Bloom’s determination to “live in the nowness of life,” a thought borrowed from his wheelchair-bound nephew.

“This gave me the chance to go back and revisit where I was when I originally wrote the songs. I didn’t necessarily want to re-record the ones that became popular. In some cases, I loved the song but not the original recording. They’re more stripped down, raw versions on this album. I recorded it in my living room in Ireland last December.”

And Bloom felt it was time to include a song new for him as well: the traditional “Lord Franklin.” A very beautiful, simple interpretation, he sings it as a tribute to a late friend of his, Micheal O’Domhnaill, whose rendition he considers “the definitive one.”

Two live tracks, “I Hear Her, Like Lorelei” and “Love is a Monsoon,” recorded in the National Concert Hall in Dublin in August 2009, round out the CD that Bloom ultimately wants to be a thank you to “the places and people who opened their hearts and minds to the songs of a Kildareman…The period of 1987 to 1991 was an unbelievably exciting one. Things took off for me in America, particularly in New York. It’s a very nice exercise to reflect back on that time and be grateful.”

There’s another current project that is close to Bloom’s heart: the publication of his nephew’s book “Being Donnacha” (read the story in this week’s irishphiladelphia). Donnacha, born with cerebral palsy, and later diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, is a source of inspiration to Bloom. In fact, he wrote a song, “Doing the Best I Can” for him (the lyrics are included in the book).

“It’s a very important book, there are so many levels to it. It will be beneficial to so many people to hear his voice; he gives a voice to people who haven’t been heard. People who are themselves disabled, their families and their carers will all find it meaningful.”

“Donnacha lives constantly in the nowness of life. He gives a voice to living with a disability that needs to be heard. He has tough days but his strengths have always been very apparent. And something about writing this book has given him fresh strength to go on.”

“There’s something very poignant in seeing the first American article about Donnacha’s book published in Philadelphia. A very dear friend of the family, Lester Conner, lived most of his life in Philadelphia. He died about five years ago. He was a professor at Chestnut Hill College for a number of years, a great literary giant and highly academic man who was an expert on W.B. Yeats. He published “A Yeats Dictionary.” My sister Anne met him back in 1967 when he lectured at Trinity College, and he became godfather to her oldest son. He would visit every year, and Donnacha was very important to him. He would have loved to have seen Donnacha’s book.”

“It’s an important bit of serendipity.”

Visit Luka’s website for more information on his CD and his upcoming concerts: http://www.lukabloom.com/

October 2, 2010 by Lori Lander Murphy

People

Confined to a Wheelchair, He’s Become the Voice for the Voiceless

Donnacha Rynne with his friend, Tom Prendergast, who recorded the conversations that became part of "Being Donnacha."

Just the Moon

Just the Moon
Delicate light for the eye
Standing on dewy pastures
Dampening of toes
Dark but gentle light lit sky
Just the Moon
Whispering waves.
Now, silence after a day of sun, lie, lotion
Leave behind delicate night and retire
To summerhouse slumber on wheels.
As I enter this wheel house Waterboys on
Hole in the moon, this is the sea, this is the sea,
It is a dwelling for me – beautiful.

—Donnacha Rynne

Being Donnacha Rynne has never been easy. Born six weeks premature, and diagnosed with cerebral palsy by doctors who told his parents that he would never walk, never attend school and would eventually need to be institutionalized, Donnacha was just a small boy when he determined that his life would not turn out the way the doctors predicted. Instead, he went to school, worked at various jobs, and owns his own house.

So when he developed multiple sclerosis in his early 20’s, a twist of fate that seems too unjust to comprehend, Donnacha continued on in the only way he knew how.

“Donnacha’s spirit gave him the strength to overcome everything he’s been dealt. The doctors’ diagnosis when he was born wasn’t wrong, it’s his spirit that’s outshone what they said,” Anne Rynne, Donnacha’s mother explained.

And now, at age 40, dependent on a wheelchair for his mobility and requiring full-time caregivers to make sure he is dressed, fed and allowed to live life as fully as he can, Donnacha has written “Being Donnacha,” a book that he hopes can speak not only of his own life, but also provide a voice for all the other disabled people who so often go overlooked and unheard in today’s world.

I first heard about Donnacha’s book quite by accident this past summer as it was going to press. Someone posted a link to the website where pre-orders were being taken, and it caught my interest. I ordered a copy, and then promptly forgot about it until the book arrived a few weeks ago. Life was pretty busy at that time, and so it sat there in its wrapper for a few days. But when I did take it out, and sat down to read it, I found I was unable to put it down. It’s not very often that a few pages into a book you realize that you’re reading something that has the ability to change the way you view the world, but that’s exactly what Donnacha’s words did for me.

It’s a story that is bursting to be shared with the world beyond Donnacha’s backyard in Miltown Malbay, County Clare. Because Donnacha isn’t up for a lot of conversation and questioning these days, I arranged to talk with his mother Anne, who is delighted to be used as a mouthpiece for the son she is rightly so proud of.

“Donnacha has been hugely inspirational for our family, we all take our lead from him. When Donnacha’s well, we’re all well. He’s always very positive, he’s never asked ‘Why me?’ He has something to say to people that’s very seldom heard. People in wheelchairs, people who are disabled, are still people. For Donnacha, his life is about waiting, waiting, waiting, but as he’s gotten more dependent on others, he’s still Donnacha. This book is his truth, and people will get great messages from it. He’s a voice for the voiceless.”

This increasing dependence on others has been one of the most difficult things for Donnacha to come to terms with. Living on his own, in his own house and being independent, had been a source of great pride for him. But even through his frustrations, Donnacha is able to write about his ability to create his own positivity: “There is always hope. If there is no hope there is no future. It’s the only way forward. There is an air of gentleness about hope.”

The strength of Donnacha’s family is a huge part of his story. One of five children of Anne and Davoc Rynne, Donnacha has an identical twin brother, Niall. His parents decided that there would be no preferential treatment for him. That meant going to the local school, where life among other children was often a challenge. He didn’t have many friends there, and his sense of being different led to him keeping his distance. He was also made fun of occasionally, which Donnacha attributes to his peers’ “ignorance and fear.“ Having Niall there to shelter him was both a blessing and a curse.

“School was very difficult here in Clare. When Donnacha was twelve, he asked to live in Kildare with his aunt and uncle, and we let him. I suppose it was a bit radical to do that, but he was so determined. We thought, if Donnacha has the strength to do that at twelve, who are we to stop him?” Anne reflected. “He stayed up there three years. It worked and it didn’t work. He really needed to get away from Niall and be able to be his own person. That was no reflection on Niall! Donnacha and Niall have always had a very close relationship. Niall’s absolutely amazing, a tower of strength. There’s a very strong connection between them. Niall would always know when Donnacha wasn’t well. Even when Niall moved to the States for 10 years, he always knew when something was wrong.”

“Donnacha is very close to all his brothers and his sister. Niall and his youngest brother, Turlough, live here [in Ireland], and get home as often as they can. Davog, the oldest, lives in France, and Aine, his sister, lives in Vietnam. But with Skype, we can visit them easily!”

His siblings aren’t the only family that Donnacha is close to. He has a pair of uncles, Christy Moore and Luka Bloom, well known Irish folk singers (Moore was a founding member of Planxty and Bloom will be appearing in Sellersville next week) who play a major role in his life. In fact, it was Luka (Uncle Barry to Donnacha), who felt that Donnacha had a book in him. (Read our interview with Luka Bloom this week.)

“Two years ago I was sitting with Donnacha, having one of his fantastically hilarious and philosophical discussions, during which he complained that people had no time to visit him. ‘I wish people would embrace the nowness of life,’ was the phrase he uttered, and it followed me out the door when I left him,” Bloom explained in a recent interview. “Donnacha is not given to long sentences, and so he has mastered the art of encapsulating big pictures with very short sentences.

“Outside in the car, I determined there and then that a book must emanate from this important man,” Bloom said. “I knew he had too much to offer to be ignored because of logistics. I spoke with Anne and others about this, and together we conspired to bring to fruition this most important event in our lives: The release of Donnacha’s book, the manifestation of his voice, his gift to the world. We are so blessed that he is among us, and so proud of him. He is the bravest man I know.”

To do the actual work of writing down Donnacha‘s words, they knew they needed someone who was close to him and who would understand his quirkiness, but wasn’t a member of the family. Longtime friend Tom Prendergast was just that person. Once a week, for two and a half years, Tom would spend time with Donnacha, recording their conversations. It could be difficult at times, because “Donnacha literally lives in the now, in the moment, it’s part of CP, the difficulty to answer questions. Tom gets Donnacha, he gets his humor. He is a great man, a great character,” Anne explained.

There are three sections to the book: the first is Donnacha’s story, the second is comprised of sixteen poems that he wrote between March and August of 1989, and the third is titled “Knowing Donnacha,” with a series of pieces written by friends and family members who know and love him.

“Donnacha was nineteen when he wrote the poems,” Anne said. “They’re fantastic. I can’t get over how fresh they are seeing them in print.

“He has good days and bad days now, just like we all do. But he’s very strong—very strong and very frail. Donnacha was born old, he’s always been very wise and philosophical. I believe he still has a little journey to go yet. Writing this book has kept him going. He has a message for people, so that maybe they won’t feel so isolated.

“When Donnacha was young, we had him going to see a lot of different doctors, therapists and psychologists. But he always knew when the therapists were talking down to him and being patronizing. When he was seven, we had a psychologist tell us that he was dull. Dull! How insulting for starters. Donnacha was the light in our family. I am completely humbled by him. He’s just a regular guy who was dealt a tough hand.”

And plays it well.

The book “Being Donnacha” is available for purchase worldwide on the web.

If you’re in Ireland, you can pick up a copy in Hurley’s and the post office in Miltown Malbay, and in Sceal Eile (The Other Story) Bookshop in Ennis.

October 1, 2010 by Lori Lander Murphy

Music, People

Kevin Crawford’s Summer Song

Kevin Crawford, visiting sunny Sea Isle.

Add another tune to the “Jersey Shore Sound” songbook—and no, Bruce Springsteen didn’t write it.

It’s called the “Shore House Reel,” and it comes from a surprising source: virtuoso flutist Kevin Crawford of Lúnasa. You can hear it on the band’s most recent recording, “Lá Nua.” It’s the peppy little number at the very end, and it is an homage to none other than Sea Isle City.

Crawford came to know one of our favorite shore towns courtesy of Bob McLaughlin (brother of Jim McLaughin, board member of the Irish American Business Chamber & Network), who lives outside Chicago. McLaughlin owns a shore house about a block from the beach. Crawford started staying there as a guest a few years ago.

“”I got to know Bob first and foremost because he’s an up-and-coming flute player. He came to flute camp at the Swannanoa Gathering in North Carolina about five years ago,” recalls Crawford. “He was in my class and we hung out together for about a week. we just got to be good friends.”

A couple of years into the relationship, McLaughlin mentioned that he had a beach house and wondered if Crawford might want to use it from time to time when he was touring in the States. Crawford jumped at the chance for a place to charge his creative batteries.

“It’s been very good, actually,” he says. “I come in periodically. I’ve been fortunate to have the odd four- or five-day stint down there. A few years ago, myself and Cillian (Vallely, Lúnasa’s uilleann piper) recorded our (2009) duet album “On Common Ground” at Maja Studios in Philadelphia. We just commuted in and out of sea Isle. We’d get up in the morning and go for a run along the boardwalk, go for a swim, and then head into Philadelphia. And then back to Sea Isle again. It was good to get out of the city.”

Crawford lives in County Clare—which boasts a few stunning shore towns of its own—but he says he doesn’t think of Clare in the same way. Touring and living out of a suitcase can be exhausting. For Crawford, Sea Isle offers a respite. For a few days at least, he can settle in and blend into a community and make it his own. “I go on lots of trips abroad with the band, but you never really feel like you’ve seen the place or been part of things for any period of time. It all worked out perfectly for this trip. We had a few days in New York City, and it was fairly mental. We were staying downtown amid all the hustle and bustle. Then we went down to the shore. It was chalk and cheese. After a few days there, I felt fully fit and ready to go.”

Jim McLaughlin understands why the shore—and the house—are so appealing. “I think he likes the feeling that this is Bob’s plce. Bob and he have become like brothers. If Kevin ever needed bail money theres no doubt who the call would go to. He feels like it’s an extension of home.”

Just like Philadelphians who annually migrate to a particular shore town, Crawford has come to know Sea Isle pretty well. He says he’s become a big fan of local eateries, including Braca’s, Mike’s Seafood Market and O’Donnell’s Pour House. “I usually kind of steer clear of Irish pubs,” he confesses, “but I’ve been there a couple of times, and it was brilliant.”

(Jim McLaughlin notes that Kevin has also become a major fan of Wawa.)

It was during one of those recent “chill out” visits to Sea Isle that the idea came to him for a tune in honor of his adopted South Jersey resort town. He had been thinking of naming a tune for Sea Isle for some time, but had no firm plans. It wasn’t as if, he says, “I went up to my music room and say, ‘I’m gonna write a tune for Bob.'” It came to him one night out when he and Cillian were out on the deck.

“You could hear the waves crashing one block over from us. It was a really serene vibe when we were there. I said to Cillian that it would be nice if we had a track (on the upcoming CD) that was a little more laid back. So we started rearranging things for different instruments. We wound up recording the tunes (there are two other reels in the set, “Inverness County Reel” and “The Beauty Spot”) on lower pitched pipes. It just made it sound not as mad and as upbeat. It just reminded us of the calmness of Sea Isle.”

Some writers going for “calm” might have opted for a slow air. Crawford penned a reel because, he says, Bob McLaughlin loves reels. “I know from teaching Bob at workshops that there are certain tunes he likes, that he’s attracted to. I wanted a tune that Bob would like. It’s made for him.”

Crawford hints that this won’t be the last composition in honor of his gracious hosts. “The McLaughlins have just been so good to us, they’re a great family, really love their Irish heritage,” says Crawford. “I’m sure there will be more tunes.”

Lúnasa appears in concert this week—Wednesday, October 6, 2010 at 7:30 p.m.—at Calvary United Methodist Church, 801 South 48th Street (at Baltimore Avenue), in West Philadelphia.

September 29, 2010 by Jeff Meade

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