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Nurturing the Sound of Traditional Music

John Anthony in his studio.

Here’s what soul crooner Gerald Levert, indie singer-songwriter Jim Boggia, jazz bass virtuoso Gerald Veasley and the inventive young Irish ensemble Solas have in common: John Anthony.

All are brilliant artists in their own right. But it is Anthony—audio engineer, producer and owner of Maja Audio Group in Society Hill—who helps give them their voice.

Anthony’s career path in music began one Sunday night in February, 1964, when a new band from England debuted on the Ed Sullivan Show. The drummer—a mop-haired guy with a memorable nose—made quite an impression on the kid from Newtown Square.

“It was Ringo,” says Anthony, a talented percussionist who lends a hand on many Solas recordings. “My dad had a big custom stereo that he built, and it had big speakers. The TV came through the stereo, which was revolutionary in those days. But I just watched that show with my head between the speakers. After that, that was pretty much it.”

Anthony went on to pound away in his fair share of bands, but his interest in just playing music always took a back seat to recording it. His early knack for extracting crisp, true sounds out of a performance eventually blossomed into a successful career.

How successful? In addition to the above, consider this eclectic artists’ roster: Grover Washington Jr., Omar Hakim, Karan Kasey, Dru Hill, Sara Hickman, Phil Lee, the Hangdogs, John Doyle, Liz Carroll, Sue Foley, Niall Vallely, Cathy Ryan, Susan McKeown, Jim Boggia, Eileen Ivers, Michael Manring, and the Dixie Hummingbirds. He has also worked on a number of films, including “The Brothers McMullen,” “Philadelphia,” “Beloved,” “Two Bits,” “The Siege,” “Barnyard,” “The Illusionist” and “Meteor Man.”

Anthony’s musical tastes are pretty clearly catholic, but his passion for Irish traditional music also is well-known. His skills have gained the attention of many Irish and Celtic recording artists, including piper Cillian Vallely, who is scheduled to begin recording at Maja in September.

We visited Anthony’s studios recently for a wide-ranging conversation about Irish music, and his long association with Solas, most recently on the new CD, “For Love and Laughter.”

Oh, yeah … and a bit about John Coltrane.

Q. How did you become so popular with Irish artists?

A. It’s all because of Seamus (Egan). I first worked with Seamus on a solo album of his, “When Juniper Sleeps.” I think that was in 1994.

Seamus had done his first solo record with my former partner Michael Aharon, who’s a producer and arranger. He (Aharon) was renting space at Sigma Sound Studios, and I was a staff engineer at Sigma. Michael was going to see if he could do the next record at Sigma, with me engineering. Seamus and I just kind of hit it off.

“Juniper” was really a great musical experience. To me, that’s always the best part of the project. The technical stuff, I either take for granted or I learn what I have to learn. But the music part of it is what has always interested me. I mean, I’m a musician, so the band dynamic and the music are what motivate me.

That project was just a total gas. It was the beginnings of the Solas organization. I mean, it was (guitarist) John Doyle, (accordion player) John Williams and (fiddler) Win Horan and Seamus and some other people like (drummer) Steve Holloway, who all went on to play with Solas. It was just a ton of fun. Seamus and I have stayed connected ever since.

Q. You’ve worked with other Irish artists since then. What do you think appeals to them?

A. I worked with Cillian and Niall (Vallely) on a record of theirs, I think, and also with Niall on Karan Casey’s next-to-last record. It just seemed a natural thing. I have a lot of enthusiasm for the music. I’m pretty good at editing, and I know where I am in the tunes. That’s of value to people. They’re not dealing with someone who doesn’t understand the structure of the tunes. Or if they say, “That bit there, it isn’t very good,” I know why. If it’s an ornament that didn’t quite happen … it just makes it much easier to communicate.

Q. What appeals to you about Irish music? It’s probably unavoidable that you approach it from a percussionist’s perspective. You play bodhran on many of the Solas recordings, including the 10th anniversary performance.

A. It occurred to me, after a couple of years, that I was doing records where the acoustic guitar took the place of the drums. The tracks were really big-sounding. They weren’t necessarily big-sounding from a rhythmic point of view. But it just kind of developed that way. It’s a really great sound, particularly when you’re working with John Doyle or Éamon McElholm. They have a great sound and a lot of the rhythmic underpinnings of a song are in their part. I just have a fascination with percussion in that music.

Q. I think I’ve noticed.

A. (Laughs.) Seamus is a really great bodhran player. He has a natural “feel.” The first time he played on a track, way back when, I thought … wow, what a great sound. And we sat down and he played me maybe five things where the bodhran was a really cool part of the arrangement, like some Donal Lunny stuff where he was playing with his hand … all different approaches to playing the instrument.

It can have so many different functions—tonally, rhythmically. It can be this big pillowy, low-end sort of thing, or it can be really cracking, like the first set of tunes on the new record.

Q. It can be more melodic, too.

A. Seamus really does that. He’s really sensitive to the notes and tones that the drum is playing, and bending the notes and crafting a part to the melody.

Even “Juniper,” going back, has really great percussion arrangements on it. As far back as that first project, there’s a slow piece—”Mick O’Connor’s,” I think—and that’s got at least four percussion parts on it. There’s Daryl Burgee, Ron Crawford and me, and we’re all playing percussion parts. The first set of slip jigs has a really great percussion arrangement. It’s a really crazy arrangement that John Doyle came up with on guitar that people think is in a completely odd time. The pattern of accents is really long—it’s like a four-bar pattern. And it doesn’t repeat again. So if you just pick it up somewhere in the middle, you have no idea what’s going on.”

Q. So you never played bodhran before working with Seamus?

A. No, I hadn’t. I had a fascination with Irish music, but I didn’t understand it well. But back in the early ’90s, I went to Ireland for the first time and I stayed out on the Aran Islands. There’s a little pub in the harbor where they have music all the time. I was sitting next to a guy who was playing bodhran, and it totally blew me away. I thought—I really want to learn how to do that! I’m still learning.

I’m pretty much a journeyman drummer-percussionist. I feel pretty lucky to have gotten to play with these people and not embarrass myself.

Q. When you were a kid in garage bands, what did you play?

A. We played all the early Cream and Jimi Hendrix, all the ’60s music. The first bands I was in played covers of “In My Room”—Beach Boy songs and all that crazy stuff.

Toward the end of high school I got into jazz. I was listening to blues music, and someone said to me, “If you like that you should listen to some John Coltrane. I had no idea what they were talking about. So I went to the record store and bought a John Coltrane record. I think it was “Ascension.” (1965) If you listen to it, it sounds like the band is tuning up for the whole first side. It’s pretty free. They play this one figure over and over again. They pass it all around, everybody plays it, and it just builds to this craziness.

I kept moving the needle, waiting for them to start playing something. And eventually I put the needle down on Freddy Hubbard’s trumpet solo. And it was like: Oh, my.

I waited a little while and went back and listened to it from the beginning. And all of a sudden, I just got what they were doing. So then I was totally into every jazz record I could get my hands on—Miles and Monk, Newport ’58.

Q. And here you are today recording Irish music.

A. You might think this is a digression, but the thing that totally blows me away about Irish music is the nuance and power of the ensemble playing. It’s the same as a really great Blue Note front line.

When Solas is playing live and you’re in the audience, it’s like a freight train. When they’re all just on, it’s just unbelievable. It doesn’t matter if they have a drummer or not. It’s the strength of the melody and the way that they phrase. Great Irish players are like that and they always have been. Irish music has that sensitivity. It’s not completely freely improvised the way jazz is, but there is definitely an element of interplay. It’s subtle and you have to be tuned into it. But it’s there for sure, and it really keeps the music alive.”

August 28, 2008 by Jeff Meade

News, People

A Virtual Community Rises to Meet a Real-Life Challenge: Breast Cancer

Courtney Malley, BethAnn Bailey, Rosaleen McGill and Anne McNiff—all residents of our cool little Irish community, BallyPhilly—are getting set to take a long walk with lots of their closest BallyPhilly friends and neighbors.

You can help make their journey a little easier. Come this October, they’ll set off on a three-day, 60-mile walk to raise money for breast cancer research. But before that, on September 7 at the Philadelphia Irish Center, they’ll host a benefit beef and beer with the great local band The Hooligans providing the night’s music.

For more than one of the team members, this is personal.

For Courtney, the story starts with her mother, a nine-year survivor. More recently, friend and Full Frontal Folk band mate Jen Schonwald also was diagnosed with breast cancer.

“She was diagnosed at age 36,” Courtney says. “I thought to myself: I can watch her kids for her, I can bring her food. But in February, I said to her, ‘I m gonna walk this walk for you.’ She said screw it, ‘I’m gonna do it with you.’ We now have a team of 14.”

Three of the walkers—Anne, Courtney and Rosaleen—are members of the Philadelphia Ceili Group. But since they’re all members of BallyPhilly—an online community that embraces Irish folks from many walks of life, representing interests as diverse as Gaelic athletics, set dance, county associations, firefighting and law enforcement, Irish language and just plain freeform Irish pub crawling—the local breast cancer team thought that a benefit might also be a good way to bring this vibrant online village together for real, and in common cause.

“We’re really hoping to bring out, not only our own friends, but to get the word out to the greater Irish community,” says Anne. “It’s also a great opportunity to have a great afternoon with a great band.

“We were lucky enough to speak with (local musician) Fintan Malone about the bands he represents. One of those bands is The Hooligans. We asked whether they’d be willing to work with us, and they were very accommodating.”

The benefit should go a long way toward helping the team meet its goal of roughly $35,000. Each team member needs to pledge $2,200. Only a few of them have been able to do so thus far. As a group, they’re about half the way there.

You can help them get the rest of the way, and have a hell of a good time, too.

Once again, the details:

Sunday, September 7.
4 p.m. to 9 p.m.
Philadelphia Irish Center/Commodore Barry Club
6815 Emlen St
Philadelphia, PA 19119

Tickets: $25 in advance, $30 at the door.
For advance tickets: www.theirishcenter.com/ceili.php

Or call:
(215) 848-1657

The price of admission gets you food (including vegetarian options), soda, beer and an afternoon and evening of great music. (Might even be some special guests.) There’ll also be a basket of cheer, raffles and other personal fund-raising opportunities.

August 22, 2008 by Jeff Meade

News, People

2008 Irish Hall of Fame Honorees Announced

Billy Brennan, left, is one of the 2008 Hall of Famers. Here, with fellow historian Sean McMenamin, center, he shows off the Irish Center library to Irish Ambassador Michael Collins.

A poet-priest who devoted his life to the poor, an Irish historian and genealogist, and a tireless worker for many Irish organizations who died last year are the three 2008 honorees who will be inducted into the Delaware Valley Irish Hall of Fame for 2008. Kathy McGee Burns, president of the organization, made the announcement this week.

The honorees are:

Father John P. McNamee
Father MacNamee–known as Father Mac–was, until his recent retirement, the pastor of St. Malachy’s Church and School in North Philadelphia. During his long tenure, he ministered not only to the poor of his parish but the poor of his community. With help from parishioners, former parishioners, and many Irish musicians (like Mick Moloney, who holds a benefit concert each year for St. Malachy’s), Father Mac was able to make St. Malachy’s financially self-sufficient. He is also a published poet. His most recent book is Donegal Suite, the result of two summers he spent in the Gaeltacht area of Ireland. His life was portrayed on screen in the movie “Diary of a City Priest,” based on his memoir.

Billy Brennan
This amateur Irish historian and genealogist who was one of the guiding forces behind the Commodore Barry Library, housed upstairs in the Irish Center in Mt. Airy. The library is a hidden treasure, filled with books, posters, and documents that trace Irish history both here and in Ireland. In a story that appeared this year on www.irishphiladelphia, Brennan explains why he devoted so much time to the library. “Maybe it’s my calling,” he told us. “I always figured the Irish didn’t get the credit they deserve.” In fact, it’s Brennan’s conviction that the Irish need to be recognized for their contributions to the city, the state, and the nation, that keeps him at his volunteer job.

Anne McFadden Donofry
Anne Donofry, who died on Sept. 17, 2007, was the backbone of many of the Irish Center organizations, including the Commodore Barry Club, the Philadelphia Ceili Group, the Donegal Society and the Delaware Valley Hall of Fame. “Anne knew how to do everything and tirelessly shared her talents with all who asked,” says Kathy McGee Burns, who worked with Donofry in many of those groups. “She left us too early but her heart still beats in our community.”

The three will be inducted at a ceremony on November 16 at the Irish Center in Philadelphia. The evening will start with a cocktail hour at 5 PM, dinner at 6 PM, with dancing to the Vince Gallagher Band. Tickets cost $50 and are limited. To get your tickets, contact Kathy McGee Burns at 215-619-0509, Sean McMenamin, 215-663-2328, Bob Hurst, 610-832-0380, or Bill Donohue, 215-886-3669.

August 15, 2008 by Denise Foley

News, People

A Philadelphia AOH Leader Moves into the National Organization’s Top Spot

Seamus Boyle with local AOHer Will Hill at the Ancient Order of Hibernians' Project St. Nicholas in the Northeast in December.

Seamus Boyle has always been a prominent player in the Ancient Order of Hibernians locally, and active in Irish and Irish-American issues.

Over the years, he has continued to make his mark as a leader within the national AOH.

Now, following the AOH’s election in New Orleans in July, Boyle is the organization’s newest president. He’s not the first Philly guy to hold the top post, but he is the first Quaker City-based national AOH president since Michael Donohue, who held the office from 1923 to 1927. (Before that, according to Gerry Ennis, secretary of the state board, Joseph McLaughlin held the post from 1912 through 1919. And before that, Maurice Wilhere was president from 1886 to 1893.

It’s been a long, long time, then, since a Philadelphian claimed the top spot.

We asked the new president to tell us about his plans—and a bit about himself. Turns out there’s more than a bit to say. Seamus Boyle has led an amazingly active life.

Here’s what he had to say:

Q. The AOH has been identified with a lot of issues over the years—protecting Catholic churches from the Nativists and supporting the Molly Maguires in the early going, all the way to more recent concerns about Northern Ireland and immigration. During your tenure as president, is the AOH likely to try to have an impact in any particular areas of politics of public policy? On what issue or issues would you like to make your mark?

A. I think the issue of immigration and the undocumented is probably one of the most important issues facing us as Irish-Americans today. It seems that those who are not eligible to receive a green card because they overstayed a visa or some other minor infraction are treated the same as a terrorist who wants to destroy the United States.

The Irish immigrant is for the most part young, works hard, pays taxes, stays out of trouble and wants to stay here and raise a family. The only difference between them and the millions of immigrants who came before them is the bureaucracy and the lack of common sense that will not let them stay.

Many of our ex-political prisoners like Pol Brennan are treated like a criminal or worse. Malachy McAllister, Matt Morrison, and many more have been harassed and badgered by every agency in our government; it is time it stopped and we are the only ones that can do it.

We need to stand up for our people, we need to band together no matter what organization we belong to and pressure our politicians to do the right and just thing. Politicians hear us when we have a loud voice because they know what we can do if we were organized. We only have a few months left to make the politicians listen to us and, make no mistake about it, when they know the voting power we have they will listen or suffer the consequences. After November we have no leverage; once they are elected all we will get is lip service. We need to do it now. Remember, if they don’t help us, then we don’t help them. It’s a very simple formula.

Q. Is Northern Ireland a non-issue for the AOH, now that we have had our kumbaya moment with Martin McGuinness and Ian Paisley? What has to happen next on that issue, from the AOH perspective?

A. Northern Ireland is at peace now, or so we are told, but they cannot be at a true and lasting peace until they are One United Nation. I have heard on so many occasions that the war is well and truly over and our help is no longer needed. Ask the people of Belfast or Derry, Tyrone or Armagh whether we are needed or not, and I know you will get a different answer. Our ex-prisoners who need to be trained for jobs, the many organizations that help the prisoners and their families, the families who were affected by the collusion of the British security forces and the Loyalist death squads need our help.

The reason we need to be involved in bringing a closure to all the open cases is because the world listens to America. We need to pressure the British government through our politicians to bring our Island together as one and we can accomplish that end if we organize, put our petty differences aside, unite and pressure our politicians here in America. If we do this, we can accomplish anything.

Q. You’ve been closely identified with immigration reform. What’s your approach to the issue? What would you regard as the best income for Irish immigrants?

A. Years ago it was much easier for people to immigrate but because of many reasons including 9/11 and the situation in Iraq and Afghanistan it has made it almost impossible to get permanent status here. Family does not count any more, and corporations no longer want to put advertisements in newspapers for workers as they once did to attract our Irish qualified workforce because they were getting sued for discrimination. All our visa programs have dried up, and our green card quota has been drastically reduced.

Q. Some have said that one possible result of immigration restrictions is that Irish communities like those in Delaware County might become much smaller or dry up altogether. Why is that an issue?

A. I think we need to find a fair quota for our people and work with other groups to find this solution. If we have few or no immigration policy it affects all the communities as it hinders our heritage and eventually our children will know nothing about our history, which is so precious to us. Our language and sports here have already suffered and we cannot afford to let it decline any further.

Q. Do you feel like the Irish need to work with other immigrant groups to achieve reform? I mean, fundamentally, this is not an Irish issue so much as an immigrant issue, is it? Can we really achieve any progress on Irish immigration without finding common cause with, say, Latin American or Asian groups?

A. I think that the Irish have more to offer than some of the other groups and I do not mean to degrade any nationality. The Irish have a head start on other groups because the have a tremendous work ethic, great education and speak English, and that is an advantage for employers. We as Irish are not looking for anything except to be treated fairly.

Q. I understand you are a native of Armagh. When did you move to Philly? Tell us about yourself and your family.

A. I was born in the townland of Faughiletra, Jonesboro, County Armagh on July 5, 1942, to Terence and Katie (McArdle) Boyle. My father came to Philadelphia in 1953, where my aunt Mary lived and he stayed with her until we arrived in May of 1954. My father was a carpenter who was offered a job in Philadelphia with Matthew McCloskey, one of the biggest contractors in the Northeast and later became ambassador to Ireland.

My father bought a new house, which was being built at the time in Mayfair, St Matthews’s parish. I finished 8th grade in St Matthew’s and went to Father Judge, graduating in 1961. I had an older sister, Noulagh, who passed away in October of 2004, another sister Carmel, brother Michael who passed away in September of 2005 and a brother Thomas. I was the second oldest of 5.

I married Bernadette (maiden name also Boyle) in Ireland in August 1970, and have three children, Michael, Tara and Bronagh, and six grandchildren: Kieran, Colin, Megan, Sheila, Brady and Finnegan.

I became an apprentice carpenter in Carpenters Local 122, graduating in 1966. I went to work traveling for (BACM) British American Construction Company, returning to Ireland meeting Berna and building a house in South Armagh in Killeavy.

I returned to Philadelphia in 1971 and became very involves in Irish Northern Aid and the AOH. I became involved in the Carpenters Union as an officer and worked up to get elected as business agent for the Philadelphia Council of Carpenters and got elected every election until I retired in 1997.

I had always been involved in the AOH Division 39 from 1972 and became an officer shortly after joining and have been an officer ever since on a division, county, state or national level. I wanted to do more for my community and for the people of the North of Ireland, where I was born, and the AOH was very involved in both of these issues.

August 7, 2008 by Jeff Meade

News, People

Local Hibernian Leader Wins AOH’s Top National Award

Bob and Kathy Gessler at a recent meeting at the Irish Center.

When he saw the list of previous winners of the John F. Kennedy Medal, the highest honor conferred by the national Ancient Order of Hibernians, this year’s honoree Bob Gessler had what anyone who knows him would call a predictable response.

“I felt like one of those characters on Sesame Street—you know, ‘Which of these things is not like the other?’” confesses Gessler, the founder of the Hibernian Hunger Project, a charity that grew from a tiny project of AOH Division 87 in Port Richmond to a statewide and now a nationwide AOH program to provide food for the needy.

He was referring to some of the well known recipients of the JFK Medal: Gemini and Apollo astronaut James McDivitt; actor Pat O’Brien; Archbishop of New York John Cardinal O’Connor; Boston Mayor Raymond L. Flynn; Nobel Prize winner John Hume, member of the European Parliament and leader of Ireland’s Social Democratic and Labour Party; and Gerry Adams, president of Sinn Fein.

And this year, a guy who started a project in 1999 that has since fed hundreds of thousands of people across the country. Gessler, a Temple grad from Kensington who runs his own commercial real estate appraisal business, was president of AOH Div. 87 when the idea occurred to him. “I was in the middle of raising money for the Irish Memorial in Philadelphia, a $1.2 million project that became a $2 million project and I kept thinking, how can we as an organization justify spending all the money on a memorial about the famine and not do something for the people who are hungry today.”

He spoke to some of his AOH members. “I was blessed with a core of about 25 people who first said, ‘Are you out of your damned mind? What is wrong with you?’” Gessler laughs. “Then they said, ‘You’re serious,’ and they all sat down and said, ‘how can we get it all done?’”

If you know Bob Gessler at all (and in the interest of full disclosure, I serve on a board with him), you know that’s either his family motto or his mantra. Or maybe both. He’s the proverbial “irresistible force” you’ve always heard about, a guy who’s never met a worthwhile project he isn’t willing to push, pull, cajole, yank, or ram to fruition, with the occasional flash of Irish temper, but mainly with dogged persistence and a ready sense of humor that he’s always poised to turn on himself.

Ask how he gets so much done and he jokes that it’s his heritage. Not his County Mayo heritage (his mother was a Walsh), but his father’s side of the family. “We’re from County Munich,” he deadpans. “Do you know the story of William Tell? Gessler was the name of the evil burgermeister who forced William Tell’s father to shoot the apple off his head.”

But, when he’s not joking, he also believes it’s his heritage—and his upbringing. “I think the Irish people have a special affinity for people who are hungry. Our people lived through that,” he says. “I think it’s important to help others. My Dad was for the most part disabled when I was growing up in Kensington. We didn’t have a whole lot of money. Back then it was a rough neighborhood, rougher now. When I was growing up houses were nicer and the cars were worse; now cars are incredible but the houses are really bad.” He laughs. But he’s made his point. When you’ve been through adversity, you have two choices: Become angry and bitter, or develop some empathy for others. He’s chosen the latter. His experience in the Irish community has convinced him that the Irish have too.

Under his leadership of AOH Div. 87, founded in 1898, membership grew from 90 to 700, a junior division was launched at North Catholic, and the AOH became an even greater force for good in the community. “I really thought that community involvement was the way to go,” says Gessler. “At our meetings, we did things. It wasn’t just ‘come out on a Tuesday night for a meeting and then have a beer. ‘ We did a lot of that, but we really take pride in ourselves because of our service.”

The Hibernian Hunger Project gets its biggest fundraising push in March in part because Gessler wanted to shift the focus that month from “green beer, stupid hats, and getting plastered on St. Patrick’s Day” to something that didn’t feed the Irish stereotype he hates so much.

“There’s nothing wrong with having a good time,” he says. “But that can’t be the be-all and end-all of the Irish experience in March.”

The culmination of the fundraising is the Irish equivalent of an Amish barn-raising. Hundreds of people come out every year to help prepare meals for Aid For Friends—a charity that provides meals to the elderly and to shut-ins. The first year, it was 1,500 meals. This year, 160 people prepared, wrapped, and froze more than 6,000, all meals made from food the Hibernians collected over the year . Right beside the AOHers are the Ladies AOHers.

“When I picked up my award [in New Orleans on July 26] they told me I had three minutes to speak but I went over,” he says. “I decided I had to be true to myself and I told the national group that AOH and LAOH are equal partners. Nothing would get done if it were otherwise. Hibernians are bound by our motto, ‘Friendship, unity and Christian charity.’ My feeling is, if you follow those precepts, you’re a Hibernian.”

And right beside Bob Gessler is his wife, Kathy. When she was a student at Holy Family University, she volunteered for Aid For Friends and suggested the charity as the logical recipient for the AOH largesse. She was also by his side when, in the Hunger Project’s first year, he and a few other hardy souls braved the bitter cold to collect canned goods from bins scattered around the St. Patrick’s Day Parade route. ”We got a few canned goods and whole lot of half-eaten Whoppers,” laughs Gessler. “We never did that again.”

The two met when they were teenagers and have been married for more than 18 years. “It sounds cliché, but I am so lucky to have someone who supports me all along the way,” he says. “It’s not easy. Never once did I ever hear, ‘When are you going to stop?’ I do occasionally hear, ‘Can we go out with anybody but Irish people tonight please?’”

And when you hear what else Gessler does, you know it’s not easy to be Mrs. Gessler, which is why she’s often at his side at meetings. Though they work together, she might not see him much after hours. Gessler also founded and chaired the Hibernian Community Development Corporation, a nonprofit corporation which renovated homes for first time buyers and new families. He has also started scholarship funds for local high school students, hosted the 2004 AOH/LAOH National Convention in Philadelphia, is a former board member for the Welcoming Center for New Pennsylvanians and served on the Quality of Life and Travel and Tourism subcommittees for Mayor John Street’s Transition Team.

He currently serves on the board of the St. Patrick’s Day Observance Association and is part of a committee developing plans for an Irish Film Festival in Philadelphia.

And what does Gessler do to relax? On any given weekend, he and Kathy might pack a bag, throw it in the car, and go wandering. “We like to wander,” he laughs. On their way to New Orleans to pick up his award, they decided to drive the long way, meandering along the Gulf Coast, which had been devastated by Hurricane Katrina. In one little town in the process of rebuilding, they came across a small Catholic school. . . .And yes, the Gesslers’ “do unto others” genes kicked in, even though they were on vacation. They’ve since been in touch with school officials to find out if there’s anything they could do.

“Hey,” he says, “one of the things I’ve learned is that it helps everybody if you help people. And the big surprise for most people is that it helps you too. No matter what happens, you can feel really good about yourself.”

August 6, 2008 by Denise Foley

People

Sail On, Billy

Billy Briggs

By Tom Slattery

I tried but could not come up with a more appropriate title than Tommy McCloskey’s e-mail title of a recent conversation between himself and long-time friend, singing companion and fellow sufferer, Billy Briggs.

I guess I could have used, “Yo, Bro,” Billy’s greeting to his friends. But that doesn’t say as much.

On June 15, 56-year-old “Irish Billy” Briggs, who grew up in Bordentown, New Jersey, but who is better known as the owner of Trenton’s legendary Tir na nOg Pub, died after a year-long battle with colon and liver cancer. His death has cast a palpable pall over the New Jersey Irish and Irish-American communities.

Billy’s wake and funeral were testimonials to his popularity and to the esteem in which people held him. He was waked at his pub for 12 hours (2 p.m. to 2 a.m.), during which hundreds upon hundreds of people passed through. His closed coffin was guarded, IRA-like, for the 12 hours. During the entire 12-hour period, the bar was open and yet, out of respect, there were no incidents.

At 6 p.m. a solitary piper walked through the pub playing “Irish Soldier Boy.” He was followed by a priest, a blessing and a decade of the rosary. Musicians queued up to perform at his funeral Mass the next day. On Sunday, June 22, Billy’s remains were shipped to Tipperary, Ireland, where he was buried in the hometown of his wife, Margaret O’Donnell. Margaret, who came to St. Francis many years ago, started visiting the pub, and eventually fell in love with the big fella, who had recreated Ireland in America and a place for the lonely immigrants to call “home.” In addition to Margaret, Billy is survived by their 6-year old twin daughters, Ellen and Mairead, as well as many family members.

Billy was not only a pub owner, but a singer, an actor, a quiet philanthropist, a man dedicated to a free and united Ireland, and a funny guy when the occasion called for it. His banjo now stands silently on the high chair on which he perched himself these past 17 years to bring his brand of Irish music and political commentary to his eclectic followers. Oh, yeah, the crowds on any given evening might include the Irish nurses from St. Francis, the young Irish contractors (of course, it’s where the nurses hung out), couples in formal wear going to or coming from some posh affair, local politicians, many senior Irish-Americans, and on and on—you get the idea. And in the midst of this happy crowd, and Billy’s presence guaranteed that mood, sat the king in his sartorial splendor—jeff cap, a clean black bowling shirt, dark pants which could hardly remember a crease, black sneakers not normally laced, with one foot carefully balanced on the spittoon (which I hope is bronzed)—knocking out song after song in a clear tenor voice through the cigar firmly ensconced in the corner of his mouth. The spittoon’s main job was to catch the ashes, which on rare occasion it did.

Billy usually was not the sole entertainer. Over the years, his bandstand (a platform capable of holding no more than four musicians—three, if any were Guinness drinkers) hosted so many talented musical performers, from the late Sligo Anne to the latest, Tom Glover. In the in-between years the crowd was treated to the likes of Billy J. O’Neal, Dr. Nancy Ferguson, Tommy McCloskey and many others, including visiting musicians who dropped in and amateurs who volunteered and who heard about it unmercifully if they did not meet the audience’s approval—especially from Billy, who had that special capability to put the dagger in, twist it around, and never lose your friendship.

One of Billy’s favorites was Mary Courtney from the Irish traditional group Morning Star. As a writer for a paper many years ago, I once asked Billy how he would like to spend St. Patrick’s Day if, of course, he was not tied to his pub. He replied, “I’d like to be lying on my back on top of Dun Aengus (a fort on the Aran Islands) with a bottle of Jameson and a cigar, listening to Mary Courtney sing.”

Tir na nOg was usually crowded, but St. Patrick’s week was always elbow to elbow (this is a family publication). At the start of the week, all seats, tables and barstools were removed to allow 20 to 30 more patrons to squeeze in. Trenton Irish could make the Japanese train “fillers” look like rank amateurs.

But Billy will be remembered for much more than his singing. His generosity and hospitality were almost legendary. Many a young Irish person, or family, arrived in the Trenton area not exactly flush, only to end up with some needed cash or furniture from Billy, who was a firm believer that if you hung up an Irish sign, you sure as heck better take care of anyone Irish. Many years ago Trenton had its first St. Patrick’s Day Ball at a New Jersey State Building, which even back then did not allow smoking and so there was a continuous line to have a few puffs outside—and only a few puffs, because of the freezing March weather.

Needless to say, at the following Ball, there was a huge “smokers” tent outside, donated by Billy. Never a man to be impressed with what he perceived as “high society,” he once emphasized the point when one of his closest friends ran the St. Patrick’s Day Parade Grand Marshal announcement with a wine and cheese party at the elegant Grounds for Sculpture (by the way, the announced Grand Marshal was also a close friend) by taking out a full page ad in their ad book saying, “Wine and Cheese, Boo.” He believed the real Irishman drank only beer or whiskey neat.

At a young age, Billy became interested in Ireland, and when his high school in Bordentown offered another ethnic history class, he requested an Irish history class. Told there were not enough students to justify such a class, Billy replied that such a class was his right. And so, once a week Billy Briggs studied Irish history in the school library.

He was a founder of Irish Northern Aid, as well as a co-founder of the Trenton St. Patrick’s Day Parade Committee. Billy worked tirelessly for a united Ireland. He was a Provo and Sinn Fein supporter long before it was popular to be, and a quick look around his pub, once voted one of the Top 50 Pubs in America, confirms this. Just this past March he was awarded the Irish Patriots Award by Pat Doherty, Sinn Fein Vice President.

In his old pub, one very similar to Cosey Morley’s (“there will never be another like it, because authorities would not allow it to be built”), late on a July 3 the crowd had dwindled to a hearty few as July 4 arrived. “We have to celebrate our freedom” said one. And Billy agreed. From behind the bar, he produced a picture of Maggie Thatcher, which he pasted on a bare spot on the cinder-block wall and then disappeared into the back room. “He’s gone to get the darts,” exclaimed one. However, a moment later Billy appeared with a 12-gauge with which he altered Maggie’s appearance and brought momentary deafness to those in the room. One claims that even thinking about it still causes his ears to ring.

I said he was an actor and he was—in one Bronx Irish Theater production, he played an English lawyer! Needless to say we filled a bus to travel up to see that performance. And he supported the arts. Tir na nOg held not only annual Bloomsday readings, but for several years had monthly “literature” evenings, which included readings and poetry.

Oh, grant me one more story. One of Billy’s patrons came in after suffering a very close loss in an AOH election. As Billy served him a pint, our friend bemoaned the fact that he had lost the election by a single vote. To which Billy replied, “Aren’t you glad I wasn’t there, you would have lost by two!!” Like the man, the stories about him are becoming legends as they are dug up and retold during this period of mourning but mostly, remembrance. Long-time friend, Billy J. O’Neal has set up a site to collect them.

That, my friends, is vintage Billy Briggs, a man who embraced life with a zest and passion that few ever attain—a man who will be remembered by many as the years go by—a man who was a giant in the Irish community—a man who can not be replaced, but one who set a standard for friendship, loyalty and love that hopefully others will follow.

Rest in peace, dear friend. I feel privileged to have been one of yours.

Slán

July 11, 2008 by Guest

News, People

The Little Society That Could

Virginia Coyne Brett, president of the Philadelphia Galway Society, presents the 2008 Person of the Year Award to Drew Monaghan.

By Kathy McGee Burns

The Galway Society Dinner Dance was held on a Saturday evening, May 10. I have been to many of these events but this night there was something different. This night had a magical feel to it, so much so that I wanted to capture that feeling and put it to words.

I’ve been to County Galway many times. It is one of my favorite places in Ireland. Each county has its own flavor, but I think Galway has a little of all the flavors of Ireland. I think that’s why it’s known as Ireland’s cultural heart. It’s the home of Kylemore Abbey, The Twelve Bens, and Connemara. It is Joyce country and through it runs the Corrib, the largest lake in the republic. When Galwegians (as people from Galway are known) immigrated to America, most of them went to Boston, but Philadelphia was lucky enough to get some of the special ones.

The Galway Society, in the Philadelphia area, was started 99 years ago. It welcomed the newly arrived and helped to ease the pain of leaving home. The members reached out to aid in employment and it became a social center, a place not unlike home.

My story starts with John Egan. He was from Head Ford, the youngest of seven children, unmarried and with nothing happening at home. He arrived in Philadelphia in 1955. His brother, Pat, immediately introduced him to the Galway Society and the Irish Center. He joined a month later. The Society was never very large, not like Donegal or Mayo. There was a core group, “the glue that kept it together:” the Egans, Jack Gilmore, Billy Brennan, and Dan Raftery. In the last fifty years, membership dwindled, kept alive by very few families.

Now, suddenly, it has had a resurgence. It has become a force with a new direction. The ingredient added was the Coyne Family. Jim and Ginny entered the Galway Society with determination, loyalty, and resources. Those resources were friends, and family…lots of family. The dye was now cast.

One of those friends was Drew Monaghan. Drew and his wife, Mary Lynn, had been attending the dinner dances with the Coynes for quite a while and Jim was able to twist Drew’s arm into following him as President. Drew became that shot of youth and new vision.

Drew said they encouraged their small membership to talk up the Society. They first went to their families and when they showed interest, they approached their friends. He said that at first, the younger people were taken aback by “all that gray hair”. Drew, in his wisdom, decided to let the young people make some decisions. His advice was, “If you don’t like it, make it in your own image….but you can’t chase the elders away”

Under Drew’s tutelage there was been a resurgence of young members. They turn ran the dinner dance, dressed up the Society window, and produced a lovely dance booklet. Drew Monaghan was named “Person of the Year, 2008,” an honor bestowed on him for service to the Society.

Drew passed the baton to Virginia Brett (Jim Coyne’s daughter) who is the new president and I believe only the second woman ever to hold that title. Virginia, a four-year member, also attended those dances, mainly as an obligation to Mom and Dad, but later really enjoying them.

She’s now “dragging” her kids. Brendan Brett, age 21, is the newest and youngest member who has taken to all things Irish. Drew Monaghan said that Virginia represents a real visible change in the Galway Society.

Virginia’s goal is to look for meaningful activities for the Society to pursue, things that will help their own members in difficult times and always make things fun.
So, what are some of these innovated changes?

The officers of the Society are spread over generations. There’s a 50-year span of ages among the board of directors. Two young women, Eileen Brett and Kathleen Sweeney, will be Co- Chair of Galway’s 100th Annual Dinner Dance.

And speaking of Eileen Brett, she’s one of the newer links in those 100 years. She is an upbeat young woman with a clear vision. She also was involved with this year’s dance. She was very nervous the morning of the affair. She had set the bar high and wanted to show them (the elders) what the young set could do and that they could have faith for the future. Eileen also says that none of them could have done it without John Egan who sold the most tickets and ads. Therein lies the success of that generational span. The glue is still intact. Eileen Brett is still basking in the glow of that special night.

That’s what I felt! All the energy, devotion, respect and aspirations of the Galway people came together that night in May. The struggle to fill the hall was abated. The room was packed. The young and the old mingled. We all felt that special magic. I just know there will be another 100 years for the Galway Society.

July 11, 2008 by Guest

People

From the FOP to the Irish Memorial

Bob Hurst

You might think being president of the Irish Memorial, Inc., is a tough job. After all, you’re heading a board that oversees the largest, most visible presence of the Irish in the city other than the crowd that comes downtown for the St. Patrick’s Day parade. The Irish Memorial is a 24-foot long bronze sculpture depicting the spirit of immigrants taking on the challenges of the new world, set in a 1.75-acre park at Penn’s Landing.

But former Philadelphia Police Sergeant Bob Hurst Sr. spent his childhood in an orphanage, was hospitalized 50 times in the line of duty, mugged 278 times, stabbed eight times (once in the neck, leaving him paralyzed for more than five hours), once walked the streets of the city dressed as a nun and—in what might have been the most harrowing adventure of his life—served as the president of the Philadelphia Fraternal Order of Police for four terms. In that last role, he had to deal on a daily basis with politicians. When he served in the police stakeout unit, he says, at least he “knew who the enemy was. With politicians, the bugger’s behind you.”

So, president of the Irish Memorial? Piece of cake.

Of course, that’s not really how the 70-year-old Hurst sees it. Despite his 16 years on the street, Hurst is far from cocky. If anything, he’s got the market cornered on humility. Hurst, says his friend Bob Gessler, who has been on the Memorial board since its inception, feels such a “personal connection to the Memorial” that he goes down a few times a month just to pick up the trash. “This St. Patrick’s Day, I saw Bob with a bag in his hand going through the site, picking up trash, cigarette butts and cans,” Gessler says. “I was impressed that he wanted to make the site look better for this very public event. I told Bob so and he indicated that he did this monthly. He would come down early Saturday mornings and take an hour or so just to clean the site. This is the sort of dedication that he brings to the board.”

But Gessler left something out. “I might also chase a few bums off,” concedes Hurst. Though he’s been retired from the Philadelphia police department since 1987, Hurst is still in touch with his inner cop. That’s understandable. For a decade, Hurst was a member of the force’s so-called “Granny squad,” whose members dressed up as the mugging target group du jour, whether it was insurance salesmen or grandmothers or even nuns. “I did pose as a nun but we got out of that business real fast because we got letter from Cardinal,” recalls Hurst, barely stifling his rich, infectious laugh. “He took umbrage with the idea of using a shotgun from underneath the habit to blow people through windows. We were not the little sisters of mercy.” That last quip was almost smothered by laughter—his and mine.

Hurst has that essential quality—a great sense of humor—that allowed him to survive not only life on the street, but his early tragedies and the tough world of city politics. His mother, a native of Swinford, County Mayo, who had nine children, died at the age of 37 of breast cancer. Hurst’s father, a PTC motorman who was born in County Sligo, wasn’t able to care for his entire brood. He kept five and the other four, including Hurst, were sent to the now closed St. John’s Orphanage at 49th and Wyalusing Avenue, which was run by the Sisters of St. Joseph. His father and siblings visited every Sunday. Later, he attended St. Francis Vocational School in Eddington where he spent half the day on academics and half in woodworking shop, making church pews.

But don’t expect Hurst to moan about his tough childhood. He has only good memories of his time at both institutions. “The nuns—those women did a tremendous job under the circumstances,” he says. “They really raised us. At St. Francis we were taught by Christian Brothers and I take my hat off to them. It was a good experience. For guy who had to leave home and go to an orphanage, it could have been a lot worse.”

After graduation, Hurst went into the service, returning to start a career in insurance. He had never considered joining the police force. Didn’t even know a cop until, one night, when he ran afoul of the law. While having dinner with an old school friend who had become a doctor, the two got into an altercation with another man who, as Hurst recalls, was smart-mouthing them to impress a girl.

“Well, one thing led to another,” recalls Hurst. “I got up, slipped, fell flat on my back, but he was coming at me so I put my feet on his belly and right over he went, right through the plate window, $638 worth. I thought, well this is a fine how do you do. So I take off one way, doc takes off the other way. I must have run for two blocks, and came out to Germantown Avenue near the library, and when I did, who’s standing in front of me but a cop, Tony Kane. I looked at him and asked, ‘My only question is how did you know I was coming out here?’ He said, ‘Just a hunch.’”

Kane and his partner, Michael Chitwood (now police chief of Upper Darby), decided not to arrest the two men, but made them split the cost of the window they’d broken. About a month later, Hurst ran into the two in their unmarked car and started chatting. “They asked if I’d ever thought about becoming a cop and I said no,” Hurst says. “But I started to think about it and where it could take me.” So he enrolled in the police academy. (He credits his decision to Kane, who is now dead, and Chitwood, both of whom he still speaks of with admiration. “They could find a criminal in heaven,” he says.)

His first beat was in Roxborough, where he made the acquaintance of a young bank teller named Kathy Durning. “I always had my eyeball on her, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to her,” he says. “You know that old saying about the Irish wedding proposal: ‘How would you like to be buried with my people?’ Well, I just didn’t have the brass to ask her out.”

One Friday night, when she was working late, she asked him to stick another dime in the meter where she’d parked her car so she wouldn’t get a ticket. “I took the dime from her and walked out to her car thinking, ‘Why the hell did I take that dime?’ and when I got to the meter, there I’d written the darn ticket already. I’d seen her car thousands of times but I didn’t recognize it. So I took the ticket and put it in my pocket and went home and wrote a $3 check and sent it in.”

So, was that how they started dating? No. “I didn’t tell her about it till we were married,” says Hurst, the infectious laugh starting to bubble up. They didn’t actually become a couple until the evening he ran into her in a bar where she was sitting with friends, there to comfort her on the breakup of her engagement. “I asked if I could sit with them, we had a very nice time, and from then on, that was it,” Hurst says.

This year. Bob and Kathy Hurst, parents of four grown children and grandparents of 12, will be celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary on a 16-day tour of Europe, though not to Ireland. “We’ve been there many times,” says Hurst, who has headed so many local Irish organizations—the Mayo Association, the Delaware Valley Irish Hall of Fame, the Danny Brown Division of the AOH—as well as serving on the boards of the Irish Center and the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick, that the top job at the Irish Memorial might be the only gavel-banging job he hasn’t had.

You have to ask others why Bob Hurst has been tapped so often to chair boards. “Bob always has his feet planted firmly on the ground, he’s always positive and optimistic,” says Kathy McGee Burns, who succeeded Hurst as president of the Delaware Valley Hall of Fame and now serves with him on the Irish Memorial board. “Whenever I have a problem, it’s Bob I go to for guidance, and he always gives it.”

If you ask Bob Hurst, the answer is much different. “A lot of people don’t know how to run a meeting with parliamentary rules,” he says by way of explanation. “When I was president of the FOP, we had a parliamentarian come in and give us some schooling on it. When you have 300 people a week at a union meeting, I found that a good chair has one blind eye and one deaf ear. I think people just think, he can run a strict, decent meeting, let’s put him in there. People think I know a lot, but I don’t know any more than the man in the moon. I just know how to run a meeting.”

But his love for the Irish community is palpable as is his deep humility, and it’s likely that that’s what people see when they’re casting around for someone to run their meetings. Roberts Rules of Order may help motions get passed smoothly, but respect for someone who isn’t above picking up trash—without wanting thanks or a pat on the back—is what makes Hurst a sought-after leader.

He’s a doer who admires other doers. When he returned from the service, Hurst started going to the newly built Irish Center where he met so many people he felt a special kinship with. Later, he became part of the core group dedicated to rebuilding it when it fell into disrepair. “Guys like Vince Gallagher, Barney Boyce, Mike Burns, Sean McMenamin, Tom Farley—these aren’t just guys you belly up to the bar with. They are people who want to do something, and I like that,” says Hurst.

“There’s an old saying that I’ve always subscribed to,” he says. “‘You can do whatever you want if you don’t care who gets the credit,’ and that’s the kind of people they are. I love being around the Irish. I love being at the Irish Center. You feel like you come as a stranger and you leave as a friend.”

A lot like you feel when you’ve spent a little time with Bob Hurst.

July 1, 2008 by Denise Foley

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