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News, People

“He Still Has Us Laughing:” Knute Bonner Remembered

Knute Bonner gets a hug from Bridie McCafferty, left, and her sister, Peggy.

Knute Bonner gets a hug from Bridie McCafferty, left, and her sister, Peggy.

When Knute Bonner died last week at the age of 87, Philadelphia’s Irish and Irish-American community lost one of its most colorful, kind and puckish characters. On Sunday, March 10, when the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade passes along the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, it will be without its 2001 grand marshal. For those who knew Knute Bonner, it’s a moment of sadness, but also—as is the case with any Irish wake—it’s a moment to share stories.

Not surprisingly, there are a lot of them. We asked a few of his friends to share their thoughts.

Michael Bradley, Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade Director

“The Knute I Knew.” That would be a great title of a book written about him.  He would jump from how he didn’t feel good, to showing me the wound on his leg, to telling you one of his jokes, to singing a song and possibly back to how we miss so-and-so who just passed—all in the same five minutes. Knute had a great outlook on life. He was always positive, and always ended with a chuckle—like he knew something you didn’t.

He was an entertainer, and when the red light and spotlight came on, he came on, the crowd came on, and the crowd loved him, and he loved them!

He thought the Irish were the greatest race on earth, but he didn’t really talk to me about being Irish, it was more about St. Patrick’s Day. That day meant the world to him. I still get chills down the back of my neck when I think of him singing “It’s a great day for the Irish.”

He also started the Southwest St Patrick’s Club in 1950, before I was even born, and to see those men and women still march with their third-generation marchers is a real tribute to Knute, since most of them have moved out of Southwest Philly. He was also very proud of all the Irish in SW Philly and West Catholic.

My best best story about Knute is not an Irish one.  My son Colin was in fourth grade at St Pius X in Broomall. This was awhile ago since he now is a sophomore at Penn State with Knute’s grandson Shane. The teacher asked if any of the students knew anyone from World War II to share some stories. I told him, you have to bring Knute in—no one can tell better stories than Knute.

Well, it was a day I wasn’t going to miss. Knute started out by not seeing the chain in the schoolyard that separates the kids from the parking lot, and he drove right through it—starting the day off with a bang. He then tells me—kind of loud—when we get into class that “they sure didn’t make teachers who looked like this when I was in school”!

Paul Phillips and Knute Bonner

Paul Phillips and Knute Bonner

And for the next hour and a half—he was supposed to talk for 15 minutes or so—he had the teacher, myself and every kid in the class mesmerized!  He started out telling them about his best friend from Bartram High School who was killed right in front of him. He talked about how their helmets were protection against bullets, but how they also shaved in them, and ate beans they cooked out of them—sometimes, all in the same day! He mixed in so many funny, sad, memorable, and patriotic stories in one big run-on story, he held my attention—jumping from story to story to story without missing a beat!

He was almost 80 years old and there wasn’t a veteran in America who could hold a candle to Knute that day. He tried to pass around a huge German sword, which the teacher rightfully took off the first kid, but that never deterred Knute; he never missed a beat. He just kept on going.

At the end, he asked if he could sing the “Star Spangled Banner,” and he told all the kids how they should always stand up straight, look at the flag, and remember all the people who gave their lives for this country. He had tears flowing down his checks—me, too—but he switched gears in classic Knute style and told them if they ever saw ANYONE who was sitting at a game when our National Anthem was being played or sung, that is was OK to go up and kick them right in the ass, as the tears turn again in mid-story to that laugh of his. The teacher looked at me and said it was not alright to go kick anyone, but Knute said to listen to him!

Knute’s visit was in the month of January. Kids don’t remember what you taught them yesterday, but on the last week of school, the kids voted on the best day of school and there were 34 votes for Knute Bonner Day, and 0 for any other day of school.

Knute was on the parade board since the early ‘60s, so there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen, and I always respected that. At his last meeting he attended in January, an issue came up about us inviting all the veterans, and I suggested that they all march together with the 82nd Airborne, but I wanted to get Knute’s opinion. So I asked him to address the audience and he did so eloquently, and thoughtfully and told us how his group, the Battle of the Bulge, had too few members to march. His last public comments were that of a man who was 87 years old, but we hung on every word in deep respect for what that man did for our parade and our country.

Happy 84th Birthday

Happy 84th Birthday

Bob Gessler, President of the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Observance Association

He was simply an omnipresent figure. From the very first time I became involved, there was Knute.

He served on the parade board for over 50 years, and was, if the not the longest-serving member, very near the longest. He was on the board longer than I’ve been around. Just imagine the love you must have for your heritage, your faith and your city to serve that long.

He was a person who always cared about every person in the parade. He thought about how we can eliminate delays, how we can make the parade better and more enjoyable for everyone.

He obviously lived his life caring and striving to make it better for everyone. He made it known to all that he served in the Battle of the Bulge, and it never was a “me” thing; rather a tribute to all those who served with him.

He was truly a remarkable, many-faceted man and one hell of an Irishman.

Mary Frances Fogg, St. Patrick’s Day Parade Board Member

Knute Bonner was always joking, and always good for a laugh. For years at the parade meetings Knute has been asking the board to purchase walkie-talkies, so we can talk to each other and to the marshals during the parade. So after years of Knute asking, a few weeks ago I purchased walkie-talkies, and I was going to present them to him at the Grand Marshal Annual Dinner this year. I knew he would get a kick out of it, and finally put this discussion to rest.

So after hearing of Knute’s passing, I thought about the walkie-talkies, and I sent a few members of the board an email telling them about the purchase. Kathy McGee Burns suggested that we put one of the walkie-talkies in the coffin. I quickly responded that she would have to take possession of the other one just in case he calls! And knowing Knute, he will!

God Bless Knute, and his wonderful sense of humor. He still has us laughing. He will be greatly missed.

Bridie McCafferty, St. Patrick’s Day Parade Board Member

Knute Bonner was a sweetheart. He made you feel like you were the most important person in the world when he saw you.
He was not a politician or a celebrity, but you wouldn’t believe the crowds that came to pay tribute to him at his viewing and funeral Mass. This shows how he touched so many people.

Knute was the life of the party, made lifelong friends quickly, and was always up for a bit of fun. When he motioned you to come near him with that twinkle in his eye, and he changed his voice to a whisper, you knew you were going to hear a joke or funny story.

But it was his quiet and humble way of doing charitable work for those less fortunate that I will also remember. For many years, Knute put on Irish Cabaret shows for the elderly at local nursing homes. The joy he brought to his audiences was, as they say, priceless. His life was one of loving service to his family, the church, the Irish community, and veteran causes. You couldn’t meet anyone more generous than Knute.

Knute’s love of God created a joy of life which he richly shared with others, and a sense of service and duty to others that extended to risking his own life in WWII.

We are all the better for knowing Knute.

And I can only imagine what March 17th will be like in heaven this year, with Knute singing ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ with St. Patrick himself.

God bless you Knute, and God bless your wonderful family.

Kathy McGee Burns, Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade Board Member

I can never remember a funeral as big and beautiful as Knute’s. It was a tribute to a great man. In his death, he was remembered as he lived—not in a maudlin way, but in a happy way.

Knute was buried dressed in his emerald green high-top sneakers, with a shillelagh, his WWII cap, his service decorations,a grand marshal’s sash, a walkie-talkie,an Irish shamrock tie, a book titled “Irish Philadelphia,” a rose in his pocket , a CD playing songs from his string band days, and his Green Top Hat.

I watched the people lean over and kiss him, or rub his hand. I bet there were 1,000 people who came to say goodbye to Knute. The eulogy by a family friend, John Delaney, was nothing short of a vaudeville show, filled with Knute jokes. Pat (Bonner) told me that they closed I-95 for the procession of a “Fallen Hero”as they went to the cemetery.What a farewell party!

People

“He Still Has Us Laughing:” Knute Bonner Remembered

Knute, remembered

Knute, remembered

When Knute Bonner died last week at the age of 87, Philadelphia’s Irish and Irish-American community lost one of its most colorful, kind and puckish characters. On Sunday, March 10, when the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade passes along the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, it will be without its 2001 grand marshal. For those who knew Knute Bonner, it’s a moment of sadness, but also—as is the case with any Irish wake—it’s a moment to share stories.

Not surprisingly, there are a lot of them. We asked a few of his friends to share their thoughts.

Michael Bradley, Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade Director

“The Knute I Knew.” That would be a great title of a book written about him.  He would jump from how he didn’t feel good, to showing me the wound on his leg, to telling you one of his jokes, to singing a song and possibly back to how we miss so-and-so who just passed—all in the same five minutes. Knute had a great outlook on life. He was always positive, and always ended with a chuckle—like he knew something you didn’t.

He was an entertainer, and when the red light and spotlight came on, he came on, the crowd came on, and the crowd loved him, and he loved them!

He thought the Irish were the greatest race on earth, but he didn’t really talk to me about being Irish, it was more about St. Patrick’s Day. That day meant the world to him. I still get chills down the back of my neck when I think of him singing “It’s a great day for the Irish.”

He also started the Southwest St Patrick’s Club in 1950, before I was even born, and to see those men and women still march with their third-generation marchers is a real tribute to Knute, since most of them have moved out of Southwest Philly. He was also very proud of all the Irish in SW Philly and West Catholic.

My best best story about Knute is not an Irish one.  My son Colin was in fourth grade at St Pius X in Broomall. This was awhile ago since he now is a sophomore at Penn State with Knute’s grandson Shane. The teacher asked if any of the students knew anyone from World War II to share some stories. I told him, you have to bring Knute in—no one can tell better stories than Knute.

Well, it was a day I wasn’t going to miss. Knute started out by not seeing the chain in the schoolyard that separates the kids from the parking lot, and he drove right through it—starting the day off with a bang. He then tells me—kind of loud—when we get into class that “they sure didn’t make teachers who looked like this when I was in school”!

Paul Phillips and Knute Bonner

And for the next hour and a half—he was supposed to talk for 15 minutes or so—he had the teacher, myself and every kid in the class mesmerized!  He started out telling them about his best friend from Bartram High School who was killed right in front of him. He talked about how their helmets were protection against bullets, but how they also shaved in them, and ate beans they cooked out of them—sometimes, all in the same day! He mixed in so many funny, sad, memorable, and patriotic stories in one big run-on story, he held my attention—jumping from story to story to story without missing a beat!

He was almost 80 years old and there wasn’t a veteran in America who could hold a candle to Knute that day. He tried to pass around a huge German sword, which the teacher rightfully took off the first kid, but that never deterred Knute; he never missed a beat. He just kept on going.

At the end, he asked if he could sing the “Star Spangled Banner,” and he told all the kids how they should always stand up straight, look at the flag, and remember all the people who gave their lives for this country. He had tears flowing down his checks—me, too—but he switched gears in classic Knute style and told them if they ever saw ANYONE who was sitting at a game when our National Anthem was being played or sung, that is was OK to go up and kick them right in the ass, as the tears turn again in mid-story to that laugh of his. The teacher looked at me and said it was not alright to go kick anyone, but Knute said to listen to him!

Knute’s visit was in the month of January. Kids don’t remember what you taught them yesterday, but on the last week of school, the kids voted on the best day of school and there were 34 votes for Knute Bonner Day, and 0 for any other day of school.

Knute was on the parade board since the early ‘60s, so there wasn’t much he hadn’t seen, and I always respected that. At his last meeting he attended in January, an issue came up about us inviting all the veterans, and I suggested that they all march together with the 82nd Airborne, but I wanted to get Knute’s opinion. So I asked him to address the audience and he did so eloquently, and thoughtfully and told us how his group, the Battle of the Bulge, had too few members to march. His last public comments were that of a man who was 87 years old, but we hung on every word in deep respect for what that man did for our parade and our country.

Happy 84th Birthday

Bob Gessler, President of the Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Observance Association

He was simply an omnipresent figure. From the very first time I became involved, there was Knute.

He served on the parade board for over 50 years, and was, if the not the longest-serving member, very near the longest. He was on the board longer than I’ve been around. Just imagine the love you must have for your heritage, your faith and your city to serve that long.

He was a person who always cared about every person in the parade. He thought about how we can eliminate delays, how we can make the parade better and more enjoyable for everyone.

He obviously lived his life caring and striving to make it better for everyone. He made it known to all that he served in the Battle of the Bulge, and it never was a “me” thing; rather a tribute to all those who served with him.

He was truly a remarkable, many-faceted man and one hell of an Irishman.

Mary Frances Fogg, St. Patrick’s Day Parade Board Member

Knute Bonner was always joking, and always good for a laugh. For years at the parade meetings Knute has been asking the board to purchase walkie-talkies, so we can talk to each other and to the marshals during the parade. So after years of Knute asking, a few weeks ago I purchased walkie-talkies, and I was going to present them to him at the Grand Marshal Annual Dinner this year. I knew he would get a kick out of it, and finally put this discussion to rest.

So after hearing of Knute’s passing, I thought about the walkie-talkies, and I sent a few members of the board an email telling them about the purchase. Kathy McGee Burns suggested that we put one of the walkie-talkies in the coffin. I quickly responded that she would have to take possession of the other one just in case he calls! And knowing Knute, he will!

God Bless Knute, and his wonderful sense of humor. He still has us laughing. He will be greatly missed.

Bridie McCafferty, St. Patrick’s Day Parade Board Member

Knute Bonner was a sweetheart. He made you feel like you were the most important person in the world when he saw you.
He was not a politician or a celebrity, but you wouldn’t believe the crowds that came to pay tribute to him at his viewing and funeral Mass. This shows how he touched so many people.

Knute was the life of the party, made lifelong friends quickly, and was always up for a bit of fun. When he motioned you to come near him with that twinkle in his eye, and he changed his voice to a whisper, you knew you were going to hear a joke or funny story.

But it was his quiet and humble way of doing charitable work for those less fortunate that I will also remember. For many years, Knute put on Irish Cabaret shows for the elderly at local nursing homes. The joy he brought to his audiences was, as they say, priceless. His life was one of loving service to his family, the church, the Irish community, and veteran causes. You couldn’t meet anyone more generous than Knute.

Knute’s love of God created a joy of life which he richly shared with others, and a sense of service and duty to others that extended to risking his own life in WWII.

We are all the better for knowing Knute.

And I can only imagine what March 17th will be like in heaven this year, with Knute singing ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ with St. Patrick himself.

God bless you Knute, and God bless your wonderful family.

Kathy McGee Burns, Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day Parade Board Member

I can never remember a funeral as big and beautiful as Knute’s. It was a tribute to a great man. In his death, he was remembered as he lived—not in a maudlin way, but in a happy way.

Knute was buried dressed in his emerald green high-top sneakers, with a shillelagh, his WWII cap, his service decorations,a grand marshal’s sash, a walkie-talkie,an Irish shamrock tie, a book titled “Irish Philadelphia,” a rose in his pocket , a CD playing songs from his string band days, and his Green Top Hat.

I watched the people lean over and kiss him, or rub his hand. I bet there were 1,000 people who came to say goodbye to Knute. The eulogy by a family friend, John Delaney, was nothing short of a vaudeville show, filled with Knute jokes. Pat (Bonner) told me that they closed I-95 for the procession of a “Fallen Hero”as they went to the cemetery.What a farewell party!

People

Farewell to Knute Bonner

Knute Bonner

Knute Bonner

Philip E. “Knute” Bonner, retired Philadelphia city police officer, 2001 Philadelphia St. Patrick’s Day grand marshal, and one of the Irish community’s most colorful and beloved characters, passed away Friday, February 15. He was 87.

We’ll have more to say about this kind, gentle and funny man in days to come. But for now, we’d like to remember him, both in pictures (view them here) and a video that shows him in fine voice.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.

People

A Leprechaun, Remembered

/2012/11/eshome-300×199.jpg” alt=”Ed Slivak” width=”300″ height=”199″ /> Ed Slivak

Pete Hand remembers the point at which Ed Slivak decided to become a leprechaun.

Hand, who was then president of Ancient Order of Hibernians Division 1 in Swedesburg, says he was sitting around the club one night, and Slivak came over and popped the question.

“He walked up, and he said, ‘Do you mind if I dress up like a leprechaun?’ I said, ‘Sure, you look like one, anyway.’”

And he really did. Edward J. Slivak, who died this week at the age of 70, was small of stature, with a face that always looked like he was ready to ask a question. The turned-up nose, the laughing eyes, and the little scruffy beard completed the picture. It didn’t take much makeup to complete the transition. After he added a set of latex pointed ears, tinted his beard orange, and donned the green bowler hat (sometimes a crumpled top hat), that’s who and what he was.

The women of the division’s Ladies Ancient Order of Hibernians helped Slivak flesh out the other elements of his wardrobe―jacket, vest, bow tie, knee pants, athletic socks with green and orange stripes, and green Converse All-Stars. “He looked good,” says Hand.

(Slivak’s own recollection of events was a little different. In a 2010 interview shortly after he was named Grand Marshal of the Montgomery County St. Patrick’s Day Parade, Slivak said his outfit wasn’t quite all there yet: “I looked like an immigrant, just off the boat.” He also confessed to not being completely at home in the role at first: “I felt a little goofy. I thought, here I am a grown man dressing up as a leprechaun.”)

In time, Slivak reached his comfort level, and then some―maybe because there was a lot more to being a leprechaun, in his view, than just dressing the part. His leprechaun had a charitable heart.

“He always remembered being sick in a hospital when he was a kid, and he really liked to raise money for the Ronald McDonald House (at St. Christopher’s Hospital for Children),” says Hand.

Current Division President Mark Ryan says Slivak was tireless in his pursuit of the greater good. “He was the one who came up with the idea of collecting money for the children’s hospital. He did a lot of events, like our annual Irish Festival in Montclare and the Scottish-Irish festival at Green Lane. He always seemed to enjoy it very much, and he loved to take pictures with the kids. What he did was important. He really exemplified our values. Charity is one of the things the AOH is about.”

Slivak kept it up until 2009, when he became ill at the end of the Montgomery County St. Patrick’s Day in Conshohocken. Someone gave him a ride home, and that was the last thing he remembered until waking up in Montgomery Hospital. He had suffered a debilitating stroke. After he returned home to his wife Gi (short for Virginia) and a little pug dog named General Patton, he began several long, trying months of rehabilitation.

In spite of it all, he counted himself lucky to be alive. “I think the Lord was calling me for judgment day,” he recalled in his 2010 interview. “But St. Patrick, St. Brendan and St. Bridget all went to the Lord, and they gave me a little extra time on earth.”

Slivak, of course, is not an Irish name. Growing up in Fishtown, he took the name of his stepfather, whom he recalled as “a good man.” His mother Clare had roots in Cork and Donegal, however.

After working for 25 years as a tearsheet clerk at the Philadelphia Inquirer and Daily News, Slivak and his wife moved to Swedesburg in 2001. AOH Division 1, up the hill on Jefferson Street, beckoned, and the curious Slivak joined the same year―even though he only had a vague notion what the AOH was all about. “I remember, I didn’t know what the initials stood for,” Slivak said in his interview. “But in the past 10 years I’ve learned a lot more about being a Catholic and Irish.”

Once in, Slivak was completely in. His commitment to the AOH was noticed and appreciated: in 2007, he was the division’s Hibernian of the Year. “He made a lot of friends,” Hand recalls. “But he wasn’t hard to make friends with. He was just a good guy.”

Funeral arrangements for Slivak have been announced. Learn more here.

News, People

Remembering Collin Abrams

Father and son, at a training exercise

Father and son, at a training exercise

Collin Abrams never had any doubt about what he was going to do with his life … or whose life he would choose to emulate.

A fourth-generation firefighter, the 21-year-old Washington Crossing man was in line to start fire school in Philadelphia in September, preparatory to become a city firefighter, his life’s ambition. Active in several fire companies and rescue squads along the Bucks County-New Jersey border and frequently singled out for honors locally, statewide and nationally, he was the son of Michael and Cheryl Abrams. Michael, also a lifelong volunteer, currently serves as fire marshal in Raritan Township, N.J.

Collin Michael Abrams, the couple’s only child, died July 14th in a drowning accident at the home of a friend in Hopewell Township, N.J. He left his family and friends with treasured memories of a passionate, dutiful and committed young man who wanted nothing so much as to spend his life in the service of others.

“From the day he was born, he was raised in the fire service,” says Michael Abrams. “I don’t think a day went by when there wasn’t an interest in the fire service. He followed in my footsteps. It was our passion. Collin from day one was taught the history and tradition of the fire service, and he respected that. He got it all from early on. That’s where he wanted to be.”

Just a few months ago, Collin took the test for the Philadelphia Fire Department, and scored about as high as you can score without being a veteran, who get preference on the entrance exam, says Michael Abrams.

“He scored 100 on the test, and then because of his certifications being a Pennsylvania firefighter, certified with the National Pro Board, he was given extra points. He was also a Pennsylvania emergency medical technician, which also scored him extra credit points.”

Collin was also a swift water rescue technician.

If firefighting was in the young man’s blood, so was his Irish heritage. Michael says he and his son were members of the Hibernian Fire Company in Lambertville. Cheryl Abrams is British-born, but most of the Abrams family were Irish

Perhaps it was the Irish in him that propelled him to join the Philadelphia Police and Fire Pipes and Drums . But it’s a safe bet that Collin once again was following his father’s example.

“We went to the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Philadelphia in March, and I saw the band,” says Michael Abrams. “Man, the way these guys came up, the fire department right behind them, it was just incredible. Well, my mother (Alice) had died last July 18, and I thought … I want to do something to honor my mother.”

Collin Abrams

Collin Abrams

Michael drove down to practice at the Philadelphia Police Academy, and he brought Collin along. Collin at that point, perhaps feeling a bit overextended, was not certain he wanted to join the pipe band, but Michael joined, hoping to become a drummer … and it wasn’t long before Collin picked up sticks. Practice and band gigs soon occupied much of their time.

“Collin and I both, our commitment levels are very high,” says Michael. “We knew right away, this was gonna be cool. It was a thing that me and Collin shared together. We shared good times on our ride down to practice.”

For Collin, band practice was also an opportunity to pick the brains of the current and retired Philadelphia firefighters who belonged to the unit, says Michael. “The guys in the band gave him so much information. They were prepping him for the career he was going into. We’d stay for hours and hours.”

It quickly became apparent to the other musicians that the father and son were deeply committed to the band … and the son in particular was making his mark.

“Anything we asked him to do, he was jumping up and getting it done,” recalls band President Sean Gallagher. “He made all of the parades. He was in the honor guard. The kid had a great impact on everybody.”

Band master and music director Mark O’Donnell was particularly touched by the young man’s enthusiasm. “He was with us a very short period of time, but from the instructor’s perspective, he really reminded me why we do this.”

When band members learned of Collin’s untimely death, they took it hard, but they resolved to honor his memory in a way that would have meant everything to him. It’s the custom in the Police and Fire Band that members who have passed through their probationary period are honored in a ceremony in which they are presented with their kilt. Typically, the probationary period lasts about a year. Band president Gallagher says that the Abrams were so active and so obviously, deeply committed, that they both were on target for a “kilting” well ahead of schedule.

Here, however, Collin was just a step or two ahead of his father.

“Collin had been playing with the band only three months, but he was learning fast. He was definitely going to be playing in time for the Irish festival in Wildwood in September.”

At his family’s request, Collin was “kilted” posthumously, buried in his band uniform. “We didn’t have to think about it,” says O’Donnell.

The band also presented the family with a Philadelphia Fire Department helmet with Collin’s name on it. They saw him off with full honors, playing at the funeral as if it had been a line-of-duty death. It was, O’Donnell acknowledged “a rough day.”

“We’re a service band,” O’Donnell explains. “We play a lot of funerals. Line-of-duty deaths (like the recent deaths of Philadelphia firefighters Robert Neary and Daniel Sweeney) are really hard.” But in Collin’s case, he added, there was the sad realization that a potentially brilliant career had ended before it ever had a chance to begin.

The Abrams, for their part, were grateful that band members saw fit to honor this young man that they had know for a few short months. Now, they face the task of moving on, drawing on their memories for solace. Michael Abrams in particular will remember a young man who was much more than a son. “We were best buddies,” he said. “Best friends. I don’t know many fathers who had the relationship that Collin and I had. We were very tight.”

Music

In Memory of Mike Rafferty

Mike Rafferty, playing at the Philadelphia Irish Center in 2006.

Mike Rafferty, playing at the Philadelphia Irish Center in 2006.

When Mike Rafferty played flute, it was with the unmistakable lilt and lift of his native East Galway. Named a National Heritage Fellow in 2010 by the National Endowment for the Arts, he was a bona fide national treasure.  Through his teaching, recording and performing, he passed along the tradition to new generations.

Mike Rafferty, who was certainly no stranger to Philadelphia-area Irish musicians and fans of Irish music, died last week at the age of 84. Local flute players likely will not soon forget what a rare honor it was to sit by his side and soak of knowledge from a master, as they did at the Tom Standeven-Liz Crehan Anderson Tional at the Philadelphia Irish Center in 2006.

Rafferty’s passing struck a sad note with many, many musicians who knew him well, including singer-songwriter Gabriel Donohue (himself no stranger to Philadelphia).

Here is Donohue’s remembrance:

A lovely man was Mike Rafferty.

I met Mike Rafferty on what I believe was my first weekend in New York. ( I met Joe Madden one block over on the same night.) I had gotten a room above Christy O’Connor’s apartment off of Mosholu Parkway and every night would have to pass Kingsbridge Road to get home. Unless of course I wanted to take the short cut that bypassed Durty Nellie’s, The Archway and the Old Brogue, which was earlier called the Bunratty. Andy McGann and Johnny Cronin would hold court there and it was a magnet for people who loved the pure drop, surrounded by tenements, bodegas and across from the armory. The Irish still held out in these neighborhoods where cheap rent was the main attraction and, secondly, the pub scene which anesthetized them from the despair brought about by having traded the bucolia of Galway and Mayo for the tar and cement of New York.

“Raff” showed up there on occasion and would play till the wee hours, his wife Terry documenting everything on her tape recorder. Her personal archives are a virtual repository of all the sessions he played over the years, I’m quite sure. She adored the man and obviously his music. No wonder his daughter Mary has accomplished so much as a fine exponent of East Galway music on the accordion. Mary also could not help exhibiting her adoration for the father who carefully and gently passed on his riches of music to his little girl. Her husband Donal also made his affection for his Da-in-law clear when he joined them both on many concerts and a couple of the later albums.

I made a few records with them in the mid-’90s, The first was the “Dangerous Reel.” I think the second was “The Road to Ballinakill.” It was great having them in my studio, to be getting the stories that went with every tune. And there were stories. Mike Rafferty was never just stringing notes together. He was weaving a tapestry with love, pure love. For the people who gave him the tunes, and the people who came play with him to learn or just listen. Some were new, as was “The Caucus of Secaucus,” written by Canadian Jean Duval; many were old and gotten from his dad Barrel Rafferty. Barrell lost his eyesight in mid-life, and Mike’s mother thought it might be because of the flute playing. That always got a good laugh. One thing for sure he had that barrel D sound prized by lovers of flute music.

Mike Rafferty was never just stringing notes together. He was weaving a tapestry with love, pure love.

I recall Mike Rafferty played a silver flute in those days and later he told me it was “mean strength and ignorance” that kept him playing it. He returned to the wooden flute eventually and it was then I believe his sound came into its own. This may be just my prejudice as I adore that instrument. Joanie Madden has found a way, through embouchure manipulation to mimic its sound on her lovely Miyuzowa instrument—and of course the ability to travel in all keys makes it more ideal for an all-rounder such as she. But the gentle East Galway music benefits I believe from that lovely dark timbre imbued by the, well, dark timber.

Speaking of the Maddens… I think of Mike’s love for Joe and his inability to talk about music without mentioning his best friend. They were cut from the same East Galway cloth and were visibly connected on so many levels through a sub-genre whose depth perhaps can not even be understood by younger players who never heard a curlew crying over the woodlands of Portumna, Woodford or Ballinakill. Or experienced this music before technology came into their homes and the carefully cultured boredom of long winter nights were usurped by TV and computer screens. It’s easy to find the tunes online these days, but you cannot recreate the feeling between the notes without the life experience which made the relevant to the older generation. Whether by their connection to the parish dances or to “The Old Fireside,” as Mike would say. Of course they do have their own relevance in modernity but it’s just different from what it represented to the people in those small rural communities.

Many times when I would run into Mike around New York he would quote the poem below which mentioned my little parish Kilconoiron/Clostoken, famous for very little but for “rough hurlers” (Father Charlie Coen would say) and being the birthplace of piper Patsy Touhy. It is no crude sporting tome, especially where it rhymes my parish with the esteemed poet Lord GG Byron. I hope Terry has a recording of him reciting it as I would cherish it as I do memories of this lovely, softhearted, gentle man, who had so many tunes going around in his head. A lifetime was hardly enough for him to play them.

The last time I saw Mike was in his backyard in Hasbouck Heights. We had a session in his garage. It was a farewell party for Mary and Donal and the kids on leaving for a new life in Ireland. Joanie and Helen Madden were there. Father Charlie, Mattie Connolly. Don Meade, Deirdre Connoly, Felix Dolan and Martin Mulhaire. He was in great form and really looked like he’d be around for a long time.

He’ll be sadly missed. Thanks to Mary and Terry who supported him in recording many albums, he left us lots of tunes.

Woodford Hurling team 1914

By Michael Power (Powerscross)

From Woodford town of old renown, went our sturdy team one day,

From the hillside brown the streams rushed down, Barkhill beside the bay.

We’re proud of you, brave hurlers true, we’re proud our parish bore you,

Throughout the soil of Erin’s Isle, you have beaten all before you.

Could I lines unfold like Moore of old, were I Thackeray or Byron,

I would sing for you the praises due, for twice beating Kilconoiron!

On the Loughrea train, one day again, we went with pride and joy,

To view our fifteen hurling men, in the town of Athenry.

We reached the station midst animation, of both the East and West,

From Woodford Bay to Claregalway, we were known to be the best.

But to decide it on the field we tried it, ‘neath Summer’s scorching sun,

In weather glorious we were victorious, now we’ve the County honours won.

The whistle sounded, the ball was grounded, Stanley found it and sent it high,

While opponents feared him, all men cheered him, on the Gaelic fields of Athenry.

He is straight and tall and admired by all, you could compare him to no other.

You could Ireland pick to rival Dick, our gallant captain’s brother.

With the Coens in back we fear no attack, from German, Greek or Turk,

Submarine or bomb, let Zepplins come, they’ll be manned by Conroy and Burke.

The Fahys three and Jack Grady, are worthy of our attention,

With Kelly and Page on the fullforward stage, the Gormans here we’ll mention.

Now we have named our team that was famed, in North, South, East and West,

On that bright June day, when all Galway did say, Woodford are again the country’s best.

If on those lines you muse, I pray you’ll excuse, if the composer has been unruly,

For in haste did he stitch these lines on the ditch, and as ever he remains yours truly.

People

Remembering Verne Leedom

Verne T. Leedom

Verne T. Leedom

Verne Leedom died this week at the age of 81.

A dozen years or so ago, when I joined Irish Thunder Pipes & Drums, Verne was the band’s drum major. He was out in front of the band, parade after parade—waving the mace, calling out the tunes, wearing the conspicuous fuzzy hat. That he somehow managed to do so at all, a big man with bum knees, is a tribute to his fortitude. And more than that, really. He just loved being drum major. We would have followed him anywhere, and not just because he was yelling at us to do so.

Out of uniform, Verne was every bit as memorable. You’d see him sitting at a table downstairs at the Ancient Order of Hibernians Notre Dame Division hall in Swedesburg, leaning back in his chair and quietly chatting with friends. There might be a dozen or so people in the room, but Verne was the one you’d notice. And it wasn’t because he was the loudest or the most boisterous. His voice carried when he needed it to—you could always hear him loud and clear, even way back in the highly distractable drum line. But he stood out because he was listening. Everyone else was talking; he was listening.

No one listened more intently. He had a talent for making you feel like whatever you had to say was the most fascinating thing anyone had ever said. It was no act. Verne was genuinely interested. His eyes were riveted on your face, his ears and mind were wide open to whatever you had to say, and his little gray goatee never failed to frame a smile if you said something funny. He smiled a lot.

And it wasn’t as if you were Verne’s friend for just that moment. Once you were in with Verne—and he seemed to be open to just about everybody—you were in forever. Verne never “unfriended” anyone that I know of. Even after I left the band to join another one, Verne never held a grudge. Fairly uncharacteristic for an Irishman, in my experience, and especially unexpected in the often catty little world of pipe bands. I would still run into him from time to time at parades, festivals or AOH functions. It didn’t matter whether months or years had gone by. Verne would extend his hand, and he would always ask me, “How are ya, lad?”

Which, when you come to think of it, is a funny thing to call a 60-year-old man.

So thanks to Verne Leedom for making me feel like a kid. I’m most decidedly not one, but I’ll take it. Mostly, though, thanks for showing all the rest of us what it really means to be a friend.

Godspeed, lad.

We asked a couple of Verne’s friends to add their thoughts. Here’s what they had to say:

Pete Hand
Irish Thunder Drum Major

After I joined the AOH Notre Dame Division in 1996, I hooked up with Verne right away. I became part of the Isle of Erin Degree Team that he was a part of. He served as a director on the Home Association with me. When I was president of the division he was my vice president for many years. When I joined the Irish Thunder Pipes and Drums as drum major he gave me some instructions since he had been a drum major. He also served with me on the Saint Patrick’s Parade Committee and the festival committee.

So as you can see, at the age of 82 Verne was very active. He attended everything and was still an officer of the AOH Montgomery County Board when he passed away Tuesday morning.

Verne use to call me almost every day to see how things were or to get some dirt on the goings on at the AOH. He and his wife Ann attended almost everything that came up with the AOH. He was also Grand Marshal of the Saint Patrick’s Day Parade when it was in Norristown.

Verne will be missed by all here at the Notre Dame Division. But I will also miss him very much. He always said he never had a brother but he always considered me a brother to him.

We are going to give him a good send off on Saturday at Saint Patrick’s Church in Norristown. That’s what he would have wanted.

Mick McBride

My name is Mick McBride, I was born in Donegal, Ireland, and moved to the States in 1990. I met Verne on a Thursday night the summer of 2001; the night I was sworn in as an AOH member. Verne and I hit it off right away. He always called me, “Mickey me lad.” A year later I joined the pipe band (Irish Thunder) which Verne was quartermaster of at the time, so he had the huge task of “dressing” me (fitting me for my band uniform).

My first ever dress with the band was as drum major for the Norristown St. Patrick’s Day parade in which coincidentally, Verne was nominated as Grand Marshal. As the band reached the grandstand, we halted and left faced toward Verne. I walked to the stage and presented Verne with the band mace and asked if he would do the honor of calling the next set as Verne was drum major of the band for a period of time. I could tell it was an emotional time for Verne and it was for me as well. Verne never saw this coming.

Verne was a very humble man, a very proud man and he held the AOH in his heart strongly, serving the many roles he participated in over the year with great honor, valor and dignity. His intentions were always sincere and in the best interest of the AOH, constantly striving to uphold the values of what the AOH stands for.

In addition to being an asset for the AOH, and a well respected Hibernian Brother across the state, Verne was a former semi-pro ball player who kept us entertained with wonderful stories of years past, but most importantly, Verne was a loving husband and wonderful father. He was so proud of his family and even in recent weeks as Verne’s health declined, he refused to miss his son Sean’s wedding.

I could sit for hours telling you all the exceptional qualities of Verne—the list goes on and on. Verne will be missed like words cannot explain. Verne and his wife Ann are such a huge part of the AOH and they were first in line to volunteer with so many events at the AOH. Verne will get a send off on Saturday like no other!!!

RIP, lad.

News, People

Hundreds in Philadelphia Mourn Michaela Harte McAreavey

Father John McNamee offers a eulogy for Michaela Harte McAreavey, whose photo is in the foreground.

Ciara McGorman carefully set the large wedding photo on an easel at the front of the chapel at the Cathedral of Sts. Peter and Paul in Philadelphia. It showed her friend and neighbor, Michaela Harte McAreavey, from the little village of Ballygawley, County Tyrone, Ireland, beaming and radiant, as only a bride can be, in her wedding dress.

The dress in which the 27-year-old teacher was buried this week.

Friends, family members, and representatives from the organizations Michaela Harte McAreavey loved so much—the Gaelic Athletic Association, the Tyrone Society, and the Rose of Tralee—gathered at the Sunday evening Mass, concelebrated by poet-priest Father John McNamee of Philadelphia with Father Gerard Burns, formerly of St. Cyril of Alexandria Parish in East Lansdowne and now a parish priest in County Mayo, Ireland.

Michaela Harte McAreavy, married on December 30, 2010 to noted Down footballer John McAreavy, was found brutally murdered on January 10 while on her honeymoon in the Indian Ocean nation of Mauritius. She had been strangled in their hotel room, apparently after surprising hotel employees who used a key card to enter the room to burglarize it. Five men have been charged in connection with the killing of the only daughter of popular Tyrone senior football manager, Mickey Harte. Michaela McAreavy was buried on January 17th after a funeral mass at St. Malachy’s Church near Ballygawley.

Father MacNamee, pastor emeritus of St. Malachy’s Church in North Philadelphia, opened his remarks with a sigh. “This is the week that was,” he said, noting it was also the week the death toll from cholera was rising in Haiti and in which a 9-year-old girl, Christina Green, granddaughter of former Phillies Manager Dallas Green, was killed in Tucson, Arizona, along with five others in a shooting that wounded Arizona Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords.

Christine Green had been featured in a book on babies born on September 11, 2001. “Her parents had her as a sign of hope to all us in time of sorrow,” said Father McNamee. She had been “as innocent and fragile and vulnerable as the beautiful Michaela,” he told the more than 200 mourners who lined the chapel pew. “Life is a terrible beauty, as Yeats called it.”

Michaela was also eulogized by Sean Breen, president of the Philadelphia Gaelic Athletic Association, Angela Mohan, coach of the Mairead Farrells Ladies Gaelic Football Club; Mairead Farrell footballer Orla Treacy, whose father, Mick, is a friend of the Hartes; and McGorman. Music—including a heartbreaking rendition of Sarah MacLachlan’s “In the Arms of an Angel”—was provided by Karen Boyce McCollum, who, like Michaela, was an International Rose of Tralee contestant, as well as Roisin McCormack and Raymond Coleman.

Father McNamee twice quoted Irish poet William Butler Yeats in his eulogy, reciting from “The Stolen Child””

“Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.”

“The world,” he said, “is both a beautiful place and a tragic place. . .and more full of weeping than we can understand.”

Click here to see photos from the mass.