Ireland 2022 Popes and Prime Ministers

 

In June of 2022 my family and I spent an amazing vacation in Ireland. The first few days made me realize how truly blessed we are. My grandfather Michael Condon left for the United States in 1900 and never looked back. Both of my maternal grandparents died in Brooklyn separately, tragically and very young. I never knew them. My mother was the youngest of seven and never remembered her father.  Except for the five sisters, my aunts, we had very little contact with my mother’s side of the family. I have always felt that in order for me to truly know myself I needed to understand where I came from. Through Ancestry DNA I was united with cousins that I never knew I had. We exchanged emails and made plans to meet.

We landed in Dublin and on day two took a train to Waterford. My cousin Jennifer “collected” us at the rail station. It had been 120 years since both sides of my family had been together. I cried like a small child. Jennifer, and her mom Mary 80 took us on a morning tour of several cathedrals and museums. Mary was like a Nascar Driver on the rural Irish roads.  We visited the final port that the Titanic left from in Ireland before sinking. In the afternoon we met my cousin Patrick. Pat was the former mayor of Waterford and a councilman for many years. He also worked for the Farm Bureau for many years. Pat was intimately familiar with the farms and graveyards of the family.

Patrick said to me “Are you sure you are Michael Condon’s grandson?”

“Yes sir, I am sure.” I replied.

 Pat took us on a whirlwind trip to several cemeteries where my folks were buried. Certain areas were marked with flags where Pat had someone tag the correct graves. We went to multiple properties and farms that were in my family for hundreds of years.

At my great grandmother’s birthplace, we saw a butter churn. Pat said “Your great grandmother might have used this churn as a child! “. We visited the 80-acre farm where my grandfather was born. Michael was one of fourteen. On this property was a stone pillar with an iron gate. That separated grazing fields from other fields. Cousin Jennifer says “Your grandfather as a child opened and closed this gate dozens of times while working and playing on this farm.

There is a Woleftones song called “The Streets of New York” The ballad tells the tale of a young Irish Emigrant who leaves the farm behind at eighteen and adventures off to New York City. The uncle he planned to meet was a New York City Policeman and was fatally shot on duty a few days before he arrived. He stays on and “learns about lifting the load”. When the man’s father passes, he goes home to the “green grass and the rivers”. He sells the farmyard and “into his bag stuck a handful of earth”. He used the soil as a reminder of where he came from. This song is my father-in-law’s personal theme song. He was NYPD for 25 years.

My wife Victoria had an empty chip bag and she filled it with loose earth from John Condon’s farm She has since made dozens of small bell jars of Irish soil labeled “A handful of earth”.  Victoria distributed a jar to our children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews. She created a commemoration of the Irish soil that once supported our families.

  

We visit a church graveyard in Knockmeal where my great grandfather is buried. We meet a man named Pat Melody. The story goes that my great uncle Edmund (Ned) Condon, whose wife had recently passed away came to stay with the Melodys for a few days back in the 70s. 14 years later Great Uncle Ned dies in the room upstairs. Pat Melody had some family papers in a manila envelope. Birth certificates, death certificates, marriage certificates. He then takes out a picture of my American cousin Monsignor John Condon with Pope John Paul. I had not seen that picture in 40 years. Father John as we called him, married both of my sisters and presided over my mother’s funeral. Almost 3500 miles from home, with relatives I did not know I had, we meet a man who we never met before, at the site of my great grandfather’s grave. This man hands me a piece of intimate family history I thought was forever lost. Very emotional to say the least. Tuesday evening, we went to the pub in Dungarvan where I met dozens of cousins. Cousin Pat says “What are your plans for tomorrow? We are going on a bus trip to the Capital for a tour of the Dail (kind of like Irish Congress). Would you like to go?”  Heck yeah! We needed to get back to Dublin, and this seemed like true kismet.

 The following morning, we board a bus and head off to Dublin. We meet Senators, lobbyists, and the Irish Minister of Defense. We observe a few legislative sessions. We are treated to a wonderful lunch and meet some remarkable gracious people. We are preparing to leave ready to go back to the airport to pick up our rental when Cousin Pat says” No Cuz you have to wait, the big boss is here!” We then meet Leo Varadkar, the newly elected Taoiseach. Irish for Chieftain of all Clans. The Prime Minister of Ireland. It’s only day three!