|TFR Home Page||Contents||Prev. Page||Next Page||Comments|
|In Honour of Patrick Sheahan, 6 May 1905|
By Tom O'Connor
With his father, my 10-year-old dad flew
for the first time from JFK to Dublin--
his ancestors' home. Along
cobblestones, taxi ranks, past the Liffy,
all the way to Sandymount--to find the family
plaque. A committee had raised it for our
family in the city center, to immortalize
my grandfather's uncle--Patrick Sheahan
of the Dublin Metropolitan Police.
When a gas line ruptured, he saved one
unconscious worker--overcome fixing it--
but died dragging another man up
from the sewer: no greater gift to a friend
of this city. Its sidewalks still jammed
with shoppers and passers-by. My grandpa
curses everyone: "didn't anyone notice?"
Years since another committee widened
O'Connell St., tearing down the dedication
in stone. No one noticed. But my dad
watched his dad kick a lamppost:
"it's somewhere for Chris'sake."
© Copyright 1997, 2017, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 11/04/2007