An Irish tale while sipping green ale
Coeur d’Alene is not without its own Irish myths, such as the legend of a long lost journal kept by an Irish immigrant who worked at Fort Sherman in the 1890s. The story goes that Sean Cleary’s journal was found 10 feet under hallowed ground while removing an abandoned septic tank in 1927. What you choose to believe is up to you. The following entries are but a few pages:
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Nov. 4, 1894
I arrived at Fort Sherman this morning. So far Col. Hall has believed my story that I’m a skilled plumber from Dublin. Captain Johnson sent over a bag of plumbing tools and I have no idea how to use them so for now they are propping up my cot. I am beginning to wish I had grown up dreaming of becoming a plumber instead of those two years I spent at the University of Dublin studying for my PhD in Irish Folklore and Ethnology. What was I thinking?
Nov. 7, 1894
Last night Finn MacCool appeared in my dream. My mother read tales to me at bedtime about Irish mythological figures like Mr. MacCool. There was once a salmon who possessed all of the world’s knowledge so Finn MacCool ate the fish to gain this knowledge. Juice squirted out as he ate and burned his thumb so he stuck his thumb in his mouth to stop the pain and instantly acquired all the salmon’s knowledge. From that time on, anytime Finn sucked his thumb he gained whatever knowledge he was seeking.
Surely this is a message from my Celtic ancestors! From now on whenever the colonel asks me a plumbing question I am going to suck my thumb. What could possibly go wrong with that?
Dec. 26, 1894
I spent Christmas in the stockade and was released only after promising not to suck my thumb in front of Col. Hall again. He apparently displays no appreciation for Irish folklore. I also had to swear I would never do any Irish Step Dancing while on duty. I am losing my identity! As a side note: I made a friend with a rat while in the stockade and named him “Bruno.” He seems to understand my plight but I fear my complaining is beginning to bore him. Last time we talked he said he was heading to the latrine. Haven’t seen him since.
Jan. 1, 1895
This morning I was rudely woken by Sgt. Steinhoff screaming, “Schnell! Schnell!” The toilets had backed up last night and rats were swimming for their lives. I pictured my poor Bruno terrified while doing the breaststroke across the latrine. Capt. Johnson wanted to know how this could happen but would not accept my theory that Pookas were out to sabotage my life in the New World. Is there not a single American who understands Irish mythology? Cpl. Parker finally confessed that he had “accidentally” dropped a stick of dynamite in each toilet last night while celebrating New Year’s Eve. He is now sharing my tent with me.
Jan. 4 1895
I woke up startled to the sound of a Banshee screaming in my ear this morning. I opened my eyes to see a most monstrous changeling standing over my cot, spewing saliva with every profanity screamed. A moment later, after my head cleared, I realized it was Cpl. Parker, angry after tripping on one of those weird-looking plumbing tools surrounding my cot. I really need to figure out how to use those things.
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I had a long talk with Craig over at “All Things Irish” in Coeur d’Alene, which sparked all that is Irish in me. Craig emailed me the following information about your St. Patrick’s Day parade:
“The members of the color guard leading the parade wear kilts. One of the guys kept losing his sporran (that pouch you wear around your waist), and it was around his ankles by the end of the parade and he almost fell down. The crowd loved it.” Now I would pay to see that.
St. Patrick’s Day is an opportunity for all of us to celebrate everything Irish, especially their deep-rooted love of the human imagination and gratitude for anyone’s sense of humor. The Irish remind us that creativity is the cornerstone of all art. Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
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Tom O’Neuhoff is 100 percent Irish today. A Hollywood comedy writer, he would much rather live in Coeur d’Alene or County Cork.