Most people don't realize that, in Ireland, wearing green means you're Catholic, orange means you're Protestant. I don't consider myself either in Christian terms, but that's an in-depth discussion for another time.
I am a quarter Irish from my grandmother, Julia Agnes O'Connell. Her father, James, emigrated to Chicago from Canada and died in September, 1880, when grandma was an infant. His death certificate says that he fell from the sidewalk into a vacant lot and broke his neck. There was an inquest, but his death was ruled accidental.
What puzzles me is that, on the very same day, another James O'Connell, also 28 years old, died in Chicago. Either that's a gross coincidence, or it took someone two tries to kill the intended target. Alas, we'll never know.
I haven't yet traced Mr. O'Connell's ancestry and probably won't find it since he remains a man of mystery, but his wife was Mary Ellen "Minnie" Maguire, daughter of Patrick and Julia Maguire. According to Minnie's death certificate, Patrick was born in Ireland around 1843, and Julia Gorman in Buffalo, NY around the same time. I have found a Julia Gorman on the 1850 census living in Buffalo with her mother, Bridgett. Is it the right Julia? Hard telling.
I never met any of my Irish family because my grandmother died in 1919 of tuberculosis. Her younger brother, James, passed from the same thing. So sad.
So, I've had to learn Irish traditions vicariously. I like peasant food, so I naturally like Irish food. Today, my son Brian is making corned beef without cabbage. I'll have to crack open a beer (sorry, I'm not crazy about Guinness) and enjoy the meal.
Happy St. Patrick's Day!
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