O' Shaughnessy's
Rick Fichter
October 4th - November 29th
Artist reception, Opening:
October 4th
@ 2 - 6 pm
Artist Statement
In her treatise, “ THE BANALITY OF EVIL ’’, Hannah Arendt asserts that evil cannot exist without the belief that some people are superfluous. That the everyday person is unique and indispensable beyond any words is the thesis underlying these portraits.
Be it painting, drawing, photography, or film-making; art is how I understand the world. I was born confused, I remain confused and will probably die confused because I can only understand life as if reading in braille. Art is the braille by which I experience and feel existence. And, as in my art, I fumble and make mistakes and hope that , in the end, to glean some understanding from the experience. Learning somewhat like a child, I’ll paint, draw, photograph, or film a person and in some way come to understand them in the tiny moment of time that we share company.
The portraits @ O’Shaughnessy’s is the result of those efforts to understand some of the people who visited the pub intriguing or fascinating me for any number of reasons. I accepted everyone without reservation and photographed them as they presented themselves. Not having received formal education in photography, I relied on bits learned from photographer friends and in the final decisions, my intuition and what felt right.
The portraits were taken during a time of rampant unemployment in which the bleakness of life was treated with alcohol. In the Ireland of the time, I recognized my own rough and tumble, hand-me-down culture which the Fichter siblings experienced during the 50’s in the New York City area.
The portraits were exposed in a 2 ¼” format on a twin-lens reflex Rollicord camera that was purchased, used for 30$ while attending USC Film School. Using Kodak Tri-X B & W film that I over-exposed and under-developed and processed in D-76 Developer in the kitchen then, printing the negatives on Agfa-Portriga paper for its warmth in a make-shift home print station or at a rent-by-the-hour printing station.
The portrait of Ian (RFOS2026.06) is the first portrait done in the digital realm using a CanonG5X camera. Ian was photographed during an early exploration of digital photography necessitated by the near elimination of film. I have since switched to digital photography and printing only on the much respected German branded Hahnemuhle Archival photographic papers with the best Archival Epson inks. All photography took place in O’Shaughnessy’s Pub in the town of Ramelton, County Donegal, a pub I owned and operated for over 20 years before selling.
JIMMIE JAMMIE and his squeeze, 2/04
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Jim Hunter was a coal man from Cranford, Donegal who settled in Ramelton in retirement. Known as ‘Jimmie Jammie’, he lived in Backlane, Ramelton, behind O’Shaughnessy’s in Council Housing and was a regular who dropped in for his daily pints. Having had terrible vision problems from early childhood and forced to wear thick glasses with lenses ‘as thick as the bottoms of jam jars’ he apparently suffered severe bullying throughout his childhood years gaining the nickname that stuck even into adulthood.
Perhaps that explained why he quietly kept to himself, though the regulars would often draw him out on political matters of the day. For he always proved to be well read, astute and rebellious in his comments despite the usual custom of not talking politics in O’Shaughnessy’s, it being a Catholic pub in a majority Protestant-owned landscape. Obviously, the regulars were just enjoying the ‘craic’.
How Jimmie and Frances found one another is anyone’s guess.
On the weekends, she would quietly join Jimmie at the pub late in the day for a dainty gin and tonic (or two). They were a perfectly lovely pair. To my knowledge, they never married but remained long-term sweethearts.
Jimmie died in 2012.
Grandma and me, 7/05
Everyone knows Pauline. She worked the front counter at the famous (infamous depending upon your gut) ‘Steve’s Old Cafe’ for decades before retiring. Certainly, there are a few if any Ramelton natives who have never experienced Steve’s. Pauline has lived in her family home around the corner from Steve’s where she was married and raised her family.
Jordan is Pauline’s favored grandchild who loved toy cars and his bike as a child. Currently he is dating Lisa Lewis’s daughter, Megan.
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David, 8/04
Dave was the third born in seven children. He distinguished himself early as what was commonly termed as ‘a gearhead’ meaning he understood all things mechanical, especially automobiles. Like three of his other brothers, Dave struggled to financially afford college, & did so successfully. Graduating in Construction Engineering, he went on to excel in the field all the while, enjoying his penchant for building, owning and racing various race cars.
Even now at 84 years, he owns a small stable of race cars which he continues to use to race competitively, especially, a slick Formula One style racer. Dave also led the 7 Fichter siblings in financial savvy, much learned from our father.
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Dad and Rachel, 10/04
This portrait of our brother Paulie and his daughter, Rachel was taken amidst his undergoing chemotherapy and radiation therapy for stage 4 throat cancer because I was afraid there would not be another chance to… It tore at the heart to see how his daughter, Rachel, cared for and worried about her dad’s health.
After scraping the scratch necessary, Paulie and I attended college together for two years and we became rather close perhaps, closer than the rest of the brothers. During those years at college together, he always had my back, always looked after me. Yet, he was the one brother lost between groups of brothers, separated on either side by three years. He would describe how he felt alone even within our boisterous family of seven siblings. In college it was almost like learning and meeting him for the first time. We came to understand one another despite being so different.
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I admired Paulie for his utter determination. Coming from a poor background, we all struggled in different ways to get through college financially and academically. Paulie chose a field that demanded a great deal of him. Late at night after I'd collapsed, Paulie could be heard struggling with his studies. But it paid off as he obtained an excellent job and excelled as a Construction Project Superintendent.
Later, as Paulie struggled with high visibility and massive projects that required him (and his family) to uproot and move to various locations on assignment, his marriage as a result, began to crumble and Paulie’s drinking increased. The marriage ended.
Through it all and despite having suffered a sometimes traumatic and violently abusive upbringing, Paulie managed to raise three great kids who (along with brother Toma and me) did their best to be there for Paulie during his cancer treatments. He survived the cancer later, dying of a heart attack as he was digging holes to plant trees.
Toma, 10/04
Toma and I are brothers separated by 13 months who grew up together in poverty sharing everything (though I sometimes stole his milk bottle). Among the six brothers, we were the closest in age and therefore were forced to share everything, even the somewhat regular beatings that would cause us to separate in order to find safe individual hideouts.
Later in high school, we tried to excel each other in being under achievers. He cheated by becoming closely acquainted with glue sniffing, weed and the more interesting drugs of the time (he was always the smarter one).
And yet, throughout it all, Toma clearly showed artistic talent. So after serving his time in the draft army of the time and by the grace of God, managed to avoid getting sent to ‘Nam (from which we feared he wouldn’t return), Toma enrolled in and graduated from School of Visual Arts under the G.I. Bill.
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Like most artists who stumble to make the grade in an increasingly investment oriented and corporate -sponsored museum ‘Art World’, Toma made a living and a name by handling the art acquired by the wealthy before being hired by the Metropolitan Museum of Art (MET) as an Art Specialist where he worked until retirement.
Of the six brothers, Toma was the smart and verbally expressive one. But all learned from our Mother (Little Mary) to be givers. So, now Toma has chosen to lose his shirt running an art gallery dedicated to helping other artists who spend lives creating beauty and insight to an otherwise distracted world.
Ian, (nd)
In his younger years, Ian made his living as a widely-respected lead guitarist. Unfortunately, all the hard drinking, the rock life living and an onset of arthritis lead to a forced early retirement. Now, he won’t even pick up the instrument. He is a regular day drinker who still, on occasion, displays a vibrant and mischievous sense of humor that almost counterbalances the bouts of depression.
Yet, a gentler, kinder soul it would be hard to find. After a very hard drinking aunt passed, he took on the responsibility to care for three nieces who love him dearly and now maintain a watchful eye on him.
For all life’s difficulties that plagued Ian, he is an inspiringly gentle man.
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Tricia, 10/04
Tricia was my brother Dave’s ‘squeeze’ for a time. She was intriguing for the work that she performed. Tiny as she was, Tricia was the head nurse in a trauma care unit and had been responsible for saving a number of lives, including my brother, Dave.
Eventually the physical stress of her job took its toll and she spent much time herself in hospital for various broken bones and muscular injuries. Tricia had to take early disability retirement and now lives with her daughter in upper Wisconsin.
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Paula, 8/04
Paula is a hairdresser from the next town of Rathmullan, a beach town 15 minutes away from Ramelton. Paula frequented O’Shaughnessy’s and would make occasional house calls for my late wife, Carolyn. When Carolyn decided she wanted to add blonde highlights to her hair, Paula was thrilled to have the opportunity to experiment with my wife’s African-American hair. Fortunately with Paula’s skills the experiment worked wonderfully.
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Paul and Paula, 8/04
Paul and Paula weren’t from Ramelton so, despite them being almost regulars at O’Shaughnessy’s, nobody knew their surname. They came from workplaces widely separated from their Donegal home, so they would meet at their favorite pub (O’Shaughnessy’s) before heading home. They owned a hair salon in Rathmullan, a beach town 15 minutes away from Ramelton. They were day drinkers and Paula would always bring their daughter, Alana to the pub.
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Mom and Me, 8/04
Each day Paula the hairdresser would pick up her child, Alana from her Creche (daycare) and head to O’Shaughnessy’s. There they met up with Paula’s mate, Paul.
While her parents had a drink or so, Alana was often baby-sat by another young girl named Eileen, who had come to the pub with her mother, who could be found drinking Red Bull and socializing with her friends.
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Untitled, (nd)
Paula, the hair stylist, would often arrive at O’Shaughnessy’s sporting a different hairstyle every other visit…rarely, one style lasting more than a week. She once stated that as a hairdresser, she needed to let her clients and others know that she was abreast of all the latest styles.
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Mary, 2003
Long before O’Shaughnessy’s was O’Shaughnessy’s, some 25 years ago, it was Mary’s Bar, run by Mary McLaughlin, a tough diminutive woman. Not tough in a pugilistic way but tough in
a resilient way. Mary bore eleven children into this world and raised them all in the same house in which she ran her ‘Mary’s Bar’. She was always home and able to pull a pint while cooking up a meal for the family and getting the kids off to National School.
The drinkers at Mary’s were hard drinkers and physical, laboring men, much like her husband, John, before he died in a workplace accident. As the economy had its ups and downs (mostly downs) those men became the core of hard living and drinking men who were fiercely loyal and protective of Mary. Then, Mary’s was not a family style pub where extended families socialized, but a man’s pub for drinking men.
Brigid Donnelly, 2004
People talk especially, Irish people in a pub. According to talk, the daughter, Mary, grew up witnessing her alcoholic father beating her mother, Brigid who, in turn, had her own drinking problem. Eventually, the abusive father died of cirrhosis of the liver, leaving Brigid to raise two daughters with the help of State Aid.
When I bought O’Shaughnessy’s (previously Mary’s Bar) I inherited a plethora of regulars who, in time I came to know and appreciate. Brigid was one of those inherited regulars. By then, she had her drinking under control for the most part, but seemingly couldn’t break the habit of regularly visiting O’Shaughnessy’s to see and chat with her many friends who drank there.
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It was truly unusual that each day when Mary, the daughter
was let out of school (her older sister off at college) her
mother, Brigid and she would hire a taxi to drive the 5 or 6
miles to O’Shaughnessy’s. There, Brigid would sit over a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lemon until it was time to leave for home to make dinner and do homework.
Hannah, 2/04
At first, nobody seemed to know her name or from where she hailed. She was not talkative in that sense. Later she told me her name but little else. She would simply and unexpectedly appear at the pub and sit by herself nursing a ‘Powers and water, please’. Then, after the fourth or so, she would begin to sing in such a wondrous and unexpectedly beautiful voice that it demanded everyone’s rapt attention. When she sang, everyone listened. When she fell silent after a song, the applause was full and heartfelt. Oddly, she never acknowledged the applause but simply went back to her drink until the next moment of song.
She sang of lost love, unhappily leaving Ireland, long gone youth, rebel songs and ballads of long-ago Ireland, Her singing never failed to make me tear up. And after her first appearance, I and others never allowed her to pay for her drink again. She sang until she had her fill. Then as quietly as she arrived, she would simply rise and waddle unsteadily out the door and hail the passing bus, disappearing until the next time. Each time, after she would leave, all the customers would hazard guesses at what stop she would be exiting the bus. But we never knew.
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She eventually agreed to sit for a portrait. She came one afternoon and stated that she was ready. So, I called in my bar relief and we went upstairs to what functioned as my ‘studio’ backdrop and I took her photo. I surreptitiously attempted to get her address, telling her I would send the prints to her by AnPost. But she said she would pick them up next time.
But, for whatever reason, there was no next time. We never saw her again. And of course, it being Ireland, my customers swore she was a ‘taibhse’ (ghost).
Mom, 2/04
Chanel had a presence that was felt the moment she stepped into O’Shaughnessy’s. Behind the bar, she was quick, capable and entirely at ease, handling the customers, the banter and the rhythm of the place though she had been born to it. She gave as good as she got and more often than not, better.
It was on the football pitch where Chanel revealed another dimension altogether. Playing for the O’Shaughnessy’s women’s team, she was relentless, charging into tackles, shouting a stream of expletives and giving no quarter to opponents or referee alike. She was fierce, chaotic and oddly magnificent to watch.
And yet, for all that fire, there was something grounded about her. A steadiness. After matches, she would return to the pub flushed and laughing, the edge still on her, but softened in the company she kept. Chanel was not easily overlooked, nor easily matched.
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The people of Castle Street called her ‘Forty Skirts” for her habit of wearing multiple layers of skirts. And for this, she was thought to be ‘off’. Yet, nobody seemed to know much about her as she had been transferred to the town of Ramelton to occupy housing not available in a nearby town.
She was an intriguing woman, so I tried to engage her in conversation. Contrary to local opinion, she was perfectly lucid, though given to rants about what she viewed as her unjust treatment by the Council. And the explanation as to why she wore multiple skirts and jumpers (sweaters) was simple and to the point. “It’s so damn, feckin’ cold in that hovel, I need to wear all my clothing. They took me from Milford (a nearby town) and plopped me down, like some hopeless cow, in that feckin’ hovel”.
As her ‘feckin’ hovel’ was immediately to the rear of the pub, we would encounter one another daily. And daily, I would ask
Josephine from the Back Lane, 2/04
or cajole her to sit for a portrait but her answer was always the same dismissive’ I will. I will’.
Then one morning as I was making ready the pub to open, she walked in through the back door. My jaw must have dropped. The change in her appearance was nothing short of astonishing. No ‘Forty Skirts’, she had become Josephine… a charming, lovely woman, clad in her best, with stylish boots and even lipstick…ready to sit for her portrait.
Claude, 2003
Claude was an artist recognized and represented in Dublin. No one in Ramelton seemed to have seen any of his work to make a comment. He would show in the late afternoon and drink faithfully and hard. Claude could be difficult , insulting and bitingly sarcastic, but because I was new to the local accent, much of that rhetoric skated harmlessly over my head. It was clear he had aspirations regarding my wife which to his surprise and consternation were judiciously put to rest by her.
Claude would drink to near unconsciousness then stumble home up the lane. When we returned from San Francisco, he had died some weeks earlier, having fallen down a flight of stairs while heavily intoxicated and died from a broken neck.
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Hugh Gardiner, AKA Digger Man, was never without his hat or ‘a jar’. Whenever he arrived at O’Shaughnessy’s, the pub’s tenor rose to a fever pitch of laughter. I always wondered what Hugh did for a living as he never let on anything personal.
Then, one summer day, the pub being troubled by an ongoing sewer problem that required the laying of additional sewer piping, I hired a ‘digger’ from the local yard. And who should show up but Hugh Gardiner, wearing his hat as usual. At first I thought he was pulling my leg until he climbed into the operator’s seat and fired up the machine.
Hugh deftly dug the trench and back filled it with gravel, making it ready for me. While I replaced the pipe Hugh was inside O’Shaughnessy’s having a few jars. When I had completed laying the pipe and making the connection, Hugh came out and again moved the digger with great skill,
Hugh, 2003
closing the trench, then tipping his hat disappeared into the pub to enjoy his jars.
And I was a happy man, having managed to resolve the problem well within 6 hours.
Dave Murray, 2003
Davey is the father of 14 (his poor wife!). He’s known to be the best chimney sweep in the area, yet oddly, I never saw any evidence of soot on his skin or clothes ) maybe, that’s why he’s the best). Always dressed with a white shirt and tie in a suit jacket when he entered the pub, otherwise he’d be seen driving about in his van with ladders affixed to the roof.
When a boy, Davey delivered telegrams, often to the ‘big houses’ of Ramelton. These housed the wealthy Protestants whose sons went off to battle with the Brit troops during WWII. The Irish were of course mandated by the Constitution to be neutral . Davey’s expected tip was dependent upon whether the news was good or bad. Since the War was raging, the news was more often than not, tragic. So Davey would be left standing barefooted and forgotten at the front door with the recipient gone in a flood of tears. He returned to the family’s destitute home empty-handed.
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Vinnie, 2004
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What can one say about Vinnie Piper? He was a very hard whiskey drinking character who insulted anyone and everyone with equal ardor. His insults were endured by all for his liberal sense of humor. The male customers weathered the most surly and insulting overreaches with threats to his wellbeing. If he targeted women, he was immediately sent packing.
Though he lived reasonably near the pub, to see him get into his car to drive home was frightening. He’d no license having had his license revoked enough times that there was no possible chance he would ever drive legally again.. But that didn’t stop Vinnie. The only saving grace was that, when drunk, he couldn’t manage to drive more than 5 miles an hour.
Vinnie was one of those Irish men who spent most of their lives in England with brief spells home to remind families they
still existed. They sent their earnings home for the most part and lived hard, lonely lives relying on heavy drink to keep them company as the Irish were considered to be low-lifes. And few of England’s ‘fairer sex’ would stoop so low as to entertain anything beyond some free drinks and laughs with an ‘Irish’.
These men supplied all the stoop and hard labor for English agriculture and construction spheres though, never allowing Irish to learn trades that would put them in direct competition with the English workers. In other words, they were the lowest of the low workers and kept that way…perhaps not unlike the American treatment of their immigrants. Vinnie’s family had long ago deserted him and he lived alone.
Vinnie would often try to lure me into drinking with him as I was an Irish whiskey drinker as well. And occasionally, when going off shift, yes, I would fall prey. We did our best to match each other by buying one another, drink for drink…he always added humorous insults to the mix while I used my best navy-learned expletives to curse him. It was all great ‘craic’. And those bouts never ended in anything but ‘draws’ because neither he or I could hold that much. When we agreed we both had had enough, off he would drive at 4 miles per hour while I stumbled home across the lane.
John Browne, 2003
John was one of the local hard-drinking Protestants who enjoyed hanging out at O’Shaughnessy’s with the ‘Taigs’ (derogatory term for Catholics). And why not, it was where
the ‘craic’ flourished… And while it was not intended, O’Shaughnessy’s was known as a Catholic pub because customers like to sing ‘rebel songs’ when a bit full. Otherwise, Protestant or Catholic - it didn’t seem to matter much.
John was nick-named ‘Killer’ because he would sit with his pint listening to the ‘craic’ with a Madonna-like smile. Somebody once asked him why he rarely did more than listen and smile. He answered, “Because I’m a happy man. And besides I’m a Protestant spy.” That got a roar of approval and laughter.
In fact, John was one of the largest Protestant landowners in the towns land. When he passed (2003) the entire town turned out for his burial. Catholic and Protestants alike.
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This is Eddie Diver. Eddie usually hung out at O’Donnell’s Arms because it was the watering hole for the St. Mary’s RC Church crowd led by Father Sweeney. As a group, they would from time to time visit O’Shaughnessy’s primarily because O’Shaughnessy’s was where the action was.
Eddie is one of the group who had heard that I was doing photographic portraits and dropped by, asking to be photographed. Eddie is a book-keeper.
Untitled, (nd)
Father Sweeney, (nd)
Known as ‘Father Des’, he was the beloved parish priest at St. Mary’s Catholic Church in Ramelton, just up the road from O’Shaughnessy’s. He was also known for his deep baritone
rendition of ‘Old Man River’ at the end of the night in O’Donnell Arms Pub. He regularly said the
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Saturday night mass at St. Mary’s as well, being known for saying the fastest, almost trance-like rendition of the ‘Sacred Heat of Jesus’ prayer.
A no-nonsense cleric who happened to like his Jameson Crested Ten Irish Whiskey, on occasion, some thought a little too much. Father Sweeney had been known to be involved in or caused an odd fender bender which the Gardai were more likely to forgive and forget his trespasses with a ‘Hail Mary’ as penance. Even those who were the innocents in the benders tended to claim hit-and-run drivers for insurance purposes.
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The priest only drank on occasion at O’Shaughnessy’s preferring to hang out with his fire-breathing religious entourage at the more Catholic O’Donnell Arms Pub down the street. It must be admitted that there were ‘far too many Prods’ mixing with the ‘Taigs’ at O’Shaughnessy’s for some Catholic tastes. But often, the ‘craic’ at O’Shaughnessy’s was too lively for many to ignore including Fr. Sweeney. On those evenings, you’d find him sitting off in a corner with his followers enjoying the mix of Prod and Taig craic.
Fr. Sweeney was often referred to as a ‘Healer.’ Apparently, people swore that he had had the healing effect on their family members or neighbors. Whether real or no, he was often called upon by many to pray for their recovery to health. Even my wife, before she died, went to him asking for his prayers.
Regardless, Father Sweeney was and still is a thoroughly intriguing and kindly character…though perhaps not so approachable unless of course, he’d had a nip or two.
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Seamus Norry was a native of Ramelton and had a busy shoemaker’s shop on Church Street for some decades before retiring. A very kind and quiet man, his chuckle was contagious. Seamus was a daily customer who would simply come for a chat and a bit of ‘craic’. Unfortunately, he passed in 2006. He was the brother of Eugene Norry.
Seamus, 2004
Mick, the Frenchman, 2003
]The image of Mick, the Frenchman appearing over the rise in the road and barreling down the hill like a mad kamikaze, dangerously overhanging his tiny Honda mo-ped and wearing a round helmet that looked like a wart on his head, sporting goggles that appeared to be extended eye balls is seared into my mind like no other image I’ve ever experienced. You need to understand that Mick was a very large man on a mo-ped so tiny he could have crushed it with his weight and that, more importantly to him, he was headed to O’Shaughnessy’s in no uncertain terms.
Mick and his Ramelton wife, Maggie, spent Spring through early Fall in Ramelton and the rest of the year somewhere in France. Because he’d served in the French Navy as a cook, he seemed to favor wearing the blue and white stripes of the French Navy.
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Maggie was so tiny and Mick a man of such girth but she clearly ruled him, limiting his trips to O’Shaughnessy’s. She did not like alcohol of any variety, but couldn't refuse Mick his pints.
Perhaps because he was a sailor, he carved a sailing ship which hung in the pub beside his portrait until I sold the pub. Sadly, Mick died quite suddenly while I was back in San Francisco.
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Eugene Norry lived in Bridgend, Ramelton and often visited O’Shaughnessy’s especially after the Salmon Inn ( a pub at the opposite end of town) mysteriously burned to the ground. He came to share a pint or a few with his brother, Seamus, and friends.
Eugene was among the many young Irish men who emigrated to Scotland or England to earn a living in construction, farming or in factories. He returned to settle in Ramelton later in life. He would always be seen dressed in a suit jacket. Once when asked why, he replied because he no longer had to shovel manure or pick potatoes. Eugene died in 2012. He is buried near his brother in St. Mary’s Church Cemetery, Ramelton.
Untitled, 2004
Lawrence, 2/04
Lawrence Turner was one of those customers who caused regulars to crack a smile just to see him come through the door. With his boisterous and gregarious laugh, he was often the source of the great ‘craic’ at O’Shaughnessy’s. A truly upbeat, outgoing and friendly man, he made a living throughout the years doing odd jobs about Ramelton, where he still lives.
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Behind his back, I nick-named him ‘The Gentle Giant’. And he was. A broad beamed 6 foot 4 inch trunk of a tree who always had a smile and a joke when he came into the pub. He always sat on the same stool - ‘Tommy’s Spot’. A lovely man, he held court from the end of the counter…Happiness seemed to travel with him like a cloud.
In conversation with him, he spoke of being a Merchant Seaman from his late teens and even served in WWII. Due to long periods spent at sea, his teen sweetheart whom he had married early and by whom he had two children eventually broached the subject of divorce after one too many long absences. His one negative comment in relation to her was,”she never complained about all the sterling I sent her home, did she?”
Being Catholic in a Catholic country where divorce was
Tommy, 2004
outlawed, he and his wife agreed to live separately with the two late-teen children being with the mother. Later when divorce was legalized, they chose not to pursue it but simply continued to live separate lives. They maintained a very cordial relationship with Tommy, regularly visiting for Sunday dinner as well as the holidays.
So, Tommy lived in a small flat in an adjacent town and would hire a taxi each day to take him to spend his retirement days drinking at his favorite pub with his buddies. I had a special wide padded stool built for Tommy. He couldn’t have been happier.
Tommy is still alive though now has Alzheimer’s.
Man with Ear Ring, 2004
Scottish Dave was a surly regular who, coming every day sat apart from the other regulars listening in to the ‘craic’ and occasionally joining in. He is known for being another ‘Scottish blow-in’ and has never lost his thick accent. Like others, he was on the ‘dole’. As he told it, he had had a rough life of poverty in Scotland and had decided to remain in Ireland during a trip to visit relatives. For many years, Dave lived behind O’Shaughnessy’s. Later he moved across town.
One night while staggering home across town, he was knocked down by a ‘drunk driver’ and seriously injured requiring a long hospitalization and even longer physical therapy. Dave never quite recovered and to this day can be seen limping unsteadily with the help of crutches between the pubs of Ramelton, supported by State Aid and a generous legal payout.
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Tom would occasionally appear at O’Shaughnessy’s for a pint. He’s a lovely sort of man, always kind, always jovial. I often wished I knew the secret to his calm, generous manner. And the regulars loved him but, after he would depart, they’d shake their heads in commiseration whispering about problems between Tom and his wife, Susan.
I liked Tom for his gentleness and kindness so, it was no surprise to discover that he was a part-time care attendant at a local Home For The Aging. Eventually, I offered him part-time work behind the bar, knowing his situation. And what a perfect choice. All the customers thought the world of him.
A while later, Tom’s wife, Susan suddenly up and left, leaving Tom and the three children of the alley behind. Fortunately, Tom’s mother, (Maura McDaid) a youthful grandmother to the children, was able to step in and help manage the household. Then, not long after that, Tom was offered a full-
Susan & Tom McDaid, 2/04
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time Care Attendant position. Everyone in the pub was happy for Tom getting the position but saddened to realize he would no longer be behind the bar.
Over time, gossip began to arrive concerning Tom’s wife. Apparently living in a nearby town, she had taken on the aspect of a boisterous and flagrant dyke ( a striking event in conservative Irish culture).
Siblings, 2003
One summer day before opening the pub, I was at work happily cursing a blue streak and repairing some roof tiles. When I turned for a tool, I noticed a wee girl watching me from the nearby alley. Saying hello and asking her name, she did not answer, so I returned to my work. Next time I turned, an older boy (probably 9 or 10) stood behind the wee girl watching. Again I said hi, what’s your name? He answered but I couldn’t make out his answer, so I climbed down and walked over.
His name was Thomas and his wee sister, Amy. They lived up the alley and as Thomas spoke, a third child appeared, an older sister named Mary. When I introduced myself, Mary replied, “Oh, we know. You’re the American.” I guess that said it all so I simply said yeah. But they did want to know all about San Francisco, the city where I lived. I guess word gets around quickly in a small town.
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So taken by these children (especially Amy with her never ending expressions) as they were evocative of a long ago lost childhood, I asked if I could take their pictures. Mary replied saying she would need to ask their mother and would get back to me.
Some days later, as I dumped the empties into the bin out back of the pub, there they were, standing in the alley. Mary, the oldest, said their mother thought it was fine to have their pictures taken.
Maura McDaid lived on Castle Street and loved to knit. She was known for having a smile for everyone she met upon the street. She stepped in to take care of her three grandchildren (seen here) Thomas, Mary and Amy, when their mother walked out. These were the children I encountered in the alley and called ‘the alley children.’
Maura reared her three grandchildren in the family home on Castle Street where her late husband once ran a butcher shop. Maura passed in 2012.
Granma McDaid and the Kids, 2/04
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The Mooneys, 2003
Brian is brother to Shaunie Mooney and son of Josephine Mooney. Brian had left Ramelton to find work in English-occupied Northern Ireland (so known at the time). He found work and a wife, Frances and settled in the ‘North.’ They only occasionally visited Ramelton to visit his mother, Josephine. There seemed some acrimony between the brothers, Shaunie and Brian, which was exacerbated when Josephine passed and bequeathed her house to Brian without acknowledging Shaunie. Brian had a contractor perform some minor repairs, placed the house to rent and has rarely been seen in Ramelton since.
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Some years back, Brian left his mother’s Ramelton home to find work in the ‘North.’ Having found work and prospered, he met and married Frances and they have a son, Kaelin. Brian and his wife and child would occasionally visit his mother in Ramelton until she passed.
Brian and Mom, 2003
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Shaunie and Mom, 2003
Shaunie and his family lived next door to his mother, Josephine and were relied upon by her for much. Josephine’s husband died some twenty odd years previously. She continued to live in the family home, which was such that it required her to constantly tend to manually feeding coal or wood for heat and cooking.
Her son, Shaunie obtained work just out of high school as a Hospital Orderly. Generally being a gentle man, the hospital duties suited Shaunie and he worked there until he retired close to 36 years later. He and his wife, Sally have 3 sons, two of which emigrated to Australia for the employment opportunities found there. The couple remains living on Castle Street.
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Anne and Fred had four children- three daughters and one son. Their third child, Zita, is friends with my daughter, Angela. Their youngest (seen here) Nikita, now drives about in a red sportscar. Their son, Fredrick, has been partnered with a veterinarian originally from Germany for some twenty years with whom there are two grandchildren.
Fred & Family, 2003
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Anne & Fred, 2003
Anne and Fred were very regular drinkers at O’Shaughnessy’s. Due to the economy of the time, neither had ever been employed at a day-to-day job, yet together they managed to raise a family of four children while on the ‘dole’ and with state subsidized child support benefits. I guess in some countries, their ability to do so would constitute an affront to god and country. Nevertheless, they are fine people.
Fred along with his friend, Dominick, managed to be the clowns of Ramelton especially during the River Lennon Festival which lasts 7-10 days each year. Anne and Fred alternated arriving at O’Shaughnessy’s on occasion, sporting bruises or blackened eyes. Clearly, Anne gave as good as she received. Yet, no one doubted that this pair was connected. Over the same period of time, they seemed to come to terms. Later they would arrive each day with the youngest of the children, Nikita.
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Anne was later hired on the QT as the cleaner at O’Shaughnessy’s as well as my house. She was nothing short of wonderful. Fred’s passing from cancer in 2016 devastated Anne and it was sometime before she recovered.
William works as a farm laborer for a wealthy Protestant farm owner, who came to rely heavily on William for his skills and agreeability. Indeed, William is a kind and gentle man. He married Chanel who worked sometime as a barkeep at O’Shaughnessy’s. They often spent time at the pub socializing though neither was much for drink.
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When Jimmie Lee, their son was born, they both loved the child with such gentle yet firm hands. Jimmie Lee reflects their gentleness and love each day. A more well adjusted child you’ll not find.
William and son, Jimmie Lee, 2/04
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Jimmie Lee and parents, 2/04
William and Chanel are well known for their kindness and great ‘craic’. Their son, Jimmie Lee fell from that same tree and is a sweet, gentle boy. William worked as a farmhand on one of the large Protestant landholdings. Sometime later, I took Chanel on as a ‘relief barkeep’ and needless to say, she fit in with her refreshingly capable manner. Chanel could keep up with the quickest of men when humor was a foot. As it frequently was at O’Shaughnessy’s.
However, one wouldn’t want to cross her on the football pitch (ie. soccer). O’Shaughnessy’s sponsored a women’s football team and Chanel was a key player on that team. I attended their first match and was stunned by her performance. Her play was laced with a constant barrage of screamed expletives and curses. She kicked opposing players and almost assaulted the ref…all in good female fun, I guess.
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William would meet his red-faced, sweaty, laughing (and cursing) wife at O’Shaughnessy’s for a drink before heading home. What was further so amazing about that couple was that their connection was palpable.
Alana is Paul and Paula’s child and was a sweet, calm and very well-behaved young child. She was born with a ‘white forelock’, a rather unique birthmark, which is a patch of white hair amidst a head of curly blonde locks.
Alana, 8/04
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The Kid, 2/04
Jimmie Lee is the son of William and Chanel Blaney.
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Richard was a ‘quiet wee boy’ who frequented O’Shaughnessy’s with his father, Jack Boyce. He was born very late in his father’s life to his younger wife. He could always be found watching all and happily munching from a bag of crisps.
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Amy of Castle Street, 2004
Amy grew up in a family in which her mother Susan abandoned her husband and children to strike off into the world of radical lesbianism. For a time, the mother would present herself publicly in a very crude and raucous ways, fortunately for the children, in a town some distance away.
Fortunately for Tom, the husband, his mother, Maura McDaid, still being a youthful grandmother, stepped into the void and managed the situation. Sometime later when Susan had expressed her sexuality sufficiently, she engaged in an attempt to reconcile with the children which, apparently experienced a somewhat limited success.
During that troubled period, Amy developed an anorexia nervosa condition from which she still suffers now at the age of 22.
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