Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

 

 

August 7, 1969

 

 

“I just don’t understand it, Caitlin,” Brian said as the two ate a full breakfast at the Whitecreek. “It makes no sense to me that no one in this town remembers my father—especially his relatives. It was clearer to Caitlin that Brian was not ready to give up the search for information about his father.

“I knew him all my life. And what I can say about him is that he was kind and generous, loving, considerate of others, truly a gentle man, a good father, a good provider a constant support for all of us and as the years went on, someone we could always go to with our concerns and expect to get a fair hearing and some sound advice. And that’s without giving the subject any thought.

“And these people –many of whom grew up with him-and must have known him almost half as long as I did, they cannot remember a single thing about a man like that. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it, Brian,” Caitlin replied hoping to take the edge off what she saw as an unusually agitated state for her husband. “We don’t have the time to pursue it much further and remember, we are supposed to be on our honeymoon. Do you want to stay here and have me go on to Dublin by myself? That would really give your people –and mine- something to remember about us, wouldn’t it?”

Silently, Brian came to realize that their being in Ireland was a long planned wedding trip, not a quest for information about his father. He began to see his pursuit as unfair to Caitlin and to them as a couple.

“No Cait, I don’t want to do that. You know that.” Brian answered not appreciating his wife’s attempt at lightening the situation with humor. “I’m just frustrated at not being able to fill in the pieces of what should be, at best, a very simple puzzle. I guess I’ve put a lot of stock–perhaps too much—in finding out about my father’s war exploits. And yes, you’re right,” he continued. “This is our honeymoon. We’re here to explore Ireland and meet as many of our relatives as we can. So let’s get on with it.”

“I’m sorry I let this thing become an obsession with me and for my being so selfish. We have so little time to do all the things we want to do. So let me offer the first formal apology of our married life: Caitlin, I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Caitlin was glad to hear Brian come around, if only in his words. “Now eat up,” she said. “We have a full day in Bohola and Carracastle before we’re finished with Mayo.”

“Speaking of that, Caitlin, I would like to stop by at the parish church and get a copy of my father’s baptismal certificate and my grandparents marriage certificates if we can.”

“Well, we have a full day ahead of us today and a full night this evening. Suppose we do it in the morning, or at least get the process started?”

The day’s drive took the Dineens south and to the east of Ballina following the River Moy as far as Foxford. They turned east once more to Swinford, then took the improved road to Bohola, a town undistinguished from hundreds of other depressed areas in the west.

“Here’s a question for you Caitlin since you’re an Irish history schollar: What has this little town contributed to life in America?”

“Sure, doesn’t everyone know that?” Caitlin replied. “The O’Dwyer brothers. Bill and Paul. Bill, the famous Mayor of New York and then U.S. Ambassador to Mexico and Paul, the civil rights lawyer. What do I get for a right answer?”

“You get to answer another question. What’s the difference between the O’Dwyers and the Dwyers – both of Bohola?

“You got me there,” Caitlin answered. “What is the difference?”

“Simple enough. The Dwyers of Bohola are still poor.”

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