Menu Ireland Calls

One of Their Own
JFK's trip to Ireland

By Pat Gallinagh

For a few brief shining moments in June of nineteen sixty-three
The Irish and Ireland witnessed the fruits of hard fought liberty
When Air Force One touched down in Dublin, the crowds started going wild
To greet the first Irish Catholic president, a descendent of an Erin Isle's child

The leader of the free world was returning to the land his ancestors left long ago
Fleeing poverty, oppression and the famine which killed so painfully and so slow
They sailed for Boston where thousands of hopeful Celts before them had landed
Where the WASP's had little use for them and, as such, the Irish were cruelly branded

As uncouth and uncivilized, prone to fighting and the "Devil's Drink"
Signs "No Irish need apply" when good jobs opened drove many to the brink
But the hardy knew if they started at the bottom they could climb the ladder of success
And over time the Kennedy's & the Fitzgerald's fought their way to fortune's slim access

For the Irish, when John F. Kennedy was elected president, it was their grandest hour
The immigrants who'd been scorned and ridiculed saw one of their own as a world power
The Kennedy's had come from County Wexford bringing their faith and a love of liberty
And the will to work from sunrise to sunset and slowly build a dynasty

The crowds in Ireland saw JFK as the culmination of all their dreams come true
One of their "cousins" had risen to the pinnacle of power with all the trappings due
For four full days he crisscrossed the Emerald Isle and natives flocked to catch the eye
Of the charming, dashing president whose roots made most smile and some even to cry

At each stop throughout the land he marveled at the Irish dancers
He quoted some of Ireland's greatest wordsmiths who gave us timeless answers
As he and his sisters and their families toured the old homestead
They felt a kinship with their ancestors and their curiosity was fed

It is said that tragedy hovers over the Irish like a dark and ominous cloud
Punctured by periods of sunshine when the joys of life cries out aloud
But sure the entire human race follows the path to dusty death
And success is measured not by when one dies, but how they lived until their final breath

An aide to JFK said one of his fondest memories was the laying of a wreath
At Dublin's military cemetery where the Irish cadets spoke with their feet
Little did those young men know that soon they would be marching for him again
At John F. Kennedy's funeral as the world mourned an Irishman's tragic end

But the legacy he left his Irish cousins will last a thousand years
All the barriers have been broken that had prevented the Irish from rising to the upper tiers
So as we celebrate St. Patrick's Day let us take a quiet moment and let our heads bow
To the Irishman who proved that dreams can come true in the here and now

Author's Note

The inspiration for this poem came from watching the DVD JFK in Ireland "The Lands of Dreams".

In June of 1963, just five months before his tragic death, John F. Kennedy along with three of his sisters visited Ireland for four days. Their trip took them to County Wexford where their paternal great grandfather departed for Boston over a hundred years earlier and to County Limerick where their maternal great grandfather had fled the famine about the same time.

The crowds that greeted him were enormous and boisterous, for his visit marked the validation of Irish Catholics dreams. Dave Powers, one of his aides, said one of the most memorable moments for President Kennedy was the laying of a wreath at Dublin's military cemetery where the Irish cadets marched in precision cadence during the ceremony. The ethnic group that had been persecuted and ridiculed at home by the English and by the "White Anglo-Saxon Protestants (WASP's)"in America now could see one of their own who had broken through the barriers of advancement and proved that no height was too high for those who "were scorned just for being what we are."

For those alive who witnessed the trip, it was an unforgettable moment and even his death couldn't erase the significance of his accomplishment, the Irish Catholics had finally reached the upper plateau.

More of Pat's Poetry