Editor’s note: This column appeared Nov. 27 in the Advance-News in Ogdensburg, N.Y., but was withheld from further publication to preserve two surprise songs for John and Carol Dady’s weekend celebration.
As soon as the plane touched down from Ireland, I knew I was back in the songwriting business.
Our friend Erin Dady had mentioned that her parents, John and Carol, were approaching their 50th anniversary followed closely by her father’s 70th birthday.
“You know,’’ I volunteered, “in my family, we honor special occasions with a song. We bastardize the lyrics to old Irish tunes and poke a little fun.’’
Given that John had issued about a dozen albums and CDs as an Irish folk singer and songwriter, and that music was central to her mother’s life, Erin decided a song was a perfect gift.
Harburg, usually credited as E.Y. (Edgar Yipsel) Harburg, might not be familiar to you, but you know his lyrics. He wrote most songs for The Wizard of Oz, the Depression-era tune “Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?’’ and “April in Paris.’’ He remains an inspiration.
Move over Yip Harburg, this shanty Irish songwriter was coming through, with rhyming dictionary ready.
I’m no Harburg but I’ve written about 15 songs for the two sides of my Irish Mafia family that once numbered 20 aunts and uncles and 64 first-cousins.
I’m not sure exactly when this started, but at least 20 years ago my maternal aunt, Helen Murphy, fit snugly into “Who Threw the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s Chowder?’’ At her dairy farm, she was routinely hunting barn flies in the kitchen with her swatter. That saga became “Who Let the Barn Flies Into Mrs. Murphy’s Kitchen?’’ and kitchen conveniently rhymed with bitchin’. Her son Bobby was lampooned.
When another maternal aunt, Lois, turned 70, her fudging of the truth was spoofed in “No Nay Never Grow Old,’’ a revision of a popular folk tune called “The Wild Rover.’’
And it’s no, nay, never
No, nay, never, no more
Can I claim that I’m 50
When I’ve aged 20 more
My father’s brother left home in Herkimer, married and built a house on Vickerman Hill in Mohawk, N.Y. So the lyrics to The Beverly Hillbillies theme song were reworked into the “The Ballad of Charles Holleran.’’
When my daughter Claire Eileen married 6 years ago, I needed to recap how she ditched a frog we called Fish Boy and found a prince in Brian. At the rehearsal dinner, “Red-Haired Mary’’ became “Brown-Haired Claire-E.’’
When I retired from the Rochester city schools, I started my website www.hollerangetsitwrite.com. It holds a collection of these columns “Reflections of a River Rat,’’ a brief bio and an offer to customize Irish songs for family events.
I’ve been underwhelmed with requests, but I did make $100 on a song, commissioned by the daughter of a long-suffering New York Jets fan to the tune of The Wild Rover.
I got deep into music – Zach Brown, R-E-M
And I’ve always been partial to Led Zepp-e-lin
I’d walk out on my job, boot the Mets from first place
Oh God, show some mercy, end the Jets’ long disgrace
To his chagrin, the J-E-T-S, Jets! Jets! Jets! haven’t made the NFL playoffs since the 2010 season.
Before I hopped on my keyboard last month to write the birthday/anniversary combo, my editor of 41 years suggested I write two songs. So I took Mary’s advice and chronicled how the Dadys careened through 50 years of marriage as Carol relied on faith, family and friends to endure her wild man husband. The lyrics are peppered with humor, anecdotes and the story of the two live wedding gifts (lobsters Fred and Erma) that sidled through their Cape Vincent trailer until they were invited to the honeymoon dinner … from the lobster pot.
But wait, there’s more.
Their daughter, the oldest of six, fed me such great anecdotes that I had to immortalize the story of the younger brother who buried a family heirloom in the backyard.
When they married as 19-year-olds, John was too broke to afford a diamond. Carol was unfazed. When John’s mother passed, his sisters decided that Carol should inherit her diamond wedding ring. Upon receiving it, she rarely took it off except to wash dishes.
Their son was going through a pirate phase when he spotted the ring on the kitchen window sill and decided to bury it behind the family home.
The loss of the ring created an uproar before young Connor, bearing the innocence of his youth, approached his mom.
“You know when you do something and you feel guilty?’’ Erin recalled the boy saying. “You know you are supposed to tell an adult. Well, this is what happened.’’
There might have been a stick marking the buried treasure but Erin thought it got brushed aside when the back lawn was moved. The family searched and searched. No ring.
The house remains in the family so perhaps one day they will unearth it. You can bet poor Connor takes a ribbing at family gatherings. The children gathered last weekend and celebrated their parents and performed the songs.
There is a redeeming side to the ring affair. For the 50th wedding anniversary, John purchased a ring with birthstones representing each of their seven grandchildren. Carol ended up with a lovely keepsake forged from 50 years of devotion.
Morristown native Jim Holleran is a retired teacher and sports editor from Rochester. Reach him at jimholleran29@gmail.com or view past columns under “Reflections of River Rat’’ at https://hollerangetsitwrite.com/blog/
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