A nod to some of my family memories
While I was growing up I heard often about my friends families talking of their Irish heritage. Having a last name of Van Norman set me a little different from the Murphy’s, Sullivan’s and Devlin’s of the Irish neighborhood I grew up in. Of course my Irish credentials were validated by Mother’s side of the family and some Irish form the mutt mix on the Father’s side of the tree – as if I needed validation with the Irish beak in the middle of my face.
According to my Dad, discussions on details were often rebuffed as either irrelevant or more accurately not wishing to be discussed. I know little other than my Great-Grandfather hit the road, and left my Grandfather with his parents’ family to take care of and his own family. All this and the Great Depression – my granddad had a hard life. I tend to remind myself of this when I catch myself occasionally wallowing in self-pity over my own recent awkward circumstances.
One day my Dad told me of Granddad’s rum running days.
Dear lord…were like the Kennedy’s. A dark hidden past – who knew? Where are the yachts and our home(s) on Martha’s Vineyard?
Got to make ends meet and it was that simple.
Growing up it had occasionally occurred to me who were these Doherty’s that were at the occasional funerals/wakes. I knew who my cousins were, my aunts and uncles but I didn’t connect the dots to the Dohertys. Later I learned the details. The Doherty’s were my Grandfather’s cousins (note the italics). The bloodline may have simply their forefathers came off the same boat from Ireland.
The Doherty’s were part of the Westies O’Donnell gang. I’m sure a fun bunch you could invite to parties. There a wealth of books and stuff on the web on the gangland wars in Chicago. Walking through the material you can see how extensive it was. My Granddad helped run the rum (and beer etc.) during the years of prohibition. It was lucrative for the times but dangerous. As it turns out one of the Doherty brothers was killed by Capone’s gang, along with an assistant prosecutor at the time.
Shortly thereafter my Granddad was told he was working for them (Capone). My Granddad being a wise man, he knew enough you don’t refuse, but said OK but he expected to make the same amount of money he was making with the O’Donnell gang. Fortunately for all concerned his feigned greed got himself uninvited to the rum running business intact and unharmed.
Sometimes an exit, stage right can be a very good thing.
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3 comments:
You have any old family photos? That was a great era for people shots. No one wore clothing with garish advertising all over it. Times were rough, but everyone wore suits and hats, dresses and heels. Between the fashion and the black and white film, practically every photo from that period is timelessly beautiful, whether its subject was opulence or poverty. I'm frustrated by how little photographic record survived on my dad's side of the family, especially considering that his father was a photographer and printer by trade. My grandfather grew up in the gritty part of Los Angeles with a camera in his hands. What happened? I've got nothing, and neither do my two cousins, his only other grandchildren. When people talk about the precious things that they would rescue if their houses were burning down, pictures are often the first thing mentioned. So how the hell do they disappear?!?
I have some, but unfortunately the record is similarly incomplete. Both of my aunts (Dad's side) have some great old photos they kept, but my Dad wasn't too keen on photography or keeping photos. he wasn't thrilled get his photo taken either, I guess I have that gene as well.
During my career transition over the next few months, getting some of these photo's uploaded, might make a good side project.
Great story ecj. Imagine all the other escapades that will never be known.
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