3-17-77: An Irishman’s Dream (Come True)

Pat's son Patrick with his daughter Olivia on St. Patrick’s Day 2022. Happy birthday, Patrick!

By Pat O’Connor
(Part of a work in progress titled “You Can’t Make This Stuff Up; The Charmed Life of a Boomer.” We periodically publish these special features around holidays and seasonal events.)

A friend and I got together the day before St. Patrick’s Day in 1977 to transport some dining room furniture Sue and I had purchased. A call came to our farmhouse in Dublin, VA from someone who said he was a reporter associated with the Richmond Times-Dispatch. He wanted to know what I was doing the next day, St. Patrick’s Day. He said he wanted to do a story on what was happening in Dublin on the holiday. He explained that he located the Dublin phonebook and looked for an Irish name. He said when he saw Patrick O’Connor, he figured he had found his source. He was correct.

Initially, I thought another friend of mine was playing a joke on me. After a bit of bantering back-n-forth, it occurred to me this was for real. I then told him I was going to be a first-time dad the very next day! Of course, that got quite a response. I told him Sue was expecting a baby any day now and I thought it would be on St. Patrick’s Day. In fact, her due date was in two weeks. Also, I was scheduled to take my comprehensive doctoral exams the next day at Virginia Tech. I purposely selected St. Patrick’s Day to take them, figuring I would need all the help I could get!

Sure enough, we had a nice conversation and the guy wanted to hear all about how different St. Patrick’s Day was in Dublin, VA compared to my home in Ohio. My parents were Irish immigrants, so this holiday held tremendous significance in our family. It was a major part of our Irish Catholic heritage. I waited anxiously each year for the grand celebrating we did. I shared a bunch of stuff we used to do, and he wrote a story that appeared the next day, St. Patrick’s Day. We also left the conversation with him encouraging me to call him if, in fact, Sue did have a baby the next day. Keep in mind, babies were rather rare in 1977 (thanks to ZPG – zero population growth) and we were living in a rural area. The local hospital had about one baby born each month, so it was a big event when any new arrival arrived – let alone one born on St. Patrick’s Day in a place founded by Irish settlers in the late 1700s. Word is it that the little burg was even named Dublin because it reminded the settlers of the Dublin, Ireland many had recently left.

The next day, St. Patrick’s Day 1977, a nice story appeared in the Richmond paper about the various goings-on in Dublin that day. I was at a holiday luncheon at the college where I taught and was just about ready to make the trip to Blacksburg for my exam when the phone rang. You guessed it… it was Sue, and she was on her way to the hospital to have our first child. I told the news to my friends at work, and I think they were as stunned as I was. I now had to call my advisor to reschedule the exam. Next, I called the reporter and informed him of the great news. He was also stunned, as you might expect, and asked me to call back if in fact, the baby was actually born that day (ye of little faith). Then, off I went to the hospital where Patrick would be born a few hours later.

After calling family members (my mother was appropriately playing bingo at church and it was announced to the entire hall), I called the Richmond Times-Dispatch reporter. Again, he was stunned, and we chatted for a few minutes. He told me to watch for a story the next day and, sure enough, a wonderful story was written with the headline “An Irishman’s Dream.” I spent the evening with a few close friends to celebrate the holiday and the birth of our son.

The next few days were exciting beyond imagination as well wishers from near and far celebrated with us. The hospital wrapped Patrick in a green receiving blanket, and we received flowers from the chamber of commerce. There was even radio coverage of the event! Quite a day…. quite an experience … to say the least. For many years, Patrick thought all the hoopla on St. Patrick’s Day was for his birthday.

Epilogue
It’s been 46 years since this magical event. Hard to believe. Whoever said “time flies” was right on the mark. Also, I once heard a great way to describe parenting as the “days are long, but the years are short.” Each day and year have been filled with incredible memories which soothe the quick passage of time. Patrick has grown into quite a man and father himself now. He’s even being inducted into his high school Hall of Fame this April. Saint Patrick would be as proud as the rest of us.

Patrick’s Thoughts on Being Born on St. Patrick’s Day
Once upon a time, an Irishman bore a son on St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin, VA in the year of our Lord, 1977. I am that child. Having no memory of being born, it’s hard to comment on the day itself. An empty vessel, I have only family lore and the local news reports from the Richmond Times-Dispatch. I cannot even begin to comprehend the pain my dear, sweet, wonderful mother must have felt, bringing a child into this world. She is a saint.  

Early on, I thought St. Patrick’s Day was just for me and rightly so. There was always a celebration. Sometimes weeks of anticipation leading up to the day itself. Festivals of song, music, dancing, drinking, storytelling, fighting, parades, and glorious times had by all. All for me.

Then as the years passed, I realized the day was something bigger and larger in the Irish culture and community. I was the product of a long tradition of yarn-spinners, artists, poets, playwrights, writers and musicians. My dad calls it the “gift of gab.” At some point, I became conscious that maybe, just maybe, I too possessed some of these gifts. After 46 years of St. Patrick’s Days, I am grateful for so many ancestral presents. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.