Danny Boy

My father was a mixture of Irish and German but he had a heart of pure green. A lawyer by day and an unmatched Irish tenor by night, his voice could fill a room without a microphone and he would "belt out" a pure note on a moment's notice. He was as proud of his voice as I was of my videography. He should have been prouder -- growing up, that voice got us free dinners in more than one Irish pub while I've yet to film anything that gets me free food.

Several years ago my love of videography and his love of singing came together at the wedding of my cousin Mark to his bride Paula. They asked dad to sing through the ceremony and, joined by my sister Kathy, he did so with aplomb. As videographer, I recorded his entire performance.

Microphones? Who needs microphones?

After the ceremony, and once the reception was in full swing, dad was asked to get the party started with a few Irish ballads. A request he would never, could never, refuse. The set started with Danny Boy, his signature piece and one that he had sung from Irish pubs to the senate floor. Thirty feet away I had to shield the shotgun microphone from clipping as his voice rippled through the crowd. The man could sing this song in his sleep (I think, at times, he did) and for the occaision he hit every customization: every held note and every crescendo. He put everything he had into that musical set.

It wasn't long after, in retrospect, that he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

When the wedding video was finished I arranged a small screening to solicit comments before the final product was shipped to the bride and groom. Dad, recovering from surgery, was intensely focussed on the singing... interrupting every few minutes to rewind a piece of song, turn up the volume, and to be hushedly silent throughout.

It did not occur to us then what occurs to me now. Mark and Paula's wedding was his swan song. As we looked to find glitches in the editing, he looked to see how he would be musically remembered. You see, dad's diagnosis preceeded his passing by exactly six months. At his funeral, as we left the church, his rendition of "Danny Boy" from Mark and Paula's wedding was played on CD with no eye left dry.

Danny Boy is an Irish ballad about a father who sees his son go off to war. The father is old and knows that he is dying. He knows that, in all probability, by the time his son returns he will be dead. As such, this song is an Irish farewell and its recording has become my father's farewell.

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This evening Paula and her two children were involved in a car accident. It was an accident that neither Paula nor her 3 year old daughter could survive. Her 6 year old son is in critical condition with, we believe, non-life-threatening injuries.

So as I scan through the wedding video I made for this bride several years ago, and as I have always remained thankful to the event that chronicaled my father's last public performance, I bade her and her sweet, sweet daughter farewell.

It has been some time since I have seen them. Perhaps if I had heard their farewell it would have gone something like this:


Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be
If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.

I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.