Wed Jan 31, 2007 3:49 am
Many thanks, Philip, for the swift reply, also for the kind words and encouragement. We'll contact those you mention regarding licensing.
If ever you should find yourself in the neighborhood, surely a fall from grace, give me a call. We'll tour the ravaged and strangely ravishing place that is my home...
Meanwhile, I must add something: I recently saw the doc If I Should Fall from Grace. Two things now come back to me. First, Nick Cave's comment, "From this shambling wreck comes such things of beauty." We know whomof he spoke but he might just as well have been talking about Butte. As well as, come to think of it, the world as a whole. Amidst the wreckage of our lives, may all of us stumble upon a little beauty...
And this: I think the most eloquent and illuminating moment in the film came when you said that the Pogues couldn't have happened on the island itself, that it was something other, something more than an indigenous phenomenon. The two Irelands idea. And most especially the implication of that idea, which I believe is that both are needed to fully appreciate what it means to be Irish today. At the risk of sounding both self-serving and obsessive--well, Christ, what's the risk, since my obsessions are what define me--this is akin to one of the themes I'm exploring in my book about renouncing, then returning, then, against all expectation, falling head over heels in love with the Irish-American island where I was born...One foot in, one foot out. I couldn't love the place the way I do had I not left--because I couldn't have come to know it the way I do, and free myself of all that made it oppressive, had I not been able to put the whole experience within a larger context...
By the way, I wrote a long piece about Butte for Harper's Magazine: "Pennies from Hell: In Montana, the Bill for America's Copper Comes Due." October, 1996. Though it focuses on the environmental aspect of the story, it also conveys something of the character of the place. It might amuse you.
I'll close on a personal note, a ramble concerning land, blood ties, and the strong links between Butte and Ireland: When I was a boy I spent a lot of time with my older cousins, Mick and Con Dennehy, whose mother was a Doherty, the biggest and most influential clan on the Irish side of my family (I'm also descended from Cornish tin miners). The Dennehys lived just below the O Sullivans, on North Wyoming Street, across from St. Mary's and the Steward Mine, which was one of our playgrounds, just as the piles and fields of mine waste were. Sarsfield and Eamon O Sullivan's father Sean came from Inishfanard, a now uninhabited island visible from the old cemetery at Kilcatherine, way out on the Beara Peninsula. Sean was an Irish patriot and republican through and through. He started the first Gaelic language school here, early in the 20th century. His greatest gift to his sons, both of whom became priests, was his love of language, especially the spoken word. According to Sars, when young Sean performed a task for a neighbor on the lonely windswept isle of his birth, instead of asking for a piece of candy or other treat, he requested a song or poem...Sars, still alive today, though surely not much longer, is one of the town's great storytellers. His brother Eamon, who died young, could've been a first-rate poet had he not pledged allegiance to the Church...All of it was mixed together here, Catholicism, nationalism, clannishness, a tragic sensibility, the cause of ordinary people, including the miners and their families, as they tried to hold their own in the face of unbridled corporate capitalism. When Sars was a kid, in that house next to my cousins', he was witness to many things that you might not expect in such an out-of-the-way place, including the arrival of none other than James Connolly, Eamon de Valera (who returned to Butte after he became president), and James Larkin, all sitting at the kitchen table with Sean, debating the fate of Ireland. Connolly and Larkin gave impassioned speeches at Finlander Hall, the Hibernians deciding the two firebrands were too controversial. They addressed not only disgruntled Irish and Irish-American miners, but Socialists, anarchists, and Wobblies, of which there were many here. Their message? That the cause of Ireland and the cause of working people were one and the same. Butte was so thoroughly Irish that the civil war and partitioning split neighborhoods, friends, families, and some of that enmity survives to this day, indeed, won't die until those that lived through it do...
I've gone on too long, as I often do.
Cheers.
Edwin Dobb