Top o' the morning to you. It's grand to celebrate this greatest of holidays with my friends at the G.O.S. As an Irish American raised in Chicago, I was always keenly aware that my heritage had come with a price:
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Descended from a people who came to this country as starving refugees, only to get the welcome customarily reserved for illegal immigrants (my own great-grandda had to sneak over the border from Canada. Did that make him a "greenback?") who were conscripted into a war over the "right" of one group to mercilessly exploit another, and who, by virtue of education and the availability of grueling but honest work, (whether it was the Erie Canal, the Illinois and Michigan, the transcontinental railroad, coal mining in the east or copper mining in the west, it all seemed to involve one form or another of ditch-digging) the ability to organize and the power of the vote, were able, in just two or three generations, to serve on city councils, in state legislatures, in the Congress and, by 1960, in the White House. That's the American way, and that's why, if there's a group of Americans who should support the working man and woman, surely it's the sons and daughters of Erin. So please join the Shamrock American Kossacks today for an all-day virtual St. Patrick's day parade. Feel free to jump in any time, sharing a song, a family story, a poem or a laugh, and well all enjoy the craic. After all, as the man said "There's not a man alive can't sing a song, recite a poem, play a tin whistle or f*ck."* (and we'll have none o' that!) Oh - and if you think you might be a Shamrock American, by all means, say so - let's see how big a parade we can assemble before the day is up!