So many people reacted to the May 26th death in New York of Scartaglen native, Maurice ‘Mossie’ Culloty that, when I received a poem in his honour from a man in New York, I felt compelled to ask the author why – and to reveal the source of his inspiration.
And, as he might say, ‘Boy did he reveal his inspiration and admiration for Mossie along with his and other families here in Kerry and beyond.
The following is Brían De Vale’s own story, his links with the late Mossie Culloty, his family and his poem in his honour:
Summg Up and Making Sense
“I wrote this to honor my recently deceased cousin Maurice ‘Mossie’ Culloty who was born and raised in Scartaglen before emigrating to New York. His siblings, nephews nieces and many cousins fill the county.
I’ll try to sum it up in a way that makes sense as to why an American would write something like this. It’s long crazy and complicated but here goes:
I am an America cousin of Mossie born and raised in New York City. I retired three years ago after 17 years as a New York City Public School Principal and after a 34 year career at the NYC Department of Education.
I was a District Chairman for the Principals union for 15 of those years and currently work part time as a Director of Field Services for The Council of Supervisors and Administrators, the union representing New York City Public School Principals, Assistant Principals, School Supervisors and Administrators.
Cursed to Lose Him
At the age of seven my father died. My mother, brothers I were cursed to lose him at such a young age but God is good and when we came back to Ireland that summer of 1970 every relative in the country took us in and I was treated like Brían Borû returned from the grave.
Such a sincere outpouring of love and kindness that I will spend my life visiting Ireland to try to repay her people.
The Cullotys of Ballahantourigh, my cousins, were the loveliest people I have ever met. They could, would and did give the shirts of their backs if you needed it. There were nine children. Mossie and I clicked the moment we met. I was seven he was nine. I was a wild, loud city boy and he was my equal in a quiet Irish, country boy way.
Special Trip to The Creamery
He was the ying to my yang. When we asked his father John ‘Black Jack’ Culloty if I could stay a while he said ‘Ah sure he’ll be grand.’ He would hitch up the horse to humor me to take the milk to the creamery many mornings even though he had a fine car- because he knew how special a horse ride was to a fatherless City boy and Yank. They were special, caring nurturing souls-all of them.
I have other wonderful cousins: in Castleisland, The Brownes, as well as the Wonderful Whelans who were farmers over in Loughill, Co. Limerick. They were all equally lovely and did the same for me – taking me in year after year.
Aunt Millie in Castleisland
My aunt Millie Browne had six children of her own but would take my mom and the three of us kids in without a care. Treated me like another son and still does. I washed bottles and swept up at the old Browne’s Drinks Ltd soda factory, feeling like a real worker at the age of nine – picking up my pay every Friday from Maurice Prendiville in the office, in line with real, adult laborers – what a sight that must have been!
My Uncle Johnny ‘Golly’ Whelan in Loughill was equally kind and welcoming he would say “I like all of ye but I’m mad about you because you’re wild, mad altogether.” We would stay with him and my aunt Margaret and cousin’s for weeks on end farming, milking, living a childhood dream.
Wild Mad Music Session
I love them and visit them all every year now for wild mad music sessions in Foynes and Glin. We keep in touch often via email and What’s App.
Each of these families took us in as sons and brothers and taught me farming, Irish living and showed me love and decency, exactly the way John Denver spelled out his own parallel experience in his song Matthew.
Unlike the dreary misery of childhood experienced by Frank McCourt, I had the exact opposite experience: The Irish people were kind, warm, loving and beautiful to me that summer – and the many childhood summers thereafter.
Mossie Arrived in 1980s
I was away from Ireland for 20 years as I was in school, lived abroad in Mexico, was working, got married, etc… but during that time several cousins including Mossie came over in the 1980s. Some stayed with us – Mossie didn’t – he would visit but he was his own man and very independent- and we kept our family connections strong. In 1993 I went back for a family reunion and seeing everyone was fantastic.
As a retiree I come ‘home’ twice a year for a few weeks and I have a very understanding wife!
I travel everywhere in Ireland, seeking out new people, places, off the main road villages, pubs and characters, bringing my guitar – singing country, folk, traditional and self written songs about my travels in Ireland.
Connection Strong as Ever
Mossie moved to New York in his 20’s and our connection was as strong as it was in our childhood. He was tall, quiet and lean. His ‘tick’ Kerry accent was as tick as the day he left home. My working class New York accent is equally hard.
His construction colleagues regularly told me: ‘Your cousin Mossie does the work of 20 men.’ He could out drink us all and regardless be up at sunrise to be on the site before 7am.
I was silently very proud to hear these hard men let me know how much they admired him. Mossie never married but he was very active in the Bronx-Yonkers Irish Community.
Ever Present Community Pillar
He was the first to attend any benefit for a colleague’s family, an injured person or sick child. He would take me to benefits and tell me what to pay. A quiet, humble but ever present pillar of the community. He visited my own mother twice in the hospital, both time bringing large boxes of Irish cookies. He knew everything about what was going on back home. He read your paper and several other Irish papers every day. He was my regular link to my Culloty cousins who I will endeavour to keep in contact with.
In Castleisland with Cousins
When in Tralee I generally go into Jess McCarthy’s and The Sportsfield. Damien Roche the famous singing barman and his family have become friends over the years.
I also spend time in Castleisland with my cousin Joe Browne – often at The Crown or at his brother Peter Browne’s place. I also like to spend time in Abbeyfeale, a place I have been visiting for many years and have come to love.” – Go raibh mile maith agat – Brían De Vale.
‘Mossie’ by Brían De Vale
‘Mossie’
Had a cousin, name of Mossie,
He was his father’s second boy,
Born up in the hills of Kerry,
He was his family’s pride and joy.Yes, and joy was just the thing that he was raised on,
Love was just the way to live and die.
Gold is Sam in Kerry and ‘The Sportsfield’
And blue is just a Kerry summer sky.And all the things that he would teach me,
Back when I was just a lad.
How to cut the turf, dig ‘praties’
How to milk a cow by hand.Growing up a Kerry farm boy,
Life was mostly having fun.
Work the farm with all the fam’ly
Church on Sunday, then the pub.Yes, and joy was just the thing that he was raised on,
Love is just the way to live and die.
Gold the Sam in Kerry and ‘The Sportsfield’
And blue is just a Kerry Summer sky.Well I guess there were some hard times,
Back in nineteen eighty three.
He came to live in New York City,
And he came to visit me.We’d hit the bars along Kantonah,
Stay out late along McLean.
But bright and early every morning,
He’d head off to work again.Singing, joy is just a thing to be raised on,
Love is just the way to live and die.
Gold the Sam in Kerry and ‘The Sportsfield’
And blue is just a Kerry summer sky.He worked with stone and brick and mortar,
And laid foundations, all by hand.
He built the New York City Skyline,
And he came to be my friend.And so I wrote this down for Mossie,
Up in Currow where he’s laid.
I know we’ll meet again in heaven,
For pints and music once again.Because joy is just a thing that you were raised on,
Love is just the way to live and die,
Gold the Sam in Kerry and ‘The Sportsfield’
And blue is just a Kerry summer sky.Adapted from Matthew by John Denver. RIP Mossie. Le meas agus grá, Brían.
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