Emmanuel's Wake

                                    Emmanuel’s Wake

         It was just after the turn of the new century, in 1903, that Emmanuel Martin Sr., founder of the burgeoning Martin clan, passed on at the age of 93. As was the custom at the time, Emmanuel was waked in the parlor of his son William’s house on Louisiana Street.

         “Sure doesn’t he look grand?” asked Spoons Kelly of no one in particular.

         “Aye, he looks as healthy as he did in life,” agreed Bumper Morgan. “Do you think they have a wee drop more of the creature left then?”

         “They do indeed Bumper,” said Spoons. “His son has a bottle of itself in the kitchen. And there is a keg of beer in the alley as well.”

         The neighbors and friends of all the Martin family gathered to send the redoubtable seaman off into the far beyond. As was the custom, many of the women in the neighborhood brought over heaping platters of food for the grieving family. It was also a well-recognized social occasion where beer, whiskey and food were available to all who knew the man or claimed to.

“Sure doesn’t the number of a man’s friends multiply when he isn’t here to deny them?” asked Paddy Riley quietly.

         “They do, they do indeed,” said Jimmy Ryan. “Tis the way of things.

The corpse’s inability to flee from newly claimed friends was considered a social plus. A fair number of local politicians would drop by for some kind words to the family. They would also stay for a while chatting the many voters present. The length of time spent at a wake would usually correspond to the nearness of the next election day.

“He was a wonderful man, your father,” said Councilman McAlister. “We were great friends and I will miss him terribly.”

         “Thank you, Councilman. It was good of you to come,” said son William Martin.

         In the back of the parlor, sons Emmanuel, John and Henry stood watching the exchange with William and Alderman McAlister

         “Sure, didn’t Da hate that slick lipped s.o.b?” asked Henry.

         “He did that,” said John. “He told us all never to vote for the rascal.”

The wake would the go on well into the night until all had expressed their kind thoughts or had too much to drink and been carried off. The sons would then sit around a kitchen table and recount humorous stories of those who had attended the wake.

         “Did you see that rascal Gobbler Burke?” John asked

         “He must have eaten enough food for three men and swallowed a week’s worth of beer.”

         “The lad does have a capacity,” agreed William.

         “And Brigid O'Malley,” Henry said. “She cried for over an hour. Didn’t Dad think her a shrewish old witch?”

         “He did,” said John with a smile. “Sure, even the meanest among us are overcome with grief at these things,” he said with a slurred speech that indicated his nearness to sleep.

         “Well, 'twas nice of them all to come, for whatever reason,” said Henry.

         “It was that,” said son William.” Da would have been proud.”

         “Sure, tis the oddest of customs that the Irish have to throw a grand party for you on the one day they know you can’t be there,” said John philosophically.

         The boys thought about this comment for a few minutes, quiet for perhaps the first time this evening.

         “Let’s raise a glass to a man who has no like,” said William

         “Aye, they don’t make them like Da anymore,” agreed John.

         “May the roads rise up to meet you, Da. And the winds be always at your back,” said William quietly, echoing a timeless Irish ritual.

         “May the rain fall soft upon your fields and the sun shine warm on your face. And until we all meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hands.”

         “Here, here,“ said the boys. They then all allowed a shot of the creature to crawl down their throats.

         Old Emmanuel’s passing was the end of an era. Men like Emmanuel Martin had crossed an ocean in wooden ships and settled in a new land,during the 1840's. He had founded a family that would grow and prosper for centuries. His story would live on in the minds of his children and those who came after. He was but part of the grand saga that would always be remembered. The whisper of him was carried on at dinner tables, picnics at cottages along the Lake Erie beach and any other place that the Martins gathered. He would be remembered as the first who had come across from Eire.

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                                     (774 words)

                               Joseph Xavier Martin