THE comedian W.C. Fields hated the place, or pretended to. I was in Philadelphia of a Tuesday," he said, "it was closed." He hated other things too, and once remarked any man who hates kids and dogs can't be all bad". But he found one place he disliked more than Philadelphia - though the line was written before he got there. The epitaph on his gravestone is said to read: "On the whole, I'd prefer Philadelphia."
I was there recently, along with my mother and sister, and was impressed again. It's a charming city, particularly the central districts, and with a strong sense of pride in itself. Which is altogether as it should be. It is where the American Declaration of Independence was signed. It was the first capital of the US and, as such, the first modem democratic capital in the world. It resonates of history and, at the same time, being the fourth largest city in the US, it is a thriving, state of the art contemporary metropolis. The mix probably accounts for the thoroughly with it, yet noticeably civilised atmosphere of the place.
My last visit there - prior to this one - was six years ago, and the most striking change in the city was a cluster of very tall buildings around the City Hall area where none had been before. Until recently no building was allowed by law to reach a height above that of the statue of William Penn which stands atop the dome of City Hall. By American standards it made for one flat city. But the law has been revoked.
Irish connection
William Penn founded Pennsylvania and Philadelphia. He went to Ireland from England in 1667 and became a Quaker. President Clinton referred to it in Derry.
Penn was an idealist, a kingdom of heaven on earth type of man. Hence, for instance, the name Philadelphia - from the Greek, meaning "the city of brotherly love." Not a bad place to resurrect democracy - also from the Greek, both word and system.
I'd been there twice before, to visit my two brothers and their families. My family, on both sides, has had long links with the US. Not unlike many west of Ireland people.
Both my paternal grandparents spent years in America, before coming home to marry. Three grand uncles, on the same side, spent their lives there. One lived in Philadelphia. He lost contact with the family after my great grandparents died. No one knows what became of him. A grand aunt, on my mother's side, lived in Wyoming, where she died in the late 1970s. A grand uncle, on my mother's side also lived in New Jersey until he died there four years ago, aged 93. And my Uncle Pat, my mother's twin brother, lives in New York. There are second cousins living in Yonkers and another lives in Canada. Significantly, perhaps, we have no relatives in Britain.
McGarry diaspora
There are my two brothers in Philadelphia and their total of eight children. One of the happiest surprises of this visit was meeting my niece Maeve for the first time. She is aged 4 1/2 and we got on famously. We visited the Franklin Institute - a marvellous place, celebrating - science in the name of Benjamin Franklin, that native son who discovered electricity in his spare time. They have a machine there which illustrates the laws of aero dynamics. A jet of air holds a football in suspense, and visitors are encouraged to take the ball and throw it back into the airstream to watch it settle into position again. I decided to go one better.
I took Maeve's balloon and cast it into the airstream. It shot to the ceiling, about 40 feet above, and stuck there. Well folks, those screams you hear ... yeah, that's my niece. And all those people around. "No one told me it was filled with helium," I pleaded.
America really like children. Everywhere we went, Maeve was treated like royalty. Indeed, for a country we associate so strongly with relationships as "temporary little arrangements", it is remarkably family orientated and child centred. Much more so, I thought, than here. The other side is very much in evidence, too. You have only to flick through the 84 TV channels available in the city to see that. But that side is strictly regulated, with many of those TV channels, for instance, geared towards children. Quite a bit of Irish programming too.
There are a lot of Irish in Philadelphia. Some are of Irish extraction, many are from the older wave of emigrants, and many are from the newer waves. Of those latter, most are from the North. Their loyalty and identity, if anything, has been intensified by distance. So too has their humour, as illustrated by one story, of many, I heard while out there.
Bell crack
Two "boys" - the Northerners refer to men as boys - were having a few drinks in the city when they decided to see some of the sights. The Liberty Bell was near by, so they started there. It tolled the knell of British rule in the US, and is as famous for a great crack running down one side as it is for itself.
Our boys were in high spirits and decided to have a bit of fun. They went to an attendant and offered to repair the bell - "for nothing". He took them seriously, and was having none of it. "Sure `tis no trouble at all,"they assured him, "a bit of welding, and it would be as good as new. They discussed how much metal they would need and the best equipment for the job.
The attendant tried to explain, but they fobbed him off with assurances that it would be "all right. No trouble." They took out a tape and headed for the bell, intending to take measurements. The attendant called the police, while the pair kept up the chat about depth and length and old metal with new, and the police arrived. They read the situation for what it was, laughed at the two, and asked them to leave before the attendant had a heart attack. Which they did, and the Liberty Bell still has the crack. Too!
In Washington, my mother stood on the spot, under the magnificent Capitol dome, where John F. Kennedy was laid in state. And we visited my uncle in New York, and our cousins. There my beloved sister made that immortal gaffe which went some way to compensating (me) for the balloon incident. It was her first time in New York, and to see the Statue of Liberty.
She had not realised it was actually green. "Is that because there are so many Irish here?" she wondered. I thought of all the laughter in the Franklin Institute, the mock tut tutting, and the reminders afterwards, and I replied with the slow deliberation of one savouring each syllable: "No, that's because it's made of copper." And I could feel her mortification. Wonderful. How I love revenge!