universities; and he had been known to tell Irish dialect stories to Eamon de Valera in The Park.
He was a member of nineteen Irish fraternal societies in Boston, New York, Liverpool, Capetown and Manchester. He had been granted the Freedom of Bodmor Truth in Rathfarnham, sponsored by Lord Butterfield himself, aged ninety-nine years. He had been awarded the Daithi Hanly Medal for Gaelgoiri twice, with its accompanying certificate made out to his Gaelic name, Tomaltac X. MacAogain. He owned offshoreIrish oil leases. He wore green neckties and buttonhole shamrocks for the week preceding and the week following the anniversary of the death of Cromwell. He had disciplined himself to be able to tolerate Irish instrumental folk music, a talent that is almost impossible for the nonnative to acquire. Four times he had been offered the ambassadorship to Ireland by four importuning American Presidents (including his son), but each time he had, agonizingly, to refuse. He owned an Irish copper mine, an assembly plant for joining together the parts of a certain popular automobile, and an Irish road-building company of some prominence among politicians in Dublin. He had barmbrack flown to him twice a week, to Palm Springs, from O’Keefe’s own bakery in Schull on Roaringwater Bay in West Cork—and boxes of carrageen.
These partisan manifestations were droll. If he had known the truth, he might have needed to be restrained with wet winding sheets and might (almost) have returned his many papal honors and his Irish marching society medals. Ethically and ethnically Tim’s Presidency would have had to be declared unconstitutional. Significant electoral votes, as ethnic as soda bread, such as those of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, would need to have been bestowed retroactively upon his opponent.
Thomas Xavier Kegan had no Irish ancestry. His father’s name had not been Kegan nor had that of any of his progenitors. Further, his ancestral family had all been Lutherans. The family name was Kiegelberg.
In 1849, at age twenty-six, Thomas Kegan’s grandfather, Jakob Kiegelberg, a peasant from Scheraldgrün, a small Alpine village in the Bernese Oberland of Switzerland, had emigrated to join the California gold rush. The Kiegelbergs had always been cursed with arrogance, feeling themselves as people apart from and above the world because of their uniqueness in the mountain-and-snow-locked valley. Of the 606 people living there, 310 were named Marton, 126 were calledKetcham, 170 were known as Lear, and for 234 years, until Jakob Kiegelberg left the valley, only one family was called Kiegelberg.
When Jakob had made his fortune in the northern gold fields (the Ornstein Nugget) he moved to southern California, where he married Gertrude Garfunkel. In 1868 their son, Heini, absconded with his father’s principal savings, which caused his father’s death. Heini fled to San Francisco, where (using the name Hank Kegan despite his heavy Scheraldgrün accent, conferred by his father) he built a large saloon in the Barbary Coast district of the city and named it Kegan’s. As Hank Kegan, Heini married an Italian girl from the Lugano area of Switzerland (Maerose Carnaghi).
On New Year’s Day 1900, Heini and Maerose Kiegelberg-Kegan had a son born. His name was Thomas, then pronounced Toe-mahss. The infant’s parents and all records of his true family name at baptism, Kiegelberg, were destroyed in the great San Francisco earthquake, which began on April 18, 1906. The authorities entered the boy’s name as Thomas Kegan, taking the name from the child’s father’s saloon. Little Tom was raised by the Little Sisters of the Poor in a sound San Mateo boarding school for the children of the rich. The Little Sisters gave him the name Xavier at his confirmation. His father’s considerable estate appreciated at the Crocker Bank.
Ever endowed with the mystical gift of piercing the heart of any matter instantly if the heart of the matter concerned
He was a member of nineteen Irish fraternal societies in Boston, New York, Liverpool, Capetown and Manchester. He had been granted the Freedom of Bodmor Truth in Rathfarnham, sponsored by Lord Butterfield himself, aged ninety-nine years. He had been awarded the Daithi Hanly Medal for Gaelgoiri twice, with its accompanying certificate made out to his Gaelic name, Tomaltac X. MacAogain. He owned offshoreIrish oil leases. He wore green neckties and buttonhole shamrocks for the week preceding and the week following the anniversary of the death of Cromwell. He had disciplined himself to be able to tolerate Irish instrumental folk music, a talent that is almost impossible for the nonnative to acquire. Four times he had been offered the ambassadorship to Ireland by four importuning American Presidents (including his son), but each time he had, agonizingly, to refuse. He owned an Irish copper mine, an assembly plant for joining together the parts of a certain popular automobile, and an Irish road-building company of some prominence among politicians in Dublin. He had barmbrack flown to him twice a week, to Palm Springs, from O’Keefe’s own bakery in Schull on Roaringwater Bay in West Cork—and boxes of carrageen.
These partisan manifestations were droll. If he had known the truth, he might have needed to be restrained with wet winding sheets and might (almost) have returned his many papal honors and his Irish marching society medals. Ethically and ethnically Tim’s Presidency would have had to be declared unconstitutional. Significant electoral votes, as ethnic as soda bread, such as those of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, would need to have been bestowed retroactively upon his opponent.
Thomas Xavier Kegan had no Irish ancestry. His father’s name had not been Kegan nor had that of any of his progenitors. Further, his ancestral family had all been Lutherans. The family name was Kiegelberg.
In 1849, at age twenty-six, Thomas Kegan’s grandfather, Jakob Kiegelberg, a peasant from Scheraldgrün, a small Alpine village in the Bernese Oberland of Switzerland, had emigrated to join the California gold rush. The Kiegelbergs had always been cursed with arrogance, feeling themselves as people apart from and above the world because of their uniqueness in the mountain-and-snow-locked valley. Of the 606 people living there, 310 were named Marton, 126 were calledKetcham, 170 were known as Lear, and for 234 years, until Jakob Kiegelberg left the valley, only one family was called Kiegelberg.
When Jakob had made his fortune in the northern gold fields (the Ornstein Nugget) he moved to southern California, where he married Gertrude Garfunkel. In 1868 their son, Heini, absconded with his father’s principal savings, which caused his father’s death. Heini fled to San Francisco, where (using the name Hank Kegan despite his heavy Scheraldgrün accent, conferred by his father) he built a large saloon in the Barbary Coast district of the city and named it Kegan’s. As Hank Kegan, Heini married an Italian girl from the Lugano area of Switzerland (Maerose Carnaghi).
On New Year’s Day 1900, Heini and Maerose Kiegelberg-Kegan had a son born. His name was Thomas, then pronounced Toe-mahss. The infant’s parents and all records of his true family name at baptism, Kiegelberg, were destroyed in the great San Francisco earthquake, which began on April 18, 1906. The authorities entered the boy’s name as Thomas Kegan, taking the name from the child’s father’s saloon. Little Tom was raised by the Little Sisters of the Poor in a sound San Mateo boarding school for the children of the rich. The Little Sisters gave him the name Xavier at his confirmation. His father’s considerable estate appreciated at the Crocker Bank.
Ever endowed with the mystical gift of piercing the heart of any matter instantly if the heart of the matter concerned
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