Connemara and the (not so) Quiet Man

One week ago today we got up early and headed out for a drive around the Connemara region. Much of it is bogland, which is described as "barren," "erie," or even "Mars-like." I'll let you judge for yourself:



Although not the bogland part, Connemara is also the setting of the 1952 Best Picture with John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara, The Quiet Man. I haven't seen the film (here pronounced fillum), but the story is about an American boxer who, after having accidentally killed an opponent in the ring, returns to his mom's Irish village for some peace and - that's right - quiet.

Our ride though, was anything but. Accompanying me on Operation Beachhead were my eccentric uncle, and my best friend. It was my mistake, I suppose, to try and tell a couple of cute stories in front of my uncle. I know how he likes a good line, so I shared two.

First was the time a young defense attorney I know was learning the ropes at her first job out of law school. She was assisting a senior attorney, who was, and is, very overweight (don't worry, it becomes relevant). Their client had done some pretty atrocious things. Without getting too graphic, he raped and beat an elderly woman, essentially leaving her for dead. Bad stuff. Miraculously, she survived and even attended the trial. Anyway, he gets convicted and gets a pretty big sentence. Decades. Now apparently this guy, throughout his interaction with his lawyer, had been proactively involved in his defense almost to the point of hyperactivity. I suppose, having prior convictions he knew this one would be the hammer. So after the sentence, he excitedly turns to his attorney and says:

"Mr. Big, what happens now? I mean, we get an appeal together, or make a motion now? Do we meet and think it over first? Tomorrow? What's our next step? What happens now?"

The attorney clicked his briefcase closed, and maneuvering his belly out from behind the table, said "well, right now, I'm going to lunch, and you're going to jail."

The other one, which I stole from Blonde Justice, was about a drug addict who had been convicted of possession many times, but never dealing. Why not? Because, the guy says, "a monkey can't sell bananas."

Well, these stories seemed good at the time, but they unleashed a torrent of stories from my uncle that could keep me writing for the next 10 years. He was the psychologist at the state prison for 20 years, plus he now sees clients with OCD or PTSD from Vietnam, plus by his own admission he "hangs with a bar room crowd." He's even run into guys at bars who used to be in prison for murder. And they remember the old times like they were co-workers. Like I said, he's eccentric.

What's that? You want a story from him? Ok, just one as I'm saving the rest for some sort of book. This one guy, who never put in a card to see the shrink the entire time he's been at the prison, and he's been in and out most of his adult life, suddenly wants to talk. So they talk around for quite a while, and Uncle can see the guy's agitated. Come to find out the guy's son is now serving time, at the same prison. You'd think this would settle the guy down rather than amp him up, but the son's more distant now than he's ever been. Finally the guy turns to my Uncle and says, "you know, doc, it's real hard raising your son in prison."

I will say that 95% of his stories were great, but at the same time they were just non-stop. But I'm sure it's the kind of memory that I'll treasure. In fact, I already do.

Near the end of the ride I also snapped this prize winner of Kylemore Abbey:



Alright, yesterday was my big day with three classes. I think I'll enjoy EC Law, probably because it will be challenging. I had Entertainment Law and Irish Constitutional Law II as well, and those seem to be getting off to a slow start. Although I do remember from Orientation that the Irish style differs from American in that they expect to accelerate through the semester as opposed to the American "hit the ground running" style. So we'll see.