Paudie O’Connor - The Most Beautiful Man I Ever Laid Eyes On

Paudie O’Connor & The Lakes of Killarney

Paudie O’Connor was the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on.

When I met him in the kitchen of The Aghadoe Heights Hotel in Killarney back in 1972, he was sitting at a table in a corner, tucked away from the bustle of the rest of the room.  His best friend, whom I’ll call Brian, introduced us. I sensed Brian anticipated a transformative encounter between us, and I was right.

Brian grinned, nodding toward us during his introduction. “Debbie, Paudie … Paudie, Debbie.”

Paudie stood up – all 6’4” of him – and I thought I’d die. He was gorgeous.

Creamy light skin. Ocean-blue eyes. Wavy, sandy brown hair flecked with gold. An Oval face framing handsome, rugged features. A tight, muscular body – just primed to play basketball. Good God Almighty, I was in trouble … and I’d only just met him!

I figured he was a player. Someone that women found irresistible. Someone who had tons of girls hanging all over him. I decided he wasn’t for me, and we would just let the whole night ride out and never see each other again.

But then he reached over and offered me his hand. “Hello, Yank. I’m Paudie O’Connor.” It was hopeless. I hated to admit it, but I was already falling for him.

He had this killer baritone voice. Men would die for a voice like that. Hell, I died just hearing it. So, I was even more determined I wanted no romantic involvement with this man. It would only lead to trouble, and trouble was something I definitely did not need. No sir.

He smiled at me again, and I felt myself being pulled in. Dammit, Debbie. Get it together!

Later, we went to a bar in downtown Killarney, and he told me how much he loved the Carolina Tarheels. How cool he thought Dean Smith, their legendary coach was. I’m a Tarheel myself - he was intrigued by that. I was intrigued that he was intrigued.

Okay. So he had my attention in a big way. This was 1972, and there were few TVs in Ireland. How did an Irishman know that much about the Heels, then?

How, indeed? I would soon learn that if Paudie put his mind to something, he found a way to know everything about it. And that everything was basketball. God, he was impressive.

As we sat in a booth at the bar, I wanted him to touch me in the worst way.

Paudie seemed to know my desire because he ran his finger along my arm. God, I needed that!

He chuckled as he asked me a question. “Where do you live, Deb? You don’t mind if I call you Deb instead of Debbie, do you?”

Did I MIND? He could call me Pocahontas if he wanted to, and I’d love it!

I was hooked. So very hooked. Just wait until I tell you more.

Stay Tuned for the rest of this post next week …

Ireland Is the Greenest of Greens

Green Ireland including sheep, trees, grass, stone walls

Marygray and Me - And The Challenges We Faced In Ireland The Summer of 1972

A few of you have been curious about what it was really like when Marygray Proffitt and I were in Ireland back in 1972. These photos give you a glimpse of what we were dealing with during our time there - this was just 5 months after Bloody Sunday happened.

Let me tell you, being in Northern Ireland during that period was genuinely scary.

Ireland is absolutely beautiful, but the situation up North was anything but peaceful. It was dangerous most of the time, and we had to be really careful about where we went and what we did.

We were so grateful that we’d started our work down in The Republic of Ireland first - it gave us a chance to get our bearings before facing the more intense situation in the North.

I’ve got more stories and photos to share, so keep an eye out for my next post!

Bloody Sunday Ireland January 30, 1972, “We Fired Only At Attacking Gunmen & Bombers”

Photo of Protests Following Bloody Sunday in Ireland 1972

Paudie O’Connor: The Basketball Star I Loved

Paudie O’Connor, the charismatic Irishman I fell in love with back in 1972, was already a basketball success in Killarney when I met him.

Paud, as he liked me to call him, fell in love with basketball when he was young. He began practicing his basketball skills along with his brothers at an early age. When we first met, he explained to me how he taught himself to shoot at the net.

There was a single timber telegraph pole near his home where the O'Connor boys created their own basketball court, with Paudie climbing onto his brothers' shoulders to attach a chickenwire hoop to the pole. How I would’ve loved to have seen that!

Paudie developed his extraordinary shooting and scoring abilities on this makeshift court that served as his training ground. The proper basketball court in the neighboring parish hall became his second home.

When Paud came to visit me in the States in the summer of 1973, he had just returned from Dean Smith’s Carolina Basketball Camp in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where he had learned new skills from the famous university coach he so admired. He was eager to return to Killarney and share everything he learned with his teammates.

"Deb, we'll be unstoppable," he said in his sexy Irish accent. "You have no idea how much more advanced de Americans are when it comes to basketball."

As for his physical appeal, I’ll tell you the truth: Paudie was HOT. He was tall - 6'‘4” - with an athlete’s taut, muscular body and the most gorgeous face on the planet. And oh, those soulful blue eyes!

Wherever we went, I was conscious of how lucky I was to be his girlfriend. Every woman we encountered envied me, and I knew it.

When Paud and I were together, despite his attractiveness to others, he remained completely devoted to me. He made me feel like I was the only woman in the room. He consistently complimented my appearance, intelligence, and company. No other man has ever made me feel so valued and cherished.

I was also amazed by the person Paudie truly was—never boastful, always sweet-natured and kind. He was just one of the guys with men and desired by women, and made it his personal goal to remain friends with everyone he met.

His tender heart and devoted pursuit of me - the “Yank” - made Paud the ideal boyfriend for someone like me, who had been firmly convinced I wanted nothing to do with romance before meeting him.

Paudie O'Connor had a profound, positive impact on my life.

He taught me to love freely and without restraints, to believe in myself, and to follow my dreams without hesitation. I will always love him.

There is so much more to our love story. You’ll find out more eventually, I promise.

Be sure to check back here for updates, and sign up for my newsletter to stay current on publishing news.

To learn more about the remarkable Paudie O’Connor (and view a few photos of him), follow this link: https://ibb-history.blogspot.com/p/paudie-oconnor-killarney.html

AUTHOR: Deb Trotter

Learn De Irish Lingo With Me: #1

Donkey Photo via pexels-pixabay-208821.jpg

When Marygray Proffitt and I worked in Killarney, Ireland back in 1972, we had to learn the Lingo - or, as some would say,

Learn the Irish Slang.

As they say in Ireland, “Tisn’t easy.”

The Irish have so man unbelievable expressions, and if you’re to be in Ireland more than a few days (as you SHOULD be!) it would behoove you to learn some of these.

Here are a few of my personal faves:

“Go way outta dat!” (we don’t believe you)

“You’re full of shite!” (we REALLY don’t believe you, and it makes us mad – imagine if they dropped the “e” from the word and you’ll understand!)

One that Marygray and I laughed at most:

“I’m just after the movies.” (I just returned from, or I just got back from)

“Feck or Fecking” (replaces the true “F” word, which the Irish say a lot.) They use this when they try to be less offensive. When we were in Ireland, the true “F” word wasn’t even considered offensive - but it was not at all commonplace in the States like it is now. 

“Chancer” as in, “he’s a real chancer.” (a trickster, a risk taker, someone ready to do anything to get what they want). I’ve been a chancer most of my life and had never heard of that term.

I’m “up to ninety” (very busy!), but twill share more later!

Rick Steves Is Wrong About Killarney

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I don’t care what Rick Steves says about Killarney.

To quote him directly: “Killarney (Ireland): This is a place where most tourists wear nametags — a traffic jam of tour buses. If you have the misfortune to spend the night in Killarney, you'll understand what I mean. The town is a sprawling line of green Holiday Inns and outlet malls littered with pushy shoppers looking for plastic shamrocks.”

Rick, I don’t know what side of the bed you got up on when you wrote that, but you obviously don’t know your shamrock from a bowl of shite. Get up and see the real Killarney. Take some time to know the people. Have a Guiness or four. And believe in the fairies!

And I promise you, you will fall in love with the place just like I did over 53 years ago.

Killarney and Ireland forever!

***

• by Edmund O'Rourke

• By Killarney's lakes and fells,
  Em'rald isles and winding bays,
  Mountain paths, and woodland dells
  Memory ever fondly strays;
  Bounteous nature loves all lands;
  Beauty wanders everywhere
  Footprints leaves on many strands,
  But her home is surely there.
  Angels fold their wings and rest
  In that Eden of the west,
  Beauty's home, Killarney,
  Ever fair--Killarney.

Ireland Is My Danny Boy

Joe Feeney sings “Danny Boy”

I grew up loving Ireland.

My fraternal grandmother, whom we called MawMaw, instilled that love in me with her constant longing to see the legendary country of fairies and leprechauns. Someone had told her that Ireland’s landscapes were similar to North Carolina’s, where we lived. She was certain that if I visited that beautiful country I would immediately fall in love with Ireland, find my purpose, and meet my one true love. I believed everything she said.

All of it came true.

Every Sunday night, sitting on MawMaw’s threadbare couch, the two of us would watch The Lawrence Welk Show, hoping that Irish tenor, Joe Feeney, would be one of the show's featured singers.

What we really hoped was that he would sing “Danny Boy,” as he does here.

When he did, we would hold hands, tears streaming down our faces, and believe that that song perfectly portrayed the hearts and souls of the Irish.

MawMaw believed Ireland was Danny Boy. That it was a valley of “summer on the meadow,” that it was sometimes “hushed and white with snow.” And she trusted that true love would prevail, no matter what happened.

It wasn’t just MawMaw who inspired me to travel to Ireland in search of Danny Boy - it was also my best friend, Marygray. After graduating from Maryville College in Maryville, Tennessee, the two of us were determined to have a life-changing adventure. We imagined ourselve mature young women ready to take on the world, and since Ireland had no language barrier (other than a thick Irish brogue in the southwest of the Republic), we decided working there might be the perfect answer to our dream.

Her grandmother had taken her on a world tour after high school graduation, but Marygray had never been to Ireland and had a firm desire to go, The two of us shared that appetite to travel to Ireland, and so it became our destination. When we discovered an ad on the college bulletin board seeking Americans to work in an Irish Castle, we thought we had died and gone to heaven. We applied to work at Ballyseede Castle in Tralee and were accepted.

Once we arrived in the Emerald Isle, it didn’t take long for us to learn the truth … Ireland was not the answer to our prayers. At least not with the English proprietors who’d hired us. In the end, they fired us and we were forced to thumb our way across the country in search of new jobs. It wasn’t easy.

We grew to love it anyway. - grew to love Danny Boy country.

The song “Danny Boy” encompasses everything about my search for purpose and for my one true love while I was in Ireland.

That is why I named my memoir “Searching For Danny Boy.”

I still recall the first stanza to “Danny Boy” that Feeney sang:

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen and down the mountain side

The summer's gone and all the roses falling

Tis you, Tis you, must go and I must bide

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow

Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow

Oh, Danny boy, oh, Danny boy, I love you so

 Oh, Ireland, you are Danny Boy - the country where I discovered myself.

Oh, Marygray - the friend who discovered Danny Boy with me.

Oh, Paudie O’Connor - my “Danny Boy,” the man I fell in love with the moment I met him.

I love all of you so.

Running From Ballyseede Castle

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© Josh Kroese

| Dreamstime.com

I’ll never forget that dark red door to Ballyseede Castle, or the stone lions that guarded it.

When my best friend, Marygray Proffitt and I showed up to work there in May of 1972, it was raining so hard we could barely make out its shape, much less its color.

It was miserably cold, wet, and dank when we arrived that afternoon. We’d traveled day and night on a plane from Knoxville to New York City and then on to Shannon Airport. We’d hoped once we got there that we’d have a chance to shower and rest before our employers put us to work.

It was not to be.

Ballyseede’s English proprietors, the Devlins (a pseudonym), made it perfectly clear that our wet hair and damp clothing were “not suitable.” When I dropped my heavy Samsonite on the tiled floor, I was reprimanded for being disrespectful, or as Mrs. Devlin had put it, I was a typical “spoiled rich American” who showed no respect for the property of others. (Me rich? Nothing could be further from the truth. I had barely been able to afford my airline ticket to Ireland.)

So, as “spoiled American girls,” Marygray and I were not afforded the opportunity to rest, but were to report to work in less than two hours so that we could begin to learn the Silver Service method of etiquetteone.

Just before our work shift, we were dispatched to our rooms in the dungeon, (you heard that right - the dungeon) where the “filthy” Irish employees lived.

We became skilled at Silver Service, but our short skirts and friendly smiles we shared with customers were too much for the Devlins, who turned us out into the rain in less than 3 weeks (without paying us, I might add.)

In the end, we found ourselves thumbing in the lashing rain, hoping to find new jobs.

We were broke and discouraged, but our adventure had just begun. We wound up running as fast as we could from Ballyseede Castle.

I’m not free to share more about our experience there. You’ll have to wait for my book, Searching For Danny Boy to come out. You won’t believe what we went through there.

Today, the modern Ballyseede Castle in Tralee, Ireland, is under new ownership, and has become a well known Irish Castle, reknowned hotel and cherished wedding venue. I would love to visit one day,( under different circumstances, of course.)

For wonderful photos and more information about staying at historic Ballyseede Castle, go here.

Ireland Taught Me To Love Myself

Ireland was the perfect teacher. She taught me how to love myself - to be proud of myself.

I began my adventure there as a recent college graduate along with my best friend, Marygray, in the summer of 1972.

We started out green in a lush green land - so eager to please, yet so naive.

Our British employer at Ballyseede Castle in Tralee, Mrs. Devlin, was not impressed. Not with our American short skirts, our friendly American attitudes, nor our self-preserving laughter when times got tough. She grew tired of our determination to stay, called us "not suitable," and fired us after only three weeks.

It took us the rest of the summer to become "expedient" as silver service waitresses (a simple bow will do, a big smile won't), but we persevered and found better jobs at the Aghadoe Hotel in Killarney. It was under the professional tutelage of Dennis, the German Maitre'd there, that we came into our own as valued employees and gained the courage to follow our dreams.

By the time our Visas expired (sadly), we'd become Ireland-savvy, self-confident, and proud. Thanks to Mother Ireland and all she taught me, I finally loved myself for who I was.

Gimme Some Craic!

(Image by Pexels Rdne Stock Project)

Have you ever heard the word “craic” and wondered what it means? Well, get ready to dive into the wonderful world of Irish culture and discover the true essence of craic! 

Brief Introduction to the Term Craic …

Craic, pronounced as “crack,” is an Irish word that is deeply ingrained in the country’s culture and social life. It is often used to describe a vibrant and enjoyable atmosphere, filled with laughter, conversation, and good times.

When I worked in Ireland the summer of 1972, I had never heard the word “Craic” used before.

And when my co-workers at Ballyseede Castle heard Marygray and I laughing, they knocked on our door and yelled, “Any craic?”

We had no clue what they meant. We figured it must’ve been some kind of Irish slang and that they were teasing but we weren’t sure how to respond.

So, we didn’t reply. Marygray and I ignored them and hoped that the girls would explain “craic” when they got a chance to know us.

Eventually, they told us that it was a favorite Irish term for” fun.” After all, the Irish are a fun people.

“When we asked ye if dere was any craic, we were wantin’ to know what kind of fun ye were havin’,” they said. “Ye were laughin’ inside your room, ye know!”

Explanation of the Usage of Craic in Irish Culture … 

In Irish culture, craic is not just a word; it is a way of life. It represents the warm and welcoming nature of the Irish people, as well as their love for socializing and enjoying the company of others. Whether it’s in a pub, a family gathering, or a community event, the concept of craic is at the heart of Irish social interactions. 

Significance of Craic in Today’s Irish Society … 

In today’s Irish society, craic continues to hold immense significance. It serves as a unifying force, bringing people together and fostering a sense of community. Whether it’s a casual pub gathering, a music festival, or a celebration, craic is the glue that binds the Irish people and keeps their spirits high. 

Conclusion Reflecting on the Importance of Craic … 

In conclusion, craic is more than just a word; it represents the lively spirit and rich cultural heritage of Ireland. It is a testament to the Irish people’s love for good company, laughter, and shared experiences. So, the next time you hear someone mention craic, embrace the opportunity to immerse yourself in the vibrant and joyful world of Irish culture. 

So, come on and give me some CRAIC!

I LOVE GUINNESS!

THE WHOLE WORLD LOVES GUINNESS

IT'S THE #1 BEER IN AMERICA!

Guinness Beer is popular in America, with many enjoying this dark Irish stout.

My first experience with Guinness was at a pub in Killarney, where my Irish boyfriend, Paudie O’Connor, encouraged me to try it. Even though Paud didn’t drink, he appreciated Guinness’s popularity in his native country.

“Just give it a chance, Deb,” Paudie said. “You can’t go back to the States and say you never even tried a taste of de Black.” (That’s what they call Guinness in Ireland - the Black Stuff, even though it’s actually reddish-brown if you hold a glass of Guinness up to the light.) Once I adjusted to its warmer serving temperature, I appreciated its velvety texture and roasted flavors.

I was surprised that I had to wait a while to taste my first glass of Guinness. It’s a good thing I did. Otherwise, I’d have missed out on the perfect pint.

A perfect pint of Draught Guinness requires exactly 119.53 seconds to pour, with a necessary pause during the process. When pouring, the glass should be held at a 45-degree angle, ensuring the liquid first contacts the side of the glass with the harp logo.

I grew to love a good glass of the Black Stuff.

I always thought Guinness could easily put on pounds, but Guinness isn't a "heavy" calorie-laden drink. A pint contains only about 200 calories—less than many lagers and even less than a pint of orange juice (220 calories). That’s a good thing to know if you visit Ireland and are trying to watch your weight.

Founded in 1759 by Arthur Guinness in Dublin, it's now brewed worldwide, including in the US.

In my opinion, American-made Guinness lacks the distinctive quality of Irish-brewed Guinness, which has a superior taste without the aftertaste found in the American version. Sorry to say, but it’s true.

What's your experience with Guinness? Have you enjoyed it on St. Patrick's Day or have a favorite memory with this iconic beer?

Have you ever tasted it in Ireland?

Do let me know in the comments!

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