TANGNEY FAMILY NOTES

by Leonard Tangney

Ca. 1984

In detailing the surnames of American families, The Family Heritage Book, published in 1979, said that the name Tangney graced only some 150 households stretching from California and Oregon on the west to Maryland and Massachusetts on the east—with a gaggle of Tangneys in the wide open spaces between.

Most of the U.S. folks with that auspicious name Tangney are unknown to me, though I do have knowledge and friendship of and for many of them. All must be related somewhere along the line, but time and migration have dimmed the Tangneys’ ability to keep abreast of known relationships.

And so here, in addition to narrating what family history I know, I’ll enumerate those Tangneys I know or know of.

My grandfather, James Tangney (that "James" is the Anglicized from of the Gaelic Seainus," pronounced "Shamus’), was born in Scartaglin, a village near Killarney in County Kerry, Ireland, on April 29, 1843. (He died June 19, 1935, in Falls City, Neb.)

He left Ireland during the potato famine at age 16, in 1859, and went to England, first serving as a timekeeper at London’s Scotland Yard.

In London he met Alice Lennon, and they were married Aug. 1, 1864, in Liverpool. Why Liverpool, I do not know; but Grandpa did learn the harness maker’s trade there.

Grandma Tangney’s father, James Lennon, had been a sea captain and died when his ship sank off the coast of Tasmania in 1850. He was born in 1812. Grandma T. was born July 12, 1848. Her mother, Ellen Redhead, allegedly lost her mind after her husband’s death (she died in 1868), and Grandma was reared by two maiden aunts who were seamstresses for the Queen, Victoria. As such, she knew palace life so she really must have loved Grandpa to leave the luxuries of London,. go to liverpool to marry, and then wait six months before sailing for America to join her husband, who had gone to Chicago, ill., to seek his fortune.

Grandpa was 21 when he married and Grandma was a mere 16. The site was St. Patrick’s Church, Toxtath Park, Liverpool, with a Father Singleton officiating. Their attendants were George Shuttleworth and Anne Shelton.

Grandpa came to America in 1866 and Grandma a year later, she William (Liam) Tangney, now deceased, lived in Sneem. At age 15 he had been a corporal in the Irish Republican Army fighting the British invaders in the early 1920s. His only son had died at an early age. and he gave me, indirectly, his prized battle medals and a citation from the President of Ireland honoring him for his bravery, these to go to my son, Dennis, who has them framed and displayed in a position of honor in the den of his home in San Francisco.

I said "indirectly." I never did get to meet Liam. When I arrived at his home in Sneem, he was out cutting peat, so said a spokesman for his wife, Molly, who spoke no English, only Gaelic. and had called in a Mrs. O’Connell, a neighbor who knew English, to translate for us. We waited an hour for Liam and, insofar as we were on a tight time schedule, could remain no longer.

Within a month I had a letter from him, bemoaning the fact that we had missed connections and promising me the medals on my next trip to Ireland and Sneem. I next was in his village in 1976 and had written him when I’d be there. Unfortunately, when I did arrive I was informed that he had died just six weeks previously. It didn’t seem proper to ask for the medals at that funereal time, but on a visit in 1981, a niece living with old Molly proffered the medals in line with her uncle’s request.

"Tiger Mike" Tangney is an ironmonger (hardware dealer) in Tralee. He also was quite a politician and a county councilman.

James Tangney operates Tangney’s Bar with his sister, Noreen. in Castleisland. His mother is Sheila his father is dead. Jim also has a sister, Mary Aloysius Tangney O’Shea. That Aloysius, the same as my middle name, is correct, though she’s all girl. Seems her mother, as did my mother, named her children for the saint’s day a child is born on. That gal saw daylight on the Feast of St. Aloysius, hence her name. (I received "Leonard" because I was born on his feast day. The same happened for Raymond. Helen’s middle name was Elizabeth and Jimmie’s was Louis, both taking the name of that day’s saint.)

Also in Castleisland are Joseph Tangney, who operates a grocery store in the front of his shop and a mortuary backside, and Sonny Tangney, a draper (clothier). His name is James, too, but there are so many James Tangneys in the vicinity that he took the "Sonny" nickname.

Another William Tangney had lived in Ballymacelligott. but he had passed away just a month before I visited there in 1976.

Patrick Tangney, now retired and living in the Black Valley, east of Killarney, for years operated a jaunting cart stable from downtown Killarney to Muckross Castle, some five miles away and on the shores of the lower lake of the five Lakes of Killarney. The business now is in charge of his six sons, Francis (manager), Kevin, Mike, Robin, Dennis and Thomas. They have a stable of 16 horses and a dozen carts. Four horses get to rest every day, they informed me.

The Tangney lads provide a great travelogue on the glories of Killamey and Ireland, also bursting out into song at the slightest suggestion—songs like "Kevin Barry" and "The Wild Colonial Boy" dedicated to the cause of Irish liberty.

Grandpa Tangney’s Parents were James Tangney and Margaret Horan. I know nothing about them and never heard him mention his folks. But I did find the grave of Grandpa’s grandfather, John, in Kilsarcon Cemetery between Scartaglin and Gortagoppul. ("Kil or "kill" in Gaelic translates to "church" or "chapel." So Kilsarcon develops in English to "the Chapel of St. Arkin, whoever he may be.)

The inscription on the gravestone, finally legible after much scraping of lichen and other moss, read:

Erect by fain, Jerm, John, Mich Tangney of Gorta in mem. of their

father, John Tangney. born July 4, 1775, and dep. life Febr. 29.

1829. Age 54. Mry his soul rest in peace, Amen.

Now that stone has been lying some 155 years! If old John died on Feb. 29, it would have been a leap year, and leap year would have been 1628. Maybe he died an Feb. 28, or did he? Only God and history know for sure.

John’s wife was Julia Fleming. In the village of Scartaglin, with a population of 250 at the most, are three bars, all close together, and each owned by a Tangney relative. Those drink shops are Fleming’s Bar, Lyon’s Bar and O’Connor’s Bar.

On one of my early stays in Killarney (when I still was a drinking man), I stopped in a downtown pub and enquired of the barkeep whether there were any Tangneys, besides me, ever coming into his establishment.

"No," he replied, "but a Tangney cousin, Paddy O’Sullivan, does, and in fact he’ll be here soon.~

And soon he was. After introductions and a pint of Guiness, he informed me that he was employed at the local mental hospital, that he had a wife and that "it would be great if we went over the mountain to Scartaglin tonight."

My reply, naturally, was in the affirmative, and we drove the 10 miles over a narrow mountain road to Scartaglin and enjoyed a delight ful evening with relatives, both Tangney and O’Sullivan.

The head of the Tangney clan I first met in Scartaglin in 1970 was Jeremiah (Jerry) Tangney, who was 86 and bedfast. Jerry had been a teacher in the National (Public) Schools of Ireland for 56 years before retiring at age 74. He could read, write and converse in English, Gaelic and Greek, and could read and write Latin. He also had an extensive library. But the first three words he said to me after being introduced was ‘That bastard Cromwell!

Here was a learned man, an educator, but one who carried a deep-seated hatred for the British, especially Oliver Cromwell, whose armies in 1650 and after had raped and pillaged Ireland, forced the people to change their names, tried unsuccessfully to make them renounce Catholicism and stole both their land and their possessions,

On that trip (1970) I was introduced to poteen (pronounced puck-teen) by Joan Taugney O’Leary. Poteen is the national drink of the Irish farmer, strictly illegal as is our Kentucky moonshine, and equally—if not more—potent. it is distilled from potatoes, barley and white grapes. Joan produced a two-quart fruit jar of that devil’s brew and poured me a drinking-glass full, and one for her husband. He slugged his down in one gulp. I sipped mine, and my hair literally stood on end and I nearly strangled!

The Irish also drink a lot of tea. On another occasion Joan proffered me a cup of ‘tar before lunch.

‘How much milk?’ she asked as she brought out a pitcher of thick cream.

‘None.’ I replied to her disbelief.

She then came forward with a spoon and bowlful of sugar. When I refused the sweetener, she scowled and snorted. ‘You Yanks are barbarians!’

Almost 100 years separate us in America and the Irish in the amenities of life. The Scartaglin kin sport outhouses and draw their water from a well in a nearby pasture. Cities, however, do have water supplies and indoor plumbing. though the ‘necessities’ are much more Spartan than what we possess.

As I reported earlier, most Tangneys are in Kerry, though a few have roamed—like our grandfather and his brothers and sister. There are a few of us in Bantry and Cork, both in County Cork. But Kerry and Cork are next door neighbors. In fact, Scartaglin is just a few miles from the Cork border. A few Tangneys also are in County Limerick, just north of Kerry. Limerick city is Ireland’s third largest, and I imagine many Kerrymen go there seeking work.

I’m not too knowledgeable on Tangney history so far as Richard son County is concerned. I wasn’t yet 7 when we left Rulo for Lincoln.

I am certain that the Falls City Tangneys are far ahead of mein county lore and history.

I do recall Grandma Tangney’s frequent denunciations of America. and then couldn’t figure out why. But now, in knowing that her first-born died and was buried at sea as she neared U.S.. shores, it’s easy to recognize her antipathy. And for a girl who had known palace life in England to migrate to an area inhabited by wild Indians, and to live so close to them, one can see that she had fuel for her national dislike.

She often told me of looking out her kitchen window and seeing several Indians standing out there waiting for a handout of food or clothing.

And here’s an ignoble incident for me. Once, when the grandfolks lived on the corner of 17th and Wilson Streets. we drove to Falls City from Lincoln for a Sunday visit.

The menfolks were a bit apart, sipping cider (and probably a few nips of whiskey), and the women and children were on or near the front porch gabbing, drinking lemonade and fighting—the latter relegated to the kids.

Somehow Grandpa’s prowess as a footracer in Ireland came up. Not to be outdone in Tangney bragging. I informed the assemblage that I, too, was a pretty good runner. I was about 10 and imagine that I had hoped to race a younger relative, say Leo or Lawrence. But Grandpa threw the gauntlet, challenged me ... and I had to race him around the square, four blocks.

In deference to his age, then about 82, I merrily trotted along, giving him a head start; but after about a block and a half, he zoomed on like a zephyr and won in a cakewalk.

Needless to say, no accolades came my way. Instead I was greeted with hoots of derision, even from my mother and father, for losing to the old man. Some speedster me!

Our family had lived on the Tangney farm, but left it for Rulo before I was born. I first saw the light of day in the Rulo house on the bluff just north of the CB&Q tracks. I did visit the farm with my mother in the early 1950s. It still was known as the Tangney farm, and probably is to this day, though no Tangney has lived on it in more than 70 years.

I can’t remember Grandpa’s brother, Mike, too well, though I do recall his having a heavy black mustache. One time I visited him in Falls City with my dad, and Mike took us to a cistern at the back of his house. He slid aside a metal plate over the cistern, pulled up a rope from the cistern’s depths and displayed at rope’s end a brown jug. He pulled out the cob cork, handed the jug to dad and told him to take a swig. Never one to disobey an elder, dad did as told. Mike did likewise both several times.

Among Mike’s children was a son, John, who eventually lived in Longmont, Colo., and died in the 1950s in Denver. Another of Mike’s sons was James, born to Mike’s second wife. That James Tangney and my father, James Tangney, married sisters, my aunt Helena and my mother Anna. So James and Helena’s children are my first cousins on my mother’s side and second cousins on my father’s side.

Only two of those double cousins still are alive. Alois Tangney ranches near Shattuck, Okia., and Tom resided in Woodward, Okia., though I believe he has moved to California recently.

Back to John’s family. One day, soon after I arrived in Denver in February 1935 to work at the Catholic Register. I boarded a streetcar with a friend, en route downtown. Absentmindedly, I neglected to put money in the till and sat down. My friend, Charlie McNeil, yelled, ‘Hey, Tangney! Come back up here and pay your fare!’

‘Yeah,’ the motorman agreed, and then added. ‘Is your name Tangney? Mine is, too.’

I had just met Joe Tangney, John’s eldest son. I later met Joe’s brothers, Marvin, Bernard and Roy, and several sisters, Margaret and Bertha among them. The girls now reside in Guthrie, Okia., where one is a nun. All four brothers now are dead.

Jim Tangney, one of Bernard’s sons, died less than a year ago in a mountain auto accident in Idaho. He was 38 and had been a teacher of Greek and Russian at Aurora (Colo.) High School. Aurora is a Denver suburb.

For the record, I have three daughters and one son—Cathy Howard, a high school teacher in Imperial, Neb.; Sue Erskine, who lives in Northglenn, a Denver suburb; Jeanne Klatka of Federal Heights, also a Denver suburb; and Dennis, an electronics engineer with United Airlines in San Francisco. The three daughters have given my wife, Marcella, and me eight grandchildren.

Who amongst my Tangney (or ex-Tangney) cousins do I have left?

I’d love to hear from some or all of you, especially you girls in. Omaha.

I sincerely hope that this epistle does not sound like a biography of Leonard Tangney. If it does, it’s only because I find it necessary to mention ob’ Leonard to tie in with the historical facts. And I’m certain you Tangney sisters in Omaha have a galaxy of family tales you could pass on to me—some printable and others not. Let me know of them!