FISH ON FRIDAY….MUSINGS ABOUT CATHOLIC INFLUENCE IN NORTH AMERICA

Today’s Special: Irish Fish Pie

In Memory of a fine Irish Dame who got me thrown into jail for 68 days …

Last September, just before the Morrison campaign began carpet bombing me, I traveled to Wichita to attend the funeral of a dear old friend who had a tremendous impact on my life.

Anne Elizabeth Horan was her name, and she died at the ripe old age of 98.

In a strange way, Elizabeth helped me find my beautiful wife Anne, helped me find my way to the Catholic Church, and helped me make a friend (better make that acquaintance) in high places….Federal Judge Patrick Kelly.

But I get ahead of myself.

My friend Elizabeth was born in County Roscommon, Galway in 1908, and emigrated to California in 1925. After a few years she returned to the United Kingdom to visit sisters living in London. Unfamiliar with the ways of the world as to immigration at that time, Elizabeth had not taken the time to get a re-entry permit. When she tried to return to the good ole USA she was told that they had their quota of Irish. She had to stay across the pond.

In 1932, Liz married an Englishman. He took a job in the Scottish Home Office to get his young family away from London. Ten years later, TB took him to the Halls of Valhalla or someplace like it. The year was 1942.

Elizabeth had no husband and three young daughters. She moved in with her sisters – back to London.

You history buffs will recognize London circa 1942 as a rough town. Lots of nasty Nazis dropping bombs and such. Elizabeth once described an event in which she was hunkered down in a London bomb shelter holding all three daughters as Hitler bombed the city. She was able to spit out “Hitler” with great hate. She described great destruction in her neighborhood due to the Luftwaffe.

I really respected Liz for her zeal for life and interesting life history. Both came through loud and clear when she spoke of World War II. Her blue eyes lit up against the backdrop of her shocking white hair. She reminded me of my own grandma Nell Shockley, whom I knew only from a picture that my own mom kept on the wall of dead relatives.

Elizabeth ended up returning to America in 1958. She married her former employer from California, who had lost his wife over the same span of years. Unfortunately their marital bliss was short lived. This second husband died less than a year after they married.

Thirty years later Elizabeth moved in with her daughter Ann Stewart of Wichita. Ann was a secretary at the Wichita Eagle. She was raised in London and thus sported a fine English accent. Elizabeth’s accent was Irish, and it was enjoyable to listen to the two of them dialogue, taking in the subtle differences in cadence and pronunciation. Ann was, like her mother, quite outspoken. Enough to get her fired from the Eagle due, she yet believes, to giving voice to her pro-life opinions. (Dog bites man story there.)

I will now quote from Ann’s touching eulogy of her loving mother, Elizabeth:

During the pro-life activities and at the age of 83, Mom was arrested, handcuffed, and put in a police car. A pro-life leader ran alongside the police car as it was pulling away trying to tell the officers that Elizabeth had a pacemaker. He was then arrested because the police said he ran in front of the police car, which was not the case and spent several months in jail for that.

While in the police car on her way to jail Elizabeth told the police officers that they should be ashamed of themselves to which one replied “you’re going in the holding tank.” She did not know what that was and she was a little scared. It turned out to be a room entirely of cement that had a cement seat all around the room.

When Elizabeth appeared before the judge she was given a fine. She informed the judge that he could put her in jail because she would not pay one cent toward the killing of the unborn. She appealed the charge and asked for a trial by jury. This took almost a year. Finally, the jury of six found her not guilty because pro-life people had taken a video of the entire event. It showed the police never showed her a piece of paper stating that pro-lifers were not allowed on the property owned by a plastic surgeon that was adjacent to the Central abortion clinic.

The pro-life leader who attempted to intercede for Mom came to visit her at my home years later, telling her that during the time he spent in jail he was reading about the Catholic faith, and eventually became a Catholic.

When Elizabeth was arrested it was promptly put in the Wichita Eagle. When she was found “not guilty” there was nothing in the paper.

On Saturday mornings Elizabeth went with Ann to Tiller’s abortion clinic where you would find Elizabeth seated on a chair holding a pro-life sign next to the gate. The pro-choice people would chide and insult her. One used to say ‘why don’t you just go home and die.”

Now, my friend Ann did not, while eulogizing her “Mum,” actually say “pro-life leader.”

She used my name.

The above accounts for my only actual conviction of “guilt” as a pro-life activist.

More on that will be served as leftovers, so stay tuned. There is much more to this story.

It is enough tonight for us all to say a prayer for Elizabeth Ann Horan, a great Irish dame, a courageous woman of substance and faith who stood up to both Adolf Hitler and George Tiller.

We should all be so strong and alive!