Preserving Irish Traditional Music in Chicago: Francis O'Neill

Chief O'Neill's Tin Whistle

As a young boy, Francis O’Neill’s world was deeply immersed in music. His grandparents, Dónal and Mary O’Mahony, hosted musical evenings in their West Cork home where he heard visiting players and singers and watched dancers of note entertain the gathering. His mother’s singing and lilting (singing tunes on neutral syllables, akin to scat singing) were among his earliest memories, as was the singing of his father (in both Irish and English), and of his sisters.[1] Early lessons on the flute by local “gentleman farmer”[2] Timothy Downing later led O’Neill to playing the Scottish Lowland and Irish uilleann pipes, flute, and his favored instrument in later life, the tin whistle.[3] Like his parents, he was a fine singer, and by all accounts an equally accomplished whistler, as folklorist and musician Alfred Percival Graves noted when he met O’Neill on a journey from Dublin to Wales in 1906: “We forgathered and talked Irish folk songs ad lib., and he whistled to me beautifully...”[4]

When O’Neill left Tralibane in 1865, he packed his flute but was soon forced to sell it and other possessions in order to survive until he became an apprentice sailor.[5] While aboard the rescue ship Zoe in the central Pacific Ocean three years later, a Hawaiian crew member entertained the sailors each evening by playing the one tune in his repertoire on his flute. When O’Neill took up the instrument to play one evening, he so impressed the flute’s owner, who befriended the young Irishman and shared with him his rationed food. This gesture ensured O’Neill’s good health and, according to him, “profoundly influenced my future, for while others were left behind, I was on my way to San Francisco, California, and a new life.”[6]

Before O’Neill moved to Chicago in 1871, his path had crossed with other Irish musicians when he worked as a teacher in Edina, Missouri and during the winter of 1870 when he sailed on the Great Lakes. Once he and his wife, Anna, settled in the city, he quickly realized the wealth of music that surrounded him. Chicago was home to some 40,000 Irish immigrants who made up 14 percent of the city’s population at the time. Some were determined to leave any memory of a destitute Ireland behind, and they favored the popular styles of American music; but many longed to stay connected to their heritage through the airs and dances of their famine-stricken homeland.[7]

Players in this large music community came from the four provinces of Ireland: Munster in the south, Leinster in the east, Connaught in the west, and Ulster in the north. They had now relocated to America’s second largest and fastest-growing city, and with them came an abundance of tunes, some familiar, but many new and fresh to O’Neill. Likewise, the many tunes he brought with him from West Cork were not all familiar to his new neighbors. Motivated by the desire to ensure the tunes of his youth were not forgotten, O’Neill set about gathering melodies, at first “to preserve specially this heritage from both father and mother, for the benefit of their descendants at least…”[8]  But what began as a modest manuscript collection of the tunes O’Neill recalled from childhood gradually turned into a mammoth task and a lifelong passion, resulting in six publications of collected tunes with some further editions. 

As O’Neill’s collection grew, so did the need for help with notating the music. James O’Neill (no relation), an able fiddler from County Down, was introduced to Francis by a musical acquaintance in 1894. Francis was struck by James’s ability to accurately notate the singing, playing, lilting, and humming of the musicians they encountered and invited him to collaborate on his project which, by this time, was in its second decade. A wonderful bonus was the great number of tunes James had inherited from his father, who was also an avid collector and was graciously willing to contribute to O’Neill’s collection.[9]

Wax Cylinder Recording of Patsy Touhey Playing The Ladies' Pantalettes

When musicians became aware of O’Neill’s work, some were reluctant to contribute; but knowing he was an Irish-born practicing traditional musician, he came to be respected and trusted. He became the recipient of personal manuscript collections and previous publications from interested parties who wanted to contribute. Many tunes were also notated at “sessions” or traditional music gatherings in homes, saloons, fairs, or other public events. For many years, Francis and his wife, Anna, hosted musical gatherings in their Hyde Park home, as did James O’Neill at his home in Brighton Park, and Sergeant Jim Kerwin, who held a monthly gathering “at his magnificent private residence on Wabash Avenue.”[10] When willing contributors could not attend sessions or visit, Francis and James traveled to hear the music they wished to contribute. 

But these were not the only valuable opportunities for collecting. Indeed, in his early years as a police officer, O’Neill memorized tunes he heard while patrolling the city neighborhoods, traveling on streetcars, or waiting at station houses. One such tune, “The Ladies’ Pantalettes,” he heard wafting from Finucane’s Hall while on duty as desk sergeant in the Deering Street station and, as his mother had done before him, committed it to memory with ease.[11]

People familiar with O’Neill’s work would often introduce him to musical newcomers to Chicago. The arrival of piper Bernard (Barney) Delaney (see The Contributors) was made known to O’Neill by Sergeant James Cahill. On hearing Delaney play at a Chicago saloon, Francis says, “Within we found Bernard Delaney, a comparatively young man, rolling out the grandest jigs, reels, and hornpipes I ever heard…”[12]

Many other key contributors were fellow police officers. While O’Neill was never said to have ignored his duties for his musical endeavors, the number of musicians in the Chicago Police Department during O’Neill’s time on the force was significant, and many whom he enlisted became contributors to his collections. One such colleague was John Ennis, a flute and pipes player from County Kildare whose repertoire of tunes O’Neill referred to as “choice and tasty.”[13] Although Ennis generously shared many of them, O’Neill suspected there were other pet or favorite tunes that he kept quietly to himself!

Other officer musicians, such as piper Sergeant James Early and his musical partner, fiddler John McFadden (see The Contributors), offered many new gems from their repertoire. Sgt. Early was another benevolent host, and his home was a welcome setting for established musicians and newcomers alike. 

Irish Music Club of Chicago

Sample Page from Bunting's Ancient Irish Music, Francis O'Neill Collection, Hesburgh Library, University of Notre Dame

O’Neill was especially interested in tunes that had gone unrecorded by previous collectors. His writings reveal the excitement over such finds and how meaningful to him these untapped treasures were: “From various sources we were favored with manuscript collections of Irish music, but in those much winnowing of chaff was necessary in order to find a few grains of wheat.”[14] His research on previous publications was undoubtedly thorough; his writings reference dozens of collections either in his possession or familiar to him. Many of these publications contain Irish folk tunes alongside those of other nations; most were from the eighteenth, nineteenth, and early twentieth centuries, and one he references, John Playford’s The English Dancing Master, dates back to 1651.[15] Among those in his Hibernicana collection (now at the University of Notre Dame) are the earliest publications dedicated solely to Irish folk music by Edward Bunting,[16] Georges Petrie,[17] and Patrick Weston Joyce.[18] He took great delight when unearthing a tune or variant of one that he believed to be superior to previously published versions. In reference to “Banish Misfortune,” a jig contributed by Edward Cronin, a Tipperary-born fiddler, O’Neill boasts that it is a “version in three strains, which is much superior to the two-strain setting in the Petrie Collection.”[19]

The Irish Music Club of Chicago, established in 1901, hosted monthly gatherings for many of the city’s prominent Irish musicians to play together. In addition to the aforementioned James O’Neill, Bernard Delaney, James Kerwin, John Ennis, John McFadden, James Early, and Francis himself, other eminent players in the club included Edward Cronin, Rogers O’Neill (Francis’s son), Rev. James Fielding, and James Cahill. Many of them also donated tunes for publication in O’Neill collections and provided expertise to help select and identify the collected melodies. One of the challenges they faced was establishing original names for tunes known by a variety of titles, or none at all. Another issue they encountered was variants of tunes with the same name; in those cases, more than one version of a melody was printed when warranted. 

Sample Page from Music of Ireland, 1001 Gems

These efforts by O’Neill and his contributors resulted in O’Neill’s Music of Ireland, Eighteen Hundred and Fifty Melodies,[20] a compilation of existing and newly composed tunes.[21] It was an elaborate publication printed by Lyon & Healy of Chicago, lavishly embellished with Celtic symbols, embossed borders, gold-ink lettering and illustrations, and old Gaelic font bearing the Irish titles of each tune alongside their English translations. The collection is indexed according to the types of tunes: 625 song melodies or instrumental airs; seventy-fine tunes by Turlough O’Carolan (1670-1738; Irish harper and composer); fifty-five miscellaneous marches and melodies, and 1,100 dance tunes. One principal difference between O’Neill’s publications and those by other editors that preceded O’Neill’s Music of Ireland was the affinity he showed for these dance tunes. This 1903 collection was very well received and was deemed to be the most substantial and authentic publication of Irish melodies yet; but its size, magnificent presentation, and resultant cost were prohibitive to its being purchased by many people. O’Neill set about compiling a second collection and, in 1907, The Dance Music of Ireland, 1001 Gems[22] was published containing some dance melodies from the 1903 collection alongside many more newly-contributed tunes and variants of tunes. (See The Dances)

The dances included are double jigs, single jigs, slip or hop jigs, reels, hornpipes, and long dances. Due to the compact nature of the tunes, O’Neill stacked them high on each page, perhaps inspired by the emerging architecture of Chicago at the time.[23]

Edison Phonograph used by Francis O'Neill to record cylinders from his collection

Always concerned for the future of Ireland’s traditional music, O’Neill encouraged men and women alike to participate, and, although they were not featured in a 1901 photograph of Irish Music Club of Chicago, he referred to female members of the club in his writings.[24] O’Neill attributed some of his earliest musical memories to the singing, humming, and lilting of his mother and his sisters[25] and described the playing of Nellie Gillan (piano) as being “in a class of itself”[26] and fiddler Ellen Kennedy’s rendition of “Rocking a Baby That’s None of My Own” as being “very expert in the execution of this difficult performance.”[27] Another violin and piano player whose musical facility impressed O’Neill was Selena O’Neill (no relative), a young Chicagoan who played both classical and Irish folk music with equal finesse. (See The Music and The Contributors)

As new technology emerged at the turn of the twentieth century, contributors began to send tunes to O’Neill recorded on Edison machines. With keen interest in these advancements, O’Neill purchased his own machine in 1902 and made recordings of fellow players Bernard Delaney, Edward Cronin, John McFadden, Patsy Touhey, and James Early between 1904-1914.[28] Thirty-two cylinders containing these recordings, together with O’Neill’s Edison machine, are housed in Milwaukee as part of The Dunn Family Collection at the Ward Irish Music Archives. Following the tragic death of Francis’s and Anna’s only living son, Rogers, in 1904, no music was ever played again at the family home in Hyde Park. O’Neill’s biographer, Nicholas Carolan, notes that in a letter to William Halpin, The Chief shares that he had given his Edison machine and recordings to a friend for safekeeping. It is now understood that friend was James Early. When he died in 1935, Early’s musical possessions were passed on to his close friend, Milwaukee’s fire captain, Michael J. Dunn, and some eighty years later in 2002, the machine along with thirty-two cylinders in pristine condition were located in the Dunn family home. 

“Music Mad” is the title of the 1990 exhibition of O’Neill’s collection of Irish Music at the University of Notre Dame, and a reference he made to himself in a letter to Rev. Séamus O’Floinn.[29] Were it not for his deep passion, his investment of time and money, his entrepreneurial spirit, the thriving city environment in which he lived, and his vision for the preservation of the music of his homeland, it is hard to imagine if Irish traditional music would have survived, let alone thrive in the manner in which it does today. What is certain is the central role of the city of Chicago as the vehicle for this mammoth project that spanned almost forty years of O’Neill’s life. It was this city that brought a “galaxy of Irish musicians”[30] together at the turn of the twentieth century, a myriad of tunes from many towns and counties of Ireland now located in one place, and continues to this day to be a key resource for the expert and the amateur musician alike to whom The Chief dedicated his work: “To the multitude of nonprofessional musicians of the Gaelic and English speaking races all over the world, who enjoy and cherish the Melodies of Ireland, this work is respectfully dedicated.”[31]