Immigrant Story

This is a “Sunday Story” – about my family.

Great Grandfathers

I am the child of immigrants.

My great-grandfather, Isaac Dahlman, emigrated from war and conquest.  He left Riedseltz, Alsace, a town caught in war between France and Germany, in 1867.  He joined a large community of Jewish folk in Cincinnati, and soon married, a woman also from Alsace, Clara Dreyfoos.  They had six children, the youngest named Benjamin, born in 1880;  my grandfather.  He wasn’t just the youngest, he was the toughest.  Ben was the sub-fly weight (under 100 pounds) boxing champion of Cincinnati in 1899.  He married my grandmother Gertrude in 1913.  They had two kids, the second towards the end of World War I in 1918.  His name was Donald Dahlman;  that’s my Dad.

And my great-grandfather Michael O’Connor was born in Ballylongford, Ireland.  He emigrated to London, England, where he married Jane Wolfe.  They had one child, William, my grandfather born in 1882.  William served in the British Army during the Boer War (in South Africa), then came home to make barrels and marry Edith Curtis, of Scottish descent.  They had also had six kids, raised in the Roman Catholic Church.  They named the  youngest Phyllis Mary Teresa O’Connor, also born in 1918.  As the youngest, she was the “baby”, called “Babs”. That’s my Mom.   

World War

It took a World War to bring my parents together.  Mom was serving in the British Special Operations Executive during World War II, essentially a “spy” who was dropped into enemy held territory.  Dad went to England with the more than two million Americans sent to stop the Nazis.  While Dad was in the finance office, he originally trained in Army Intelligence, and still had friends there.  So when he was going to London and looking for a date, his friends “hooked him up” with Babs.

It was a classic war and love story.  They met on their blind date at a restaurant called the Queen’s Brasserie.  Mom was there first, scouting out the room, and checking out the Americans as they came in the door.  Dad arrived, and, Mom was thinking, “Who is that small, interesting looking man with the dark hair”.  They had dinner, and talked, and talked, and talked.  They walked the streets of blacked-out London, and fell in love literally as the bombs fell.  From that moment in 1943, they were “Babs and Don”, until death did they part in 2011.

Babs and Don returned to the US after the war, Mom a “war bride”.   They settled in Cincinnati, and had three kids.  There youngest was born in 1956, Martin O’Connor Dahlman.  That’s me.

Immigrant’s Day

So I am the child of immigrants; from France and Germany, from Ireland and Scotland, and, of course, from England.  That “Heinz 57” of nationalities doesn’t get any more – American.  I am proud of my ancestors, the courage they showed to go search for a better life in a new country.  And I am proud of my Jewish background from Dad’s side, and my English/Irish/Catholic background from Mom’s side.  And this week, here in Columbus, Ohio, America – it’s the week of St. Patrick’s Day. 

It’s not just about the colors:  Green, White and Orange for Ireland, red for the beer and golden amber for the whiskey.   It’s not just about the music, from old Irish folk songs to new Irish rock.  St. Patrick’s Day is a day to celebrate the best of America – a Nation of immigrants were almost everyone can look back, just a few generations, to see “where they come from”*.  It doesn’t really matter whether that ancestry starts in a small Irish village like Ballylongford or an Alsatian town called Riedstelz.  St. Patrick’s Day is Irish, but it’s also an American celebration of immigrants from all over the world, who came to America to “get the job done”*.   On March 17, we are all Irish, we are all immigrants.  And we might all end up hungover, and full of potatoes and corned beef and cabbage.  

But it’s a good time to remember that the difference of America, is that we ALL came from somewhere else. And, we all need to still “…Lift our lamp beside the Golden Door”#.  It’s what makes us American.

  • * Hamilton, the Musical;
  • # Emma Lazarus, The New Colossus, on the base of the Statue of Liberty

Want to read more about the Dahlman Family? Click here

Postscript – spent the afternoon in a crowded Irish pub. Lots of green, lots of laughter, lots of music. Everyone was Irish – whatever their descent. Plenty of Harps beer for me – and corned beef, cabbage and potatoes. The bagpiper casually strolled through a few times. HAPPY ST PATRICK’S DAy!!!

The Sunday Story Series

Author: Marty Dahlman

I'm Marty Dahlman. After forty years of teaching and coaching track and cross country, I've finally retired!!! I've also spent a lot of time in politics, working campaigns from local school elections to Presidential campaigns.

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