Before the Great Chicago Fire, no one took notice of Patrick and Catherine O'Leary, two Irish immigrants who lived with their five children on the city's West Side.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
My father's parents were Irish. Only a year before my father died, he and I went back to Ireland for a week to look at the old homestead.
Irishmen are not reserved, and the company appeared dying to be intimately acquainted.
My father was the orphaned son of immigrants to the United States from Ireland. My father never knew his parents. His mother died - we're not sure - either at or shortly after his birth, and he and all of his siblings were placed in orphanages in the Boston area.
I think there's something about the Irish experience - that we had to have a sense of humor or die.
I can't think of anything you might say about Irish people that is absolutely true.
Even when they have nothing, the Irish emit a kind of happiness, a joy.
I'm from an Irish Catholic family.
I couldn't fit in the Irish community in New York. I was never one of the boys because they would talk about baseball or basketball, and I knew nothing about it.
My parents were both first-generation Irish Catholics raised in Brooklyn.
Oh, the Irish were building the railroads down through Mexico, through Chihuahua. They finished the railroads when they finished out in the West Coast, and they went down and put the trains into Mexico.