When Port Norfolk's Pat Kelleher passed away in early June, he had left word with an old friend not to make a big deal of his passing. His neighbor said he had asked: "Those that know me will remember, those that didn't shouldn't have to."

But years before, he had given his friend an old poem, asking that it be printed "after I'm gone."

Today, we publish that old poem, in remembrance of and honor to a good and decent man. John F. "Pat" Kelleher, Aug. 5, 1911- June 9, 2005. May he rest in peace.

Kelleher's Hall

Neponset Avenue &endash; Boston, Mass.

By C. M. Duggan

(Air&emdash;"Larry O'Gaff")

Grand buildings a-plenty throughout this great Nation

In every large city and township you'll see,

But one that appeals to the hearts of Milesians

Stands down in Neponset quite close to the sea.

The temples of Greece and proud Rome in its glory,

Whose grandeur old scholars and students recall,

Can't equal the record of Song and Story

Produced 'neath the rafters of Kelleher's Hall.

Hiberians, three Courts of Foresters, Nailers,

The A. O. H. Ladies and L. C. B. A.

The good Friends of Feedom and true Clan-na-Gaelers,

The Shamrock Club, too, 'neath its rafters held

sway;

Politicial parties held rally and caucus

While coaxing the voters along in the Fall,

And treated the boys to the nectar of Bacchus

While seeking fat office in Kelleher's Hall.

After the meetings over, neighbors would hover

And pull the long table right out on the floor

And play penny-ante or "pigs in the clover"

'Til the form of the landlord stood framed in the

door;

When Pat shook his fist we all heeded the warning;

'Tis a quarter of twelve, now clear out one and all;

If we had our way we would play until morning,

Our own "Forty-fives" in Pat Kelleher's Hall.

How oft have I crossed the old bridge to Neponset,

My home in Atlantic a mile in the rear,

And felt like a charger approaching the onset

Of battle in wit, with old friends true and dear,

Discussing all subjects&emdash;rare, foreign, domestic,

The aims of proud Germany, Britain and Gaul

Debated with skill in a manner majestic

By plain sons of toil, in Pat Kelleher's Hall.

Thirty-odd years marked by absence of quarrel,

Swift repartee bright and keen as a lance;

There was oceans of mirth in a Highland Spring barrel

'Ere Volstead and hooch-venders led crimes

advance;

Pat Kelleher sang with his friend John McCarthy

'Neath the picture of Emmet o'erhead on the wall;

There was humor galore, there was "ceol' in the party;

All joined in the chorus at Kelleher's Hall.

Somewhere, perhaps, there may be as good places,

At home, or abroad in far lands o'er the sea;

Nowhere have I found more true, kindly faces,

Atlantic, Neponset&emdash;A Dinne, Ma Chree*

Although of enjoyments I've had a fair measure,

'Ere the Angel of Death bids me answer his call

I'd like one more evening of innocent pleasure

With friends of my youth at Pat Kelleher's Hall.

*People of my heart