O'Sullivan Clan's Blog

An ancestor of the O’Sullivan family had an unusual experience with St. Patrick. Aonghus, number 77 in the O’Sullivan genealogy, was actually baptized by the saint. Here is an excerpt from The Oak and Serpent describing the comedic circumstances with which our family joined the Catholic Church:

“Aonghus [77]*, oldest son of Nathfraoch, followed his father to the throne of Munster and the lordship of Knockgraffon and Cashel after the Dalcassian successor, Blod expired. During his lifetime he became the first Roman Christian king of Cashel, having been converted by Saint Patrick himself. There is a unique legend associated with the king’s conversion. When Patrick visited Munster, King Aonghus came to meet him at Magh Feimhean in the northern Deise territory. He then invited him to the royal palace at Cashel in the Eoghanacht lands, now called Middlethird. In front of his family, royal court, and local subjects he agreed to accept the faith of Rome. Saint Patrick thrust the pointed end of his crosier into the ground and started the baptismal ceremony. When the ritual was finished Patrick looked down and realized that he had impaled the king’s foot with his crosier unintentionally. He quickly jerked the staff out of his foot, apologized profusely, and asked Aonghus why he hadn’t complained. The wincing king shrugged his shoulders and explained that he thought that it was all part of the ceremony.”

The Sullivan Group monitors the accuracy of Rush Limbaugh’s statements, estimated to be 99% correct. (Much to the chagrin of Progressives.) Thomas M. Sullivan is a conservative commentator who works for Fox News and also has a syndicated radio talk show. He graduated from Seattle University and worked as an accountant for Price Waterhouse. In 1980 Sullivan founded a brokerage firm called The Sullivan Group which was later sold to Prudential Securities in 1986. It is this Sullivan Group that Rush refers to each day when citing his accuracy percentage.

This is a sad story. It is about John L. Sullivan, the Boston Strong Boy, and a little freak of a man called Oofty-Goofty, who was for a time the darling of San Francisco’s saloon society in the late years of the 19th century.

John L. was the heavyweight-boxing champion of the world. He probably knocked out 200 men in his lifetime. He could carry a keg of beer up six flights of stairs, and then drink most of it. He looked like a side of beef, usually well marinated in whiskey. Saloons were his home and he always entered in style:

“My name is John L. Sullivan, and I can lick any S.O.B. in the house.” Then he would shake hands all around. And the men whose hands had clasped the champ’s would run into the street, wearing the mantle of greatness, and they would grab a passer-by and would say: “Put it there, my boy, and know you’re a man! This is the hand that shook the hand of John L. Sullivan.”

He won the last bare-knuckle championship fight (in 70 rounds) with Jake Kilrain at Richburg, Miss., on July 8, 1889. In the 44th round he had a tummy-ache and almost lost the fight.

On the morning of July 7, according to a contemporary record, John L. ate a breakfast of a seven-pound sea bass, five soft-boiled eggs, a half-loaf of graham bread, half a dozen tomatoes and tea.

For lunch he had a small steak, two slices of stale bread and a bottle of ale. For dinner he ate three chickens with rice, Creole style, and half a loaf of graham bread dunked in chicken broth.

Oofty-Goofty was a feeble-minded clown. To make a dollar he tried to dance and sing at Bottle Koenig’s Barbary Coast dance hall. He was terrible. So bad that he was thrown bodily into the street.

To his amazement, he found he did not hurt. He was one of those biological sports whose “threshold of pain” was so high that nothing could hurt him.

This led to a new career. He became Oofty-Goofty, the Human Punching Bag. For a sum of change, he would allow himself to be punched, kicked, pricked and thrown about by the heftiest of men. No one could hurt him.

Then John L. came to town. The challenge was evident. The immovable object, sort of, was to meet the irresistible force. A meeting was arranged and the Boston Strong Boy, with all the force of his immense person, whacked Oofty-Goofty across the back with a billiard cue.

It hurt. Oofty-Goofty walked with a limp thereafter. And his special attainment was gone. The little clown’s nervous system was so scrambled by the blow that he now felt pain at the slightest touch.

His career was ruined at the hands of the great John L., and he stumbled around vacantly until death came and kindly bore him away.

I told you it was a sad story.