Tale of The Young Irish Derelict: Edmond J. Donnavan
In the steeple of Independence Hall, just below the lesser known Centennial Bell, a man was making eggs and bacon. This was not an ordinary man illegally living in Independence Hall. This was Edmond J. Donnavan, a young derelict and 19th century graffitiist. In the years to come, Edmond would become a local legend among Philadelphia park rangers, particularly for the fact that he graffitied the Centennial Bell with his tag, “Ed Donna.”
Edmond was a smart young chap and he had discovered some years back that park ranger security was quite lackadaisical around winter time—probably due to the increasing quantity of holidays and festivities. They had compiled to such a point that all the IH security folk found themselves with a quality two and a half week break in December. I know the 19th century was ahead of its time, both in terms of ranger worker rights, and the apparent inability to grasp laying off all your security at once comes with the added side effect of having zero security. Yes, Independence Hall was completely barren; not a single safeguarder. Even the caretaker was gone. Management must have been slapping their faces red once they realized their mistake.
So, Edmond woke up for a fifth day in the steeple and was making eggs and bacon. He was stoking the fire in a chiminea he had stolen off the streets just a few nights ago. He was becoming accustomed to cooking food right above the chiminea in his small cast iron pan. The aroma of cooking bacon and eggs wafted into the morning air with a pungent familiarity that made Edmond smile. Like the chiminea, he had stolen the eggs and the bacon from a willowing shop owner—but the cast iron pan was not stolen. It was an heirloom of his family’s homeland of Ireland. He had left his country to escape the fetters of a land that burdened his free, liberty-bound soul. In this way, he was not distraught by living the life of a derelict. In truth, Edmond took solace in knowing, just below where he slept, many a person fought with zeal for a freedom that he so prized.
Nonetheless, an honest man would call Edmond a thief, a vandal, a man of moral deviousness for defacing cherished bells and stealing food and snatching chimineas; sometimes young Ed would moodily throw bottles about as he longingly wept for his kinsmen back home; Edmond would nod his head right with the honest man. Yes, he could be a thieving man, he thought as he stoked the coals of his steeple fire—its orangery hotness brought tears to his eyes. Yes, there were times of isolation and sorrow and longing. But there he stood in Independence Hall, an individual unbound to country or family or home. When he looked out beyond the Centennial bell, a concoction of cannons, he saw a flock of waterfowl flying against the pillowed morning sky, layered with shades of orange and pineapple. In Ireland, he felt envy for those birds he so often glanced upon–unbound as they traversed an ocean flushed with liberty, devoid of any fetters and tethers. Now, he felt a kinsmanship.
- Issac Szepessy
