Every now and again you come across a story and it captures your soul, the very core of who and what you are and this for me is one of those stories.

Wrapped up in this story is an immigrant story with incredible gut wrenching sadness.  Tied up in this story is a band of brothers who refuse to die and exalted in this story are a group of people who stubbornly have refused to settle for anything but the truth because that is what 57 Irish men who came to America in 1832 deserve.

There will also be hope in this story, a hope that all 57 souls will be set free, a hope that their story and there dogged perseverance to have their wrong righted will act as a shining light and a beacon of hope that we can right the sins of our past and that we will refuse to allow them to be repeated.

In these times of economic woe and political turbulence it is hard not to feel that we are not repeating our previous mistakes.  Currently as we hear a constant rhetoric of hate, it seems that we are returning to a time where we are not all created equally.

I am going to tell this story over a couple of years as we tell another story in conjunction with it.  But our second story will not be told with words it will be told with beauty, it will be told with music.  It will be the story of a 150 year old popular tree and how it is reborn into 57 musical instruments that will be a testament to the men who gave it strength, a tribute to the men who gave it life.  It will require us to practice the beautiful art of patience and it will mandate us to create with love and not kill with hate.

I aspire to tell 57 men’s stories, 57 men who are no different than you or I.  I intend to applaud the champions of their cause.  I am excited to create 57 beautiful musical instruments that will sing their song.  This to me is an emotional story as much as it is a historical one and that is how I shall try to tell it.


Iron horse