This past year has been full of family experiences and chances to share stories, helping our grandchildren understand who we are and where we come from. These stories are essential, and I seize every opportunity to tell them, aware that I am much nearer to the end of my journey than the start.
Today, February 20, 2025 is yet one more opportunity. It marks the 174th anniversary of our King family ancestor’s arrival in America.
SOME BACKGROUND - Seven generations of the King family have lived in America since our Irish ancestor, Patrick King, chose to join the thousands of Irish refugees escaping poverty and famine by sailing to America to begin anew. Affectionately called Pattie by his mother, he was mature beyond his years and bore the responsibility for his mother and two younger brothers as they ventured into the unknown. He was 17.
THE JOURNEY - Mary Mahoney King stood at the edge of her world, the bleak hills of County Clare behind her, the sea ahead, and sorrow weighing heavy on her heart. The famine had stolen her husband, her neighbors, and nearly her will to fight. But she had three sons—Pattie, John, and little Thomas—and for them, she would brave the unknown. The year was 1851, and survival meant leaving behind the only home they had ever known.
The decision to emigrate was not made lightly. The fields were barren, the rent unpaid, and eviction loomed like a specter. Mary had heard whispers in the village of ships leaving Liverpool for America, a land where a man—or even a boy—could find work and a family could begin anew. It was not hope that drove her but desperation. With what little they had left, Mary sold their meager belongings to pay for passage on the Lady Franklin, a packet ship known for its speed and relative safety compared to the dreaded “coffin ships” that claimed so many lives.
The journey from Liverpool was harrowing. The Lady Franklin carried nearly 500 souls crammed into its hold, each with their own story of loss and longing. The air below deck reeked of sickness and fear, but Mary kept her boys close, whispering prayers as waves battered the ship. Pattie, at seventeen, bore himself like a man, shielding his brothers from the worst of it. John clung to his mother’s side, while Thomas, just ten years old, cried for his father in the dark of night.
Forty days later, on February 20th, 1851, they disembarked at the Port of New York. The city was chaos incarnate—crowded streets teeming with immigrants like themselves. They were processed through Castle Garden and directed toward quarantine stations where disease still lingered. But Mary had no time for fear; she had a plan. Word from their village spoke of others who had settled in New Haven, Connecticut—a place where familiar faces might offer solace.
The journey to New Haven was another trial. With no money for proper transport, they walked much of the way or hitched rides with strangers who pitied their plight. By the time they arrived in New Haven, exhaustion etched lines into Mary’s face that no years could erase.
Life in America was no kinder at first. They found shelter among other Irish families crammed into tenements near the docks. Pattie became the family’s breadwinner, taking on grueling work as an oysterman on the waterfront. He rose before dawn each day to haul heavy bags and raking in freezing waters while Mary took in laundry to supplement their income. John soon followed his brother to the docks, while Thomas attended what little schooling they could afford.
Though hardship remained their constant companion, there was a quiet resilience in Mary’s heart. She watched as Pattie grew strong under the weight of responsibility and as John learned to navigate this new world with quiet determination. Even Thomas began to smile again.
Years later, when Mary sat by the fire in their modest home in New Haven—a home bought with years of toil—she would tell her grandchildren about that fateful voyage aboard the Lady Franklin. She would speak of hunger and heartbreak but also of courage and love that carried them across an ocean to start anew. For it was not just survival they found in America—it was life itself.
Cousin Ed Halloran also provided me a note stating, "The railroad once crossed the backyard diagonally, a path still visible in the property boundaries, particularly from Clifton Ave. During the Blizzard of '88, a dozen stranded passengers were sheltered in the homes on Pine Street. They stayed for almost three weeks on the block between Atwater and Clifton.
Annie King, who later became Mrs. Henry J. Doody, is pictured here with her mother, Anne Hickey King, and her sister Minnie, who later became Mrs. Frank J. Halloran. Annie would have been 13 years old during the Blizzard, which is around the time this photo was taken."
Another anecdote shared by cousin Edward Halloran about Patrick's younger brother John (b.1842) " Patrick's younger brother, John, served in the Civil War in the 3rd Connecticut Volunteer Infantry Regiment [90 days] and the 6th Connecticut VIR. He was captured in the Battle of Ft. Wagner south of the Charleston Harbor, SC. The battle was featured in the movie, 'Glory'."
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