One evening, not too long after the History of the Mt. Moriah book arrived in the mail, my Dad and I were casually leafing through it – checking out all the photos. We came across a group shot of his former schoolmates. I’m not sure what the grade level was; but they all looked about 10 or 12 years old.
I asked him if he remembered them all. “Oh sure”, he said, pointing to a lanky mean looking kid, “Now, that one... was always aggravating’ me. Wouldn’t never leave me be”. Then he kind of smiled, and said, “One day I just swung my lunch bucket around in a great big swoop and cracked him right in the head with it. He didn’t bother me any more after that”.
No doubt true – but most folks who knew my father might be a little surprised that he would have done such a thing.
My Dad was a pretty laid back, easy going kind of person. He was soft spoken and polite, just like the rest of his family: my Uncles, Roscoe and Gordon – and my Aunt Maudine. They all take after my Grandma Ollie that way. But, they (and me, too) might have a darker genetic inheritance as well – from an origin that is less certain. It might come from Grandpa Joe, or from one of the Shipleys, or Hamiltons, further back in the generations.
I think it’s more likely though that it’s much older than that.
In fact, I suspect it’s a gene that has been present in the Scots-Irish people since the ancient days – when they were called Celts. Like Sickle Cell Anemia in Afro-Americans, it’s probably carried recessively by every person of Celtic descent. When dominant, and active, it triggers a massive overload in
the temper-control circuitry of those who are afflicted with it.
This causes the whole apparatus to temporarily shut down.
The manifest result is a demented, and frighteningly intense, overwhelming anger – these are the classic symptoms of a pathology we might name: Celtic Rage Syndrome.
At least that’s what I call it.
What kind of crack-pot theory is this you may ask.
Well, let’s look at some evidence before writing the notion off
as ridiculous.
Historical: How about the impression the Celts made on Julius Caesar in the course of his campaign across the green and pleasant Isles of the Celts? Judging from his accounts, the Celts approached battle with the same regard for outcome and personal safety that is evident when small rabid dogs attack large bears. Julius thought they were brave and foolish in about the same measure. I think he had it wrong. Bravery and foolishness imply assessment and decision – both of which require thought. These guys weren’t thinking about anything. They were just wacked-out mad, and completely out of control.
Cultural: Take folk music for example. The Scots-Irish have just about cornered the market in murder ballads – songs that celebrate sudden flareups of homicide that are then lamented for 16 verses afterward. Is this kind of behavior cause for song in any other ethnic group? How many murder ballads have the Swiss, Burmese, or Slovak’s produced?
Sociological: Jesse James, Cole Younger, Clay Allison, the Clanton Brothers, the Daltons, Bill Dolin, William Bonney (Billy the Kid), Jack Slade, Black Jack Ketchum, Clyde Barrow (Bonnie & Clyde), John Dillinger, etc., – is it really just coincidence that so many famous outlaws have Scots-Irish surnames? Or, does it suggest an endemic problem with social adjustment – Perhaps an erratic temper-control switch?
Celtic Rage Syndrome? I rest my case.
Now that doesn’t mean everyone of Celtic decent is doomed to a life of murder and mayhem. Over the centuries, inter-marriage with less combative tribes has softened the impulse. And, the social restraints of civilization have added an additional brake. Certainly there is no record of bloody-handed acts in my own family history – none that I know of, anyway. But I do know that my Father, and my Uncle Roscoe were both capable of some amazing displays of temper – which I understand, because I am, too. I’m not so certain about the other members of the family, I’ve never seen them angry. When they read this, maybe they’ll let me know.
It doesn’t come up often, but when it does the experience is impressive. Actually, in the case of Uncle Roscoe, I only remember one time. Once was enough.
It happened when my cousin Donna and I were about 8 or 9 years old. We were being bad – well, not real bad, but bad enough, I guess. For some goofy childish reason we were spitting on each other, or it might have been just me... spitting on Donna. I honestly can’t recall which it was. Maybe I’ve blocked it out. Maybe Roscoe or Donna remembers. (I really hate to admit to something so stupid). In any case, Uncle Roscoe more or less erupted. He scared me so bad I can’t even remember what he said or did. Everything went blank and silent for a while – and time stood still. Kind of like those transcendental moments before impact during a major auto accident. Then, as suddenly as it came, it was over. Of course he was right to be angry, though some might criticize the degree of his anger. I sure didn’t. In fact, I don’t believe I said too much of anything for some time after that. I don’t think I did much moving, either.
I certainly didn’t do any spitting.
The potential for bodily injury during these flare-ups,
for perpetrator, recipient, and passersby, alike, is considerable. Yet, it rarely comes to that. I think there are two reasons why. First, the incidents are infrequent; that alone improves the odds for getting through them safely. Second, the lunatic intensity
of the outburst has a chilling effect on response. People on the receiving end of the rage usually get the same look on their faces as those unfortunate victims in the movies who have just watched the nice young bank clerk transform – in the space
of a heartbeat – into a 10-ft. tall, roaring, drooling werewolf.
It’s unsettling. As a result, they freeze in place, or start backpedaling. Either of which tends to lower the level of confrontation.
Inanimate objects don’t fare as well. I, myself, have occasionally found it necessary to violate the structural integrity of... things. Like doors, for example. (Hollow-frame doors are really pretty flimsy. Sometimes they fall apart when you just think about smacking them).
Celtic Rage Syndrome – it’s a problem, but it doesn’t have to be disabling. With modern drugs it’s effects can be minimized to little more than awkward moments, minor clean-ups, and not much else. Also, it’s a malady that lessens naturally with age.
So for me at least, it doesn’t flair up a lot, anymore. With each passing year I have more control. I’ve matured. I’m in touch with my feelings. I’m centered. And besides that, a little raging about from time to time isn’t always a bad thing. Appropriately directed, it can sometimes lead to very positive behavioral changes. Especially in courtesy-challenged individuals. Consider my Dad’s testimony to the salubrious effect it produced in his former schoolmate:
“He didn’t bother me anymore after that”.