By Tommy O’Sionnach
(To read Chapter 1: Patriot Game: https://iirish.us/2025/03/15/patriot-game/)
Growing up, I was fortunate to have a lot of strong women in my life, though at the time, I may not have appreciated it. They were all different, yet as I look back, and the more I have come to learn about each one of them, these women had much in common. I see the same traits in my sisters, cousins, nieces, and my own girls as well, and there is no doubt in my mind where a portion of this inherent strength comes from, my grandmother, Catherine Rena Masterson Fox.
Among the three wishes I would make once I can finally catch a leprechaun—no luck so far—would be to have a day to talk to all the relatives who have gone before me, on both sides of the family. My parents were the youngest in their respective families, so I didn’t get as much time with my grandparents, or their brothers and sisters.
I have so many questions. The other two wishes would probably be for the pot of gold and a Cleveland Browns Super Bowl.
Many of the inquiries would certainly be addressed to my Grandma Fox, a native of Achill Island in Ireland, and someone I have vivid memories of—even though she died just a few months before I turned eight. She introduced me and my siblings to all things Irish, and like her husband, Tom, has quite a story about her journey and early life in America.
Coming to America
My grandmother was one of six children born to Pat and Mary Masterson on December 5, 1903, and, although she claimed her birth year was 1905, the above document says otherwise! We have very few details about her childhood, but at some point—either in her late teens or early twenties—she made her way to Sterling, Scotland, to live with her brother Patrick. That arrangement didn’t last long as her older brother was a bit overbearing and protective when it came to his younger sister, so, she decided to do what many young, single Irish women did in those days and made her way to America.
While much has been lost about the journey here, from the time she arrived at Ellis Island onward, the story of the woman many knew as “Catty” starts to come to light. She hopped on a train in New York and made her way to Cleveland, Ohio, where she found her aunt, who would become her sponsor, and then—according to my father—made her way to a dance by that same evening. My grandmother always enjoyed a good party. More than forty years after her death, I can still hear her gentle laugh and see her piercing blue eyes, two things that were ever present at our family gatherings.
Like many of the young Irish women who set sail for America, my grandmother started out doing domestic work. Interestingly enough, it was in the household of Henry Sherwin’s family, of paint company fame.
At some point she got engaged to a man who had emigrated from Germany and took a job as a cashier at a company called Lamson and Sessions. This proved to be a life-changing move, as it led her to meet the love of her life, my grandfather.
As the story goes, my grandpa was walking to his car at the conclusion of their company picnic when he heard a woman sobbing. As he approached, he noticed a large man—passed-out from a few too many—and my grandmother, who was upset because she thought she was stranded for the night.
My grandfather offered to give her a ride home, and she left her soon-to-be former fiancé by the campfire. On the ride home, Tom Fox would soon discover something he never could have seen coming.
At some point on the drive back to her aunt’s house on 73rd Street, he obviously asked what her last name was, and the surprise and shock the skilled pipefitter must have felt when he heard, “Masterson” is something my father wishes he could have witnessed. Turns out, Catherine and my grandfather’s deceased wife, Julia, were first cousins!
They had lived on the same road back in Achill, and even played together as kids! Another Masterson had stolen his heart, but not everyone was happy about it.
My grandmother received a lot of push back from the normally tight-knit Cleveland Irish community, who didn’t think it right that she marry her first cousin’s widower. Back in those days, it was expected that a widower marry his deceased wife’s sister, something known as sororal marriage, but not a cousin, which seems odd when you think about it.
Even her brother, Bernie, was so set against the idea of their marriage that one day he took her out in a boat on Lake Erie and threatened to throw her overboard unless she broke off the engagement—to which she agreed. But then, once back on shore, she returned to form and told him he could go to a certain warm place and stormed off!
PJ McIntyre’s
Tom and Catherine were eventually wed in July of 1935, and standing in for my Grandma Fox as her maid of honor was Beatrice McIntyre, one of the few who supported her marriage to Tom. Beatrice’s grandson is Pat Campbell, whose establishment, PJ McIntyre’s in the West Park neighborhood of Cleveland, honors his mother’s maiden name. Two generations later, our two families are still very close.
Once she arrived, my grandmother could not have possibly imagined the turbulence she would eventually experience after meeting my grandfather, but she accepted all that came with her decision, ignoring the rudeness and scorn she received from many. My grandparents’ marriage was soon accepted by all, and they became highly involved in the Westside Irish community, especially at their church, St. Colman. After achieving their citizenship, my grandparents went on to sponsor many of their relatives and friends who followed them to America.
More importantly, she immediately accepted the role of Mom to Mary Alice and Thomas – her husband’s oldest two children. Eventually, my Uncle Leo was born, and then my father, John, or “Jackie,” as they called him, would round out their family.
Grandma Fox spent years working as a school crossing guard and, I’m sure these are fighting words, made arguably the greatest Irish soda bread known to man – strange as it sounds, she would bake her Irish cakes in those old, metal Hill’s Brothers coffee cans! Most importantly, she brought joy back to my grandfather’s life and became a stabilizing force for her first cousin Julia’s oldest two children.
A prayer that reflects my grandmother’s life is St. Charles de Foucauld’s, Prayer of Abandonment:
Father, I abandon myself into your hands, do with me what you will.
Whatever you may do, I thank you: I am ready for all, I accept all.
Let only your will be done in me and in all your creatures.
I wish no more than this, O Lord. Into your hands, I commend my soul;
I offer it to you with all the love of my heart;
For I love you, Lord, and so need to give myself:
To surrender myself into your hands without reserve and with boundless confidence.
For you are my Father.’Father, I abandon myself into your hands; do with me what you will.
As she set out for America, my grandmother—like thousands of brave young Irish women—lived by these words, as she had no idea what would happen to her. There was no itinerary. All she had was the name of a relative in a town she had probably never heard much about.
Whatever you may do I thank you: I am ready for all, I accept all.
For this, and so many other reasons, my grandmother’s spirit is a gift that can still be seen throughout our family today, even in those who never got the chance to meet her. They get it honestly, particularly my daughter Maggie, who my father has said is, “my mother reincarnated,” due to her strength and the fact that “she doesn’t take any guff from anyone!”
Honestly, I can’t think of a higher compliment for my fiery middle child! My Grandma Fox’s story is one that shows how rewarding life can be when we trust the journey that the Lord has us on. Thank God she did.
