Liam Alex Heffron

The question I’ve been asked more than any other since announcing this would be my final column from Los Angeles was a surprisingly-simple variation of: “So, Liam… did the acting work out?” Fair question. Even if a bit loaded as only Irish questions can be. After all, that was a motivating reason my wife and I crossed the Atlantic. Like countless others before me, we came to Tinseltown chasing Hollywood. I imagined the path to be reasonably straightforward.

I am one-quarter American. At least, that’s what I occasionally tell people, usually when a pub conversation subsides and I really do not want to discuss the current state of Mayo football again. The reaction is usually confusion followed by “would ya ever get outa that!” or worse… more Mayo football. After all, I am from North Mayo. I sound Irish. I look Irish. I can trace my Ballycastle genealogy back generations. Yet my grandfather was born in San Francisco.

Historians have an unfortunate habit of reading too much into things, and in this regard I am particularly unfortunate as I find myself perched at the cliff-edge of conspiracy theories far too often for comfort. Or indeed my wife’s comfort. I see significance where others see coincidence in patterns, where sensible people simply shrug and get on with their day. Sometimes this is useful. Other times it merely confirms that I spend far too much time on YouTube.