Fergal Patrick Joseph Gallagher

About the Book

This is not a traditional or professional book. I have not had any formal training in English or writing, other than a lifetime of reading, correspondence, and writing newsletters. It is written mostly for the benefit of my family and friends. I was born in Grafton, North Dakota, to Farigal Gallagher and Marguerite Gagnon on April 1, 1936. My father’s nickname was Fag—I’m glad they never stuck that on me. Mother is of French Canadian parents, so Marguerite was a little too much for English speakers, so it was shortened to Margaret and then Mugs. My two brothers, Michael and Robert, are both two years younger. We were known as Pat, Mike, and Mustard. This was a hard time in the Dakotas as it was the depth of the Depression, and there was no market for the wheat, barley, and potatoes that the farmers grew. The area was a complete farm economy. If the farmers were not making it, neither was anyone else. We lived on a farm that had been homesteaded by my grandfather Farigal Gallagher. My father did not have any ownership in the land, having given it up for money to go to the University of Chicago with the idea of becoming a physician. I understand that he did not make the grade at school, and he and my mother came back to North Dakota to help my grandfather Gagnon during his dying days. After he died, they went out to the farm and lived in the old Gallagher homestead.

About the Author

I was born in Grafton, North Dakota, to Farigal Gallagher and Marguerite Gagnon on April 1, 1936. My father’s nickname was Fag— I’m glad they never stuck that on me. Mother is of French Canadian parents, so Marguerite was a little too much for English speakers, so it was shortened to Margaret and then Mugs. My two brothers, Michael and Robert, are both two years younger. We were known as Pat, Mike, and Mustard. This was a hard time in the Dakotas as it was the depth of the Depression, and there was no market for the wheat, barley, and potatoes that the farmers grew. The area was a complete farm economy. If the farmers were not making it, neither was anyone else. We lived on a farm that had been homesteaded by my grandfather Farigal Gallagher. My father did not have any ownership in the land, having given it up for money to go to the University of Chicago with the idea of becoming a physician. I understand that he did not make the grade at school, and he and my mother came back to North Dakota to help my grandfather Gagnon during his dying days. After he died, they went out to the farm and lived in the old Gallagher homestead