Matt White
10-21-2005, 01:41 PM
By WADE BARKER
Prince Albert National Park, Waskesiu
Lake, Saskatchewan, Canada
NO ONE scored any 'brownie' points when a small colony of leprechauns was sent packing by the power of the media.
"Everyone thinks it was a hoax," explained archaeologist Matthew Goodfellow of the North American Foundation for the Preservation of Cultural Identity (NAFPOCI). "It wasn't. I'm telling you, they were real."
The strange saga began a week before when Dr. Goodfellow was on a field expedition.
"I was up there looking for signs of Viking colonization," the archaeologist says. "Longboats, axes, charts, that sort of thing. I found a henna pouch marked 'Eric,' which was very exciting.
"A few days after I arrived, I was in my tent reading a detective Edda, I heard the sounds of unusual shoe-repairing activity and the distinct aroma of a distillery. I felt a little like Rip Van Winkle as I stepped into the night to investigate. At first I thought I was having a waking-dream, following the tap-tap-tap into the darkness. Then I saw them in the glow of my lantern: beautiful handcrafted boots. They stood side-by-side on a ledge at the higher elevations."
Goodfellow walked on and found the leprechaun community. He was astounded by his first sight of the little people.
"Each man wore a beard on his round, red-cheeked face and smoked a briar pipe. They stood only 3 feet tall but were perfectly proportioned. The men wore classic tam-o'-shanters, wool vests, knee breeches and a leather apron under an emerald green frock coat.
"Their legs were covered with tight-fitting white stockings and they had silver-buckled brogues on their feet. The women's hair was drawn back over their ears and plaited down the back. They were dressed simply in faun-colored gowns embroidered with gold thread and covered with white aprons."
Dr. Goodfellow asked what they were doing in Canada. He learned that the little people had made a deal with a park ranger, one Dudley 'Hoser' McKenzie, who had met the leprechauns during a trip to Ireland.
"He fed them Ambien and smuggled them from the Old Country, claiming they were toy trolls," Goodfellow says. "He sold the boots in the village in exchange for half the profits."
McKenzie was arrested and charged with one count of running an unlicensed business and 13 counts of endangering mythical beings. He is currently in prison awaiting trial.
"I did nothing wrong, eh?" McKenzie said at his public hearing. "The small ones said they were tired of hiding from tourists who were looking for pots of gold. Just last year 10 of their number were crushed by hikers wearing hiking boots. Those steel shanks are murder on leprechauns. Literally."
Moreover, McKenzie insisted that the little people liked living inside the park's white spruces.
"Each elf had his own little trunk instead of sharing a big old oak," he told the unsympathetic parks commission. "They had streets named Gnome de Plume and Puck Place. Now that's all being taken away."
Dr. Goodfellow agrees that the commission acted hastily. A deportation order was issued for the little people.
"I couldn't let them face further fatal footwear," Goodfellow alliterated. "I told the curator of NAFPOCI, Dr. Erique Kartmann, that I was going to offer the leprechauns sanctuary under the 'archaeological relics act' since, like the little people, their clothing was over a 100 years old. He agreed. However, Dr. Kartmann also saw a chance to raise money for the institute by telling the world what we'd found. He insisted on calling a press conference to announce the discovery. Putting the little people on display was a big mistake."
The one stipulation Kartmann made was to prohibit the taking of photographs. The ban was due to a deal NAFPOCI had reportedly made with Larry King which allowed the talk show host to be the first to actually show the little people to the world. Despite the blackout, Weekly World News was able to obtain the images published here for the first time.
The leprechauns were remarkably cooperative at first. They hoped that by working with authorities they would obtain legal immigrant status.
"Then we could sneak into the U.S. and open a shop on Rodeo Drive," said Seanessey Murray O'Hallaran O'Toole, the nominal leader of this small group.
Dr. Goodfellow presented three of the leprechauns to the press. He explained that the name leprechaun derived from either the Irish 'leath bhrogan' which means 'shoemaker,' 'luacharma'n,' which means 'pygmy,' or 'luprachan,' which means 'half-bodied.'
That drew a snort of laughter from Barram Coinneach Breen, the pattern maker of the leprechauns.
"For a 'doctor' ya don't know very much, do ya, eh?" quipped the Irish imp.
"Listen to you!" laughed Luchtaine Mac O'Dara, a tanner. "Breen's been sayin' 'eh' ever since we got to Canada, the wee feck!"
"Feck? You close yer filthy troll hole before I fat-lip it shut!" the angry leprechaun replied, waving a smallish fist.
O'Dara removed a heavy shoe and shook it at his comrade. "Watch it or you'll get yer head brogue!"
Goodfellow was forced to come between them to prevent a brawl. Fortunately, the sparring sprites were distracted as reporters began shouting questions.
"Is it true that you must grant a wish to someone who wakes you while you're sleeping?"asked one.
"Yes," said Breen.
O'Dara winked. "But he's usually passed out from my flask, which is different."
"I thought leprechauns always smoked pipes," asked another. "Where are yours?"
"Here," Breen replied, patting his vest pocket. Then he pointed to a no-smoking sign on the door. "But the Queen says no, and God save 'er."
Suddenly, a fiery-eyed young woman yelled as she leapt to her feet without being called upon. "Katherine O'Malley, lingus dot com," she said, "and this is a farce! Isn't it true, O'Dara, that what you're perpetuating here are nothing more than offensive Irish stereotypes?"
"I -- I beg your wee pardon?" Luchtaine stammered, obviously perplexed. "There, you see? Look at you all!" the reporter declared. "You're a trivialization of Ireland's wonderful folklore! Even the way you speak -- 'I beg your wee pardon!' This is a joke. You're a joke!"
O'Dara was still holding his shoe and turned it toward the woman. Goodfellow stepped between them and took the brogue in his forehead.
Bleeding, he tried to assuage the woman but she would not be denied.
"Why don't you all do a little jig?" she demanded. "Where's your fiddle, Mr. O'Dara?"
By this time other reporters had joined in the taunting.
"They're just midgets in costumes!" jeered a representative from American Geographic.
"Say 'They're magically delicious,' " the reporter from a weekly news magazine cried.
That was when the Lucky Charms questions began dominating the disorderly proceedings. A writer for Sky & Astronomy demanded to know why they made the marshmallow stars orange and the moons yellow.
"I've hated you morons for years!" the science reporter shrieked. "Stars can be red but moons are white. They're white, damn you!"
While Goodfellow continued to try and calm the crowd the leprechauns were hurriedly ushered away. But not before Breen pulled an awl from inside his vest and took a poke at a fashion critic, who asked what the lady leprechauns would be wearing to the reception that was supposed to follow the press conference.
But there was no reception. What was worse, the little people did not go back to their room at NAFPOCI.
"They just vanished," Goodfellow told us. "My dreams of learning about their past, their culture, their longevity disappeared with them." He laughed. "Maybe they made good their threat and sneaked into the U.S. I don't know. I wish them well."
Goodfellow looked over his shoulder as he said that. We asked why.
"I just wanted to see if one of them was there, sleeping," he said. "I made a wish, after all."
Prince Albert National Park, Waskesiu
Lake, Saskatchewan, Canada
NO ONE scored any 'brownie' points when a small colony of leprechauns was sent packing by the power of the media.
"Everyone thinks it was a hoax," explained archaeologist Matthew Goodfellow of the North American Foundation for the Preservation of Cultural Identity (NAFPOCI). "It wasn't. I'm telling you, they were real."
The strange saga began a week before when Dr. Goodfellow was on a field expedition.
"I was up there looking for signs of Viking colonization," the archaeologist says. "Longboats, axes, charts, that sort of thing. I found a henna pouch marked 'Eric,' which was very exciting.
"A few days after I arrived, I was in my tent reading a detective Edda, I heard the sounds of unusual shoe-repairing activity and the distinct aroma of a distillery. I felt a little like Rip Van Winkle as I stepped into the night to investigate. At first I thought I was having a waking-dream, following the tap-tap-tap into the darkness. Then I saw them in the glow of my lantern: beautiful handcrafted boots. They stood side-by-side on a ledge at the higher elevations."
Goodfellow walked on and found the leprechaun community. He was astounded by his first sight of the little people.
"Each man wore a beard on his round, red-cheeked face and smoked a briar pipe. They stood only 3 feet tall but were perfectly proportioned. The men wore classic tam-o'-shanters, wool vests, knee breeches and a leather apron under an emerald green frock coat.
"Their legs were covered with tight-fitting white stockings and they had silver-buckled brogues on their feet. The women's hair was drawn back over their ears and plaited down the back. They were dressed simply in faun-colored gowns embroidered with gold thread and covered with white aprons."
Dr. Goodfellow asked what they were doing in Canada. He learned that the little people had made a deal with a park ranger, one Dudley 'Hoser' McKenzie, who had met the leprechauns during a trip to Ireland.
"He fed them Ambien and smuggled them from the Old Country, claiming they were toy trolls," Goodfellow says. "He sold the boots in the village in exchange for half the profits."
McKenzie was arrested and charged with one count of running an unlicensed business and 13 counts of endangering mythical beings. He is currently in prison awaiting trial.
"I did nothing wrong, eh?" McKenzie said at his public hearing. "The small ones said they were tired of hiding from tourists who were looking for pots of gold. Just last year 10 of their number were crushed by hikers wearing hiking boots. Those steel shanks are murder on leprechauns. Literally."
Moreover, McKenzie insisted that the little people liked living inside the park's white spruces.
"Each elf had his own little trunk instead of sharing a big old oak," he told the unsympathetic parks commission. "They had streets named Gnome de Plume and Puck Place. Now that's all being taken away."
Dr. Goodfellow agrees that the commission acted hastily. A deportation order was issued for the little people.
"I couldn't let them face further fatal footwear," Goodfellow alliterated. "I told the curator of NAFPOCI, Dr. Erique Kartmann, that I was going to offer the leprechauns sanctuary under the 'archaeological relics act' since, like the little people, their clothing was over a 100 years old. He agreed. However, Dr. Kartmann also saw a chance to raise money for the institute by telling the world what we'd found. He insisted on calling a press conference to announce the discovery. Putting the little people on display was a big mistake."
The one stipulation Kartmann made was to prohibit the taking of photographs. The ban was due to a deal NAFPOCI had reportedly made with Larry King which allowed the talk show host to be the first to actually show the little people to the world. Despite the blackout, Weekly World News was able to obtain the images published here for the first time.
The leprechauns were remarkably cooperative at first. They hoped that by working with authorities they would obtain legal immigrant status.
"Then we could sneak into the U.S. and open a shop on Rodeo Drive," said Seanessey Murray O'Hallaran O'Toole, the nominal leader of this small group.
Dr. Goodfellow presented three of the leprechauns to the press. He explained that the name leprechaun derived from either the Irish 'leath bhrogan' which means 'shoemaker,' 'luacharma'n,' which means 'pygmy,' or 'luprachan,' which means 'half-bodied.'
That drew a snort of laughter from Barram Coinneach Breen, the pattern maker of the leprechauns.
"For a 'doctor' ya don't know very much, do ya, eh?" quipped the Irish imp.
"Listen to you!" laughed Luchtaine Mac O'Dara, a tanner. "Breen's been sayin' 'eh' ever since we got to Canada, the wee feck!"
"Feck? You close yer filthy troll hole before I fat-lip it shut!" the angry leprechaun replied, waving a smallish fist.
O'Dara removed a heavy shoe and shook it at his comrade. "Watch it or you'll get yer head brogue!"
Goodfellow was forced to come between them to prevent a brawl. Fortunately, the sparring sprites were distracted as reporters began shouting questions.
"Is it true that you must grant a wish to someone who wakes you while you're sleeping?"asked one.
"Yes," said Breen.
O'Dara winked. "But he's usually passed out from my flask, which is different."
"I thought leprechauns always smoked pipes," asked another. "Where are yours?"
"Here," Breen replied, patting his vest pocket. Then he pointed to a no-smoking sign on the door. "But the Queen says no, and God save 'er."
Suddenly, a fiery-eyed young woman yelled as she leapt to her feet without being called upon. "Katherine O'Malley, lingus dot com," she said, "and this is a farce! Isn't it true, O'Dara, that what you're perpetuating here are nothing more than offensive Irish stereotypes?"
"I -- I beg your wee pardon?" Luchtaine stammered, obviously perplexed. "There, you see? Look at you all!" the reporter declared. "You're a trivialization of Ireland's wonderful folklore! Even the way you speak -- 'I beg your wee pardon!' This is a joke. You're a joke!"
O'Dara was still holding his shoe and turned it toward the woman. Goodfellow stepped between them and took the brogue in his forehead.
Bleeding, he tried to assuage the woman but she would not be denied.
"Why don't you all do a little jig?" she demanded. "Where's your fiddle, Mr. O'Dara?"
By this time other reporters had joined in the taunting.
"They're just midgets in costumes!" jeered a representative from American Geographic.
"Say 'They're magically delicious,' " the reporter from a weekly news magazine cried.
That was when the Lucky Charms questions began dominating the disorderly proceedings. A writer for Sky & Astronomy demanded to know why they made the marshmallow stars orange and the moons yellow.
"I've hated you morons for years!" the science reporter shrieked. "Stars can be red but moons are white. They're white, damn you!"
While Goodfellow continued to try and calm the crowd the leprechauns were hurriedly ushered away. But not before Breen pulled an awl from inside his vest and took a poke at a fashion critic, who asked what the lady leprechauns would be wearing to the reception that was supposed to follow the press conference.
But there was no reception. What was worse, the little people did not go back to their room at NAFPOCI.
"They just vanished," Goodfellow told us. "My dreams of learning about their past, their culture, their longevity disappeared with them." He laughed. "Maybe they made good their threat and sneaked into the U.S. I don't know. I wish them well."
Goodfellow looked over his shoulder as he said that. We asked why.
"I just wanted to see if one of them was there, sleeping," he said. "I made a wish, after all."