IN COMMON with many parents, I often worry about the effects of too much American television on my children.
There was one such moment recently when, driving through the centre of Dublin at rush-hour, I wondered aloud what traffic might be like on "Butt Bridge" . Whereupon my 13-year-old daughter laughed and said, in a slightly Californianised accent: "There's a bridge in Dublin called 'Butt'???!!!?" (all punctuation marks hers).
My dignity a little affronted, I explained that, yes, the bridge was named after a 19th-century politician: Isaac Butt, the father of Home Rule. And I was tempted to elaborate on the history lesson, by explaining how Butt was a moderate who gradually lost control of his party to a younger, more radical wing, led initially by Joseph Biggar and later Parnell.
But, in truth, I was a bit vague on the details at the time. Besides which, I would only have been asking for trouble by telling my children that the Irish Home Rule movement once revolved around a "Biggar-Butt" debate. As it was, my daughter had already stopped listening. The "Butt" alone was enough. "That's hilarious!!!?!" she said, in an accent strongly influenced by Hannah Montana.
I was reminded of this incident just now by an e-mail from the Institute of Physics in Ireland, inviting me to sign a petition on the naming of the newest Liffey bridge - the one immediately up-river from the aforementioned. It's still being built, but the contest for naming rights has already begun. Hence the IOP's campaign to have it called after Ernest Walton, the only Irish scientist yet to win a Nobel Prize.
And why not? It's probably too late now to name a bridge in honour of Oliver J Flanagan, or anyone else who warned us about the evils of television. So, barring that, I suppose Walton has as good a case as any to be commemorated by a structure that, among other things, will link Trinity College - his alma mater - with the Department of Education in Marlborough Street.
Actually, if I may blow one of my own trumpets here, there might also be an argument for naming the bridge after Myles na gCopaleen, formerly of this parish. After all, his real-life persona Brian O'Nolan was known for regularly crossing the river near this point (via Butt Bridge, presumably): en route between the Custom House, where he officially worked for 18 years, and the Scotch House on Burgh Quay, where he spent so many day-time hours that he took to calling it his "office".
It was in the Scotch House - on the corner where the new bridge will meet Hawkins Street - that O'Nolan perfected his ear for Dublin dialogue, reproduced brilliantly in the Cruiskeen Lawn columns. But, to be honest, with three or four bridges to their credit already, Dublin writers are if anything over-represented on the Liffey. As we suggested here during last year's centenary celebrations, Myles fans might settle for a statue.
In fact, an analysis of the 20-odd existing Liffey bridges tells you a lot about Ireland's traditional priorities. Politicians and the patriot dead predominate, with four of the former (Butt, O'Connell, Grattan, Frank Sherwin) and the same of the latter (Mellows, Heuston, O'Donovan Rossa, Rory O'More).
After that, writers (Joyce, O'Casey, Beckett) just edge out holy men (Father Matthew and Matt Talbot) for the lesser honours. The only woman with a bridge named after her - Anna Livia - is a fictional figure, and an invention of James Joyce to boot (which I suppose makes it four bridges for literature). But pending Walton's elevation, there are no scientists on the list, even fictional ones.
There are no engineers either, come to think of it, a group without which bridges would not exist. That said, the essence of engineering is functionality. So the profession can consider itself commemorated in the several bridges whose names merely describe what they do. Hence the "East Link", "West Link", "Island Bridge", and "Loop-line", all names to quicken any engineer's heart.
Besides, maybe Walton could represent engineering too. He was an expert, above all, in the construction of scientific hardware. And it was via a particle accelerator he built with John Cockcroft that they became the first people "to artificially split the atom", as the IOP website puts it.
Pedants analysing that last sentence will note that, while they were at it, they also split the infinitive. And indeed, the same pedants might argue that a man synonymous with fission is hardly the kind of person who should be commemorated on a bridge, which is essentially a fusion project.
I hereby dissociate myself from such carping criticisms. Of more legitimate concern, arguably, is that Walton's great breakthrough led, indirectly, to the atom bomb. And that the Cockcroft-Walton generator is now used, among many other places, in television sets, thereby being implicated in the endless repeats of American children's television programmes beamed into our living-rooms.
But the great scientist can hardly be blamed for either of those sinister developments. That's why I think I'll sign the petition. You can sign it too, if so minded, by logging onto the Institute of Physics website, iopireland.org