Imagine being buried alive for over two months. Sounds like a horror movie, right? But for one Irish laborer, it was a desperate attempt at fame and fortune. This is the incredible, and ultimately heartbreaking, story of Mick Meaney, who spent 61 days entombed in a coffin, hoping to etch his name in history. A new documentary, Beo Faoin bhFód (Buried Alive), airing on TG4, delves into this bizarre chapter of the 1960s.
In 1968, Mick Meaney, an Irish laborer in London, was down on his luck. He envisioned a way to escape his ordinary life: by breaking the world record for the longest time spent buried alive. This wasn't some isolated incident; a strange trend of 'burial artists' willing to be buried alive for extended periods was happening!
On February 21st, 1968, the streets of Kilburn, London, a hub for Irish emigrants, witnessed a peculiar procession. A coffin, custom-built at 6ft 3in long and 2ft 6in wide with foam lining, was paraded through the streets, carrying Meaney to his underground 'home'. Television crews and well-wishers documented the event as Meaney was lowered into a pit in a builder's yard. The coffin was then covered with soil, leaving only a pipe for air and sustenance. Meaney's ambitious goal? To endure 61 days underground, surpassing the existing record and achieving global recognition.
The documentary Beo Faoin bhFód, directed by Daire Collins, not only recounts this extraordinary stunt but also explores its poignant aftermath. Through interviews with Meaney's family and friends, interwoven with archival footage, the film paints a vivid picture of a man driven by ambition and circumstance.
“My father was a proud Tipperary man,” his daughter Mary Meaney shares in the documentary, highlighting the plight of many Irish immigrants at the time. “He was another Irishman, they are now called the forgotten Irish, they were over there working with a pick and shovel and sending the money back to their families. Times were poor back then.” This context is crucial: Meaney's stunt wasn't just about personal glory; it was, in a way, a reflection of the economic hardships faced by many Irish laborers abroad.
Meaney, a strong and powerfully built man, initially aspired to be a boxer, but an injury dashed those dreams. He found work digging tunnels in London. An accident, where he was briefly trapped under rubble, sparked an unusual idea: to conquer the world record for being buried alive.
This craze of being buried alive actually began in California in the 1920s. The US had a history of unusual endurance contests, such as the longest time atop a pole, hula hooping, or dancing. The unofficial record in the 1960s belonged to a Texan named Bill White, who called himself “the living corpse.” White used his burials to promote businesses, enduring a 55-day stint underground.
To surpass White's record, Meaney, then 33, partnered with Michael ‘Butty’ Sugrue, a former circus performer and pub owner in London's Irish community. Sugrue organized a wake at the Admiral Nelson pub, where Meaney was sealed inside the coffin. The coffin was transported to a yard owned by Mick Keane, a contractor who provided space for the stunt. A trapdoor beneath the coffin served as a makeshift toilet.
“I had a great night’s sleep last night,” Meaney declared to a TV news anchor on his second day, speaking from a telephone inside his coffin. He established a daily routine: waking up at 7 am, exercising within the confines of the coffin, applying ointment, eating, reading, and talking on the phone.
The phone line was connected to the Admiral Nelson, where Sugrue charged patrons for each call to Meaney. Celebrities, including boxer Henry Cooper, conversed with the buried man. But as weeks passed, interest waned. Major global events like the Vietnam War and Martin Luther King's assassination overshadowed Meaney's stunt. Despite this, Sugrue arranged a “resurrection” event for Meaney after 61 days on April 22nd, complete with dancers, musicians, and journalists.
The coffin was exhumed and transported back to the pub on a truck, greeted by cheering crowds. When Meaney emerged, wearing sunglasses to shield his eyes and sporting a beard, he grinned and declared, “I’d like to go for a hundred days more. I’m delighted to be the champion of the world.”
But here's where it gets controversial... Fortune never materialized. Meaney alleged that Sugrue cheated him out of his earnings. A planned world tour and sponsorship deal with Gillette fell through. “In all walks of life there are people who just use you like a vampire,” his daughter Mary said. “He came back without as much as the price of a bottle of milk in his pocket.”
Fame proved fleeting. The Guinness Book of Records didn't acknowledge Meaney's feat. Another 'burial artist,' Tim Hayes, challenged Meaney's claim, arguing he spent less time underground in a regular-sized coffin. Later in 1968, a former nun named Emma Smith was buried for 101 days in Skegness, further diminishing Meaney's achievement.
Meaney eventually returned to Ireland, working for Cork County Council, and died in 2003. “He could live an ordinary life, working class, ordinary, but he craved this extraordinary life,” said Mary Meaney. “Breaking the world record made him feel, ‘I’m somebody’.” And this is the part most people miss... It wasn't about the money or the fame; it was about validation, about proving his worth in a world that often overlooked him.
This story raises so many questions. Was Meaney exploited? Was his pursuit of fame a symptom of the societal pressures of the time? Did he truly achieve his goal, even without official recognition? What do you think? Was it brave or foolish? Let us know your thoughts in the comments below!
