Des Lee is a central figure of the Irish music scene. As a survivor, he is still haunted by memories of the Miami Showband massacre that took place more than five decades ago. John Desmond McAlea was born on 29 July 1946 in the Catholic working-class suburb of Andersonstown, West Belfast. He had a privileged background as the grandson of labor aristocrats. Des Lee’s story is one of immeasurable talent, triumph over adversity, and unyielding resilience. As he courageously traverses the aftermath of this terrible tragedy that snuffed out the lives of most of his band just around a year ago, survivor’s guilt haunts him.
In 1967, Lee became the saxophonist for the Miami Showband. Almost immediately, he assumed a larger role, overseeing the band’s repertoire and finances. He ensured that all members looked immaculate before performances, reflecting his dedication to their craft. Lee’s friendship with Fran O’Toole blossomed during this time, leading to a successful songwriting partnership after O’Toole replaced the band’s earlier frontman.
Lee’s musical story starts from the rich Belfast cultural tapestry, where he cut his teeth at the Cymbals instrument shop. In this rich artistic ferment he brushed shoulders with many luminaries. He partied with a teenage Van Morrison and ranked future members of Thin Lizzy among his compatriots. After just a few weeks at the plumbing supplier, Lee understood that his future lay with rock’n’roll. This passion led him to take the same path his father did, an extremely skilled nightclub musician.
Lee’s turning point in his life came on July 31, 1975. As the Miami Showband returned from a performance, they were ambushed by armed men disguised as soldiers. On that day, during the attack, Lee experienced what we cannot begin to comprehend. He remained motionless in the turf trilogy, playing possum as the murder of his homies went down all around him.
“To think that those people who were supposed to be protecting us had planned our murder …” – Des Lee
Survival instinct went into overdrive, and thanks to the techniques he learned from a plethora of wildly inaccurate Vietnam movies, Lee was able to escape the carnage. In the years that followed, he grappled with profound survivor’s guilt, often reflecting on the tragedy that changed his life forever.
“Peanuts, for 50 years of anger and pain,” – Des Lee
In 1982, looking for a new beginning free of the legacies of yesteryear, Lee decided to move to South Africa. There, he settled into a busy musical life as a saxophonist and band leader on the Holiday Inn circuit. Yet even with this fresh start, images from the massacre lingered fresh in his mind.
Now, as he nears his 79th birthday, Lee looks back on the knotty confluence of circumstances that brought him face to face with death on that otherwise unremarkable night. He shared his hopes for justice in relation to the attack since many of the assailants are still at large.
“My God, all my birthdays are coming together.” – Des Lee
Over the past few years, Lee has begun to aggressively pursue justice. He is now prepared to testify at trials in Belfast about the massacre. He even demanded to be helicoptered through the Irish border. He requested 24-hour security in return as he was “afraid” for his safety.
Des Lee remembers that before sets, the group would sometimes hang out in their show van before performances.
“We would be sitting in the van with a bottle of brandy or whiskey, and we’d occasionally offer a drop to the soldier who stopped us.” – Des Lee
This brief story illustrates their deep rapport. 2 but of the enduring friction they faced in those turbulent years in what was then Northern Ireland. With each performance came increased attention and threat.
“My hand was on the door handle just in case, ready to jump out because I didn’t trust anybody at that stage.” – Des Lee
Lee’s memories help to illuminate the day-to-day realities that musicians were grappling with at this time. Looking beyond those challenges, he focused on their determination to maintain professionalism and a high standard of service.
“No going on the piss before a gig. We weren’t saints or angels, make no mistake. What goes on afterwards, behind closed doors, nobody knows.” – Des Lee
On that fateful night in July of 1975, they had just completed another standard concert, signing autographs and talking to admirers. As they finished up, they got ready for one heck of a bus ride back to Dublin.
“It was just a normal night, nothing untoward. We came off stage and did the usual thing: signed autographs, chatted to the fans, then we had a cup of tea and a sandwich, and got ready to do the journey back to Dublin.” – Des Lee
Today, Des Lee is a testament to resilience in the face of unimaginable loss. Pressing on, like so many others, he charts his course through life as a musician, teacher and arts activist, justice in his blood. He clings to hope for the truth surrounding that night and for his fallen bandmates.