Sean Montgomery

I grew up in Tallaght, back when it was still a village, not the massive place it is now. From the top of our road, all you could see were fields and the mountains. We’d hop the river and walk into the hills. It was a good childhood. My dad ran a consumer credit business, and he did well, but he came from nothing, tenements in Pearse Street, and he never let us forget that. His outlook was simple: work a few days a week, golf with your mates, own your house, owe no one a penny.

I did well in school and was one of the few in my group to go to college. I got a degree in Construction Studies from DIT. I worked part-time with my dad, and I also worked the racetracks selling tote tickets, the Galway Races, Limerick Junction, places like that. But even then, I felt a bit out of place. I’d been to New York as a kid to visit my aunt, I was about 12, and I fell in love with the place. The energy, the freedom, even as a teenager, I’d hop the subway on my own to meet her in the city. When I got back to Ireland, I was depressed. I just knew I didn’t belong there anymore. I wanted to be in a place where I could be myself, where I wasn’t being boxed in by class or expectation.

I got my Morrison Visa in 1992, the very first year they were offered. At that point, I’d already been on a J1 visa, and to be honest, I just didn’t want to go back. Ireland was in a tough spot then. I was already living in New York, in Bayside, Queens, where my future wife and her family were based. Her dad was first-generation Irish American, her mom was second-generation Italian American, and her grandmother, from Kilkenny, was over the moon when we got engaged. She was delighted that her favourite granddaughter was marrying an Irish lad.

I was bartending on weekends, doing carpentry during the week, anything to stay afloat. My father-in-law had a small business digitising medical records, long before that was common. I worked with him, scanning documents for hospitals and helping get them into old systems. That was my first real exposure to data and IT, and it sparked something.

When it came time to apply for the visa, you could submit as many entries as you wanted. So, I sent off 100 envelopes. We drove down the East Coast posting them from different locations, New York, New Jersey, Baltimore, Washington D.C., I even hand-dropped one near the processing PO box in Virginia.

“I remember showing up there on the first day they accepted applications. The place was swarming with Irish people, hundreds, maybe thousands. It was pure chaos and excitement all at once.”

When I finally got called for my processing in Dublin, the medicals, the background checks, the interviewer even had my envelope with the postmark on it. I still have it somewhere.

One of the best memories of my life was the 1994 World Cup. My dad and his mates came over, all guys I’d grown up knowing. One of their daughters was married to Kevin Moran, so we got tickets through him. It was mad, RTE, players, the whole lot. We went to Giants Stadium and watched Ireland beat Italy 1-0. It was magic. Then we all flew down to Florida, rented a house with a pool, and went to the Mexico game in Orlando. It was about 120 degrees in the stadium, and we barely lost 2-1. I brought the lads to Hooters, that was a laugh. Back to Giants Stadium for the Norway match, we drew 0-0, which got us into the last 16, only to be knocked out by the Netherlands. But I’ll never forget the joy of it all, the singing, the football, the camaraderie. Years later, they’d still say to me, “Sean, that trip, there’ll never be another one like it.” And they were right.

The hardest part for me was figuring out what I wanted to do. I’d done a bit of everything, carpentry, bartending, scanning documents, but I hadn’t found my direction. Eventually, I decided to retrain in IT. I took a six-month intensive course with Grumman Data Institute. A month before I finished, I already had a job offer, and that set everything in motion.

I started in software development, moved into managing applications, and eventually became head of all post-trade systems at the New York Stock Exchange. I helped pioneer some of the first integration layers between legacy mainframes and Unix or Oracle systems, writing APIs that allowed old COBOL systems to talk to new technology. I built platforms that saved companies millions. But more importantly, I brought a builder’s mindset; I wasn’t just a tech guy, I applied construction principles and common sense to software. That’s what set me apart.

Moving here gave me the freedom to create my own path. I didn’t follow someone else’s road; I made my own. That’s probably what I’m proudest of. In Ireland, it’s easy to get boxed in. Here, if something blocks your way, you find another door. I worked smart and hard, and the success took care of itself.

I’ve built a life I love. I live on two and a half acres on Long Island, with a nice house, a pool for the hot summers, my own space, and a comfortable life. I’ve got a great wife and two great kids. My son Jack is autistic, and that’s been a journey of its own, challenging, but rewarding. He’s verbal, talented, funny, and full of heart. We’ve planned for his future, and I’m proud of the young man he’s becoming.

And weirdly enough, living here has made me love Ireland even more. I go back often, rent a big house in Dingle or Clifden, and bring the whole family together. You appreciate it more when you’re away from it.

The Morrison Visa lifted a burden. It took away the uncertainty that hung over so many of us in Ireland at the time. There was no clear future at home. The economy was shaky, the vision was unclear, and opportunities were limited. People were leaving anyway, smart, talented people, and many were undocumented and living in limbo.

For me, getting that visa meant I could breathe. I could build a life without the burden of uncertainty. It opened doors that would have remained closed. And it wasn’t just me. It gave thousands of people a real shot at building something in America.

The legacy of the Morrison Visa is that it gave people freedom. It allowed us to dream, to build, to belong, without fear. And that’s something I’ll always be grateful for.