Dead Men Don't Talk Back

"To my mind there is nothing more contemptible than snatching the laurels that properly belong to a man who died in action."
- Peckinpah's "Cross of Iron"

By Charley Brady

These words from James Mason in one of the greatest of anti-war films* ever made resonated in my head this week when I saw and heard our ex- leader Bertie Ahern try to steal the laurels of a man that was so far above him as to be out beyond Jupiter.

Up until now I had just felt laughter at the shameless Ahern attempting his re- write of history while smirking at the way in which he was getting away with it.

But to claim credit for the late and much-missed Tony Gregory's work is not only beyond belief but beggars the question: "Are you a man at all, Ahern, or are you simply a ghoul?"

Well are you, you heartless, "let's take away even his memory" piece of repulsive swinishness?

Here is what I wrote in these pages after the untimely death of Tony Gregory several months back:

"If you never had a reason to work out that there is absolutely no God you just had to see a truly decent, unbelievably hard working politician die last week at the age of 61 while the other crew go on and shamelessly on.

"The independent TD Tony Gregory was that rare thing in politics: a byword for decency and integrity. He did unending work for the inner city of Dublin that he hailed from and as a result of his popularity he spent 27 straight years in the Dail as a deputy, the longest-serving independent in Ireland's history. The work he did was Trojan and he was that rare thing: a man of genuine principles.

"Of course this made him many enemies and in the beginning he was the victim-if anyone could ever have seriously called him by that word - of a dirty trick's campaign that he makes clear in his final interview with "Hot Press" magazine he believes to have been orchestrated by Bertie Ahern.

Still, despite this it wasn't surprising to see many of the crowd who had tried to hinder him in his work appear brazenly at his funeral, crocodile tears spraying all over the place. One of them, needless to say, was Bertie himself. Don't forget that if there is the slightest possibility of a photo-opportunity then these people feel absolutely no shame.

"It was a sickening sight.

"Still, at least one of the eulogies must have had these phoniest of creatures squirming in their seats. After all, the person being laid to rest was a man. I'm not sure what you would call some of the characters that turned up to bathe in his glow. Well, not in a family newspaper, anyway. "Tony Gregory was, to use that overused term accurately for once, a well-loved man of the people."

That's what I wrote after his death, with a sense of utter revulsion and disgust at the vile creatures who actually turned up, unwanted, to Tony's funeral.

Ah, but we're not talking about normal people: we're talking about woodlice such as one would find after turning over a rock and exposing them to the light of day.

The death of a spirited human has let someone turn over that rock and now the underground insects like Ahern are having their day in the sun at the expense of a good man.

Ahern, you have claimed credit for the 1982 Gregory Deal, which you have no right to do. Tony put months into getting that deal done because he was something that you are not and never could be, for all your posturing: a genuine man of the people.

This week an outraged TD Maureen O'Sullivan was as horrified as I was that Bertie "Salt of the Earth" Ahern had stolen what were "hard fought for" negotiations that - let's be honest - saw him sitting in his mentor Charles J. Haughey's car like a little tame gobshite while Tony Gregory negotiated one of the best deals that was ever done for Dublin's inner city.

Yet according to Ahern's ghost-written book by University College Dublin historian Richard Aldouss (and I can only imagine why he needed the money so much that he had to take this job on) he claims that he was driving his master Haughey to Summerhill to talk to Tony Gregory.

Ahern was told to wait in the car, good little blank cheque signer for his master that he was.

Quote from the book that Ahern the Genius wasn't even able to write: "Afterwards, Charlie got into the car and said, "You're going to get your plan, Bertie; but he's going to get the credit."

Tell me, Ahern, did you steal the pennies from Gregory's eyes as you wept in the church that day?

If there was even an iota of truth in this assertion then why not make it when the man was alive? No, much easier to wait until he is safely in the ground.

That's another lesson you learned from Squire Haughey. I recall that when the questions started buzzing about his own crooked finances he threw his hands in the air and said that he didn't handle anything, that the fault all lay with his financial advisor and friend, who just happened to also be conveniently dead.

"It wasn't me, Tribunal. It was the dead guy. I didn't even know that he was stealing all of that money, including the money from my best friend Brian's liver transplant fund. Honest to God, myself and my mistress Terry Keane hardly saw an ounce of caviar out of it."

Of course, we know different now.

An angry Maureen O'Sullivan TD said: "It sounds like [the deal] was only accomplished because it was what Bertie himself wanted. Quite the contrary. Tony had a very comprehensive list that he went into that meeting with."

Lest there be any misunderstanding, I speak from a purely biased point of view. I detest Ahern and his direct descendents in the Fianna Fail Party, he himself of course the direct successor to the phoney Squire Haughey.

I detest him even more than I ever did now that he has attempted - unsuccessfully - to steal the thunder of a good man who died a painful bloody death but who was, for all that, a real man until the end.

I guess you learned a valuable lesson from your mentor Charles J.: always go after the dead guy. They don't answer back.

The only solace I take from this whole sorry self-serving episode is that the book that you couldn't even write yourself can not now, after an initial flurry of excitement from your Toytown supporters, be given away for love nor money.

There are rumours (admittedly started by me) that most people would rather have their hands sawn off and their eyes gouged out rather than be seen with a copy on their person.

From €27 euros we've dropped to €16.99 with the book being tipped for the bargain bin by the end of the month; and let's hope that they do the right thing and label it under "fiction."

A whole 572 copies sold in the United Kingdom that you love to fly your suitcases of unexplained money to?

Wow.

I guess that they like you as much as I do.

Still, we have a genuine heroine to celebrate the return home of this week. Seeing aid worker Sharon Commins alight from the Government jet - and how nice to see it used sensibly for a change - would lift the spirits of anybody.

Sharon, as you doubtless know by now, had endured three months of harrowing captivity in Darfur, one of the most inhospitable places on Earth; and that's before you take into account the 18 armed mercenaries who watched her and her fellow captor Hilda Kuwaki and the mock executions to which they were regularly subjected in order to keep them in fear.

Yet to see the indomitable Ms. Commins step off that aircraft, flashing a grin that would make Hillary Swank herself jealous, was a wonderful sight to behold.

Following her 107 days in captivity the GOAL worker was given a reception yesterday where she was hugged by President Mary McAleese.

The President said: "I was thinking as you emerged from the Government jet and everyone gave a big cheer, the last time I remember that same kind of feeling was when Brian Keenan came off the Government jet in 1991."

Ms. Commins is quite some woman and to say that the country is so damned proud of her would be something of an understatement. Welcome home, Sharon.

Donal Og Cusack also took the country by storm this week when he became the first Irish GAA sportsman to talk about his homosexuality. As a Cork hurler, he must have known that it wasn't going to be a popular decision. It is such a macho sport, and the GAA such macho (at times) jackasses that I was surprised at how much encouragement he was given.

I'm not, however, as dewy- eyed or optimistic as some newspapers and commentators have been. There is a long way to go in acceptance of others' creeds as I found out from some of the older fans last night.

They are, not to put too much of a bald face on it, quite stunned and horrified. It's not something that has been done in this closeted - forgive the pun - world before.

Comments ranged from: "I'm sorry for his father. Can you imagine how he feels inside at producing that?" to the utterly vile: "Sure, we all knew that there were s*** p****** among them but the decent thing for them to do was to keep their mouths shut and get on with the game."

To which I could only ask: "Why? What's the big deal?"

Still, I see it as a breakthrough and wish Donal the best. I hope that he is an inspiration to others who have led a secret life for years.

Yet, cynic that I am, I just don't know if it's going to be that simple.

In the meantime, from the increasingly weary man in the bat-cave who simply wants life to go smoothly, I hope as always to see you next week.

Same bat-time!

Same bat-channel!

* Of course THE greatest anti-war film was the Russian director Klimov's "Come and See."

You can reach Charley at chasbrady7@eircom.net