The numerous perils of politics

The numerous perils of poilitics


C’mere ‘til I tell ya
Daniel Carey

POLITICS is a tricky business. In his autobiography, Garret FitzGerald recalls that in 1966, he realised that although he was a well-established member of the Fine Gael front bench, he had never got around to joining the party itself. So he went to see John A Costello, his local TD. Costello’s response was characteristically forceful, blunt and idiosyncratic: “Forty years in politics; twice Taoiseach; never joined Fine Gael.”
Old habits die hard in politics, which was evident to FitzGerald while canvassing during the Waterford by-election of 1966. Waterford city remained a Redmondite stronghold long after the 1918 defeat of the Irish Parliamentary Party and the death of its leader, John Redmond.
So strong was this Redmondite factor, that Fine Gael supporters were told that in a number of areas they should seek votes for ‘Eddie Collins, John Redmond’s man’, without stressing the Fine Gael connection. “I still remember the response in one house,” FitzGerald writes, “when the door was opened by an elderly woman: ‘Of course I’ll vote for Eddie Collins; haven’t I got John Redmond’s picture at the top of the stairs, beside the Sacred Heart!’”
But times change, and an African-American is now President of the United States. Inaugurations past were recalled as Barack Obama took the oath of office last month, including a great story about Dwight D Eisenhower. The war hero had a lasso slung around him by a cowboy during his inaugural parade in 1953.
While the president smiled as he was ‘roped’, his protectors were less amused. “I was lucky the Secret Service didn’t ventilate me,” the offending cowboy, Montie Montana, told the Los Angeles Times shortly before his death in 1998.
Obama’s inaugural speech was relatively short – certainly much shorter than the 105-minute marathon delivered by William Henry Harrison in 1841. It was delivered in a snowstorm, but the 68-year-old Harrison was not wearing a hat or overcoat. He caught a cold while giving the speech – much of which dealt with ancient Roman history – and subsequently developed pneumonia. A month later, he became the first American president to die in office.
Bizarrely, dead birds have been a feature of two US presidential inaugurations. For Richard Nixon’s second inauguration in 1973, Pennsylvania Avenue was dotted with dead or dying pigeons.
At the president’s request, thousands of dollars were spent spraying a chemical bird repellant on the trees along the parade route. The spray was meant to give pigeons itchy feet to encourage them to stay away. But the birds ate the repellent, became ill and died.
And exactly 100 years earlier, the temporary structure built to host President Ulysses S Grant’s second inaugural ball had no heat or insulation. Therefore, guests danced in their coats and hats to stay warm in sub-zero temperatures. The food was cold, the hot chocolate and coffee ran out and the poor caged canaries – used as decorations – froze to death.
As they used to say in ‘Hill Street Blues’, let’s be careful out there.