The ex-soldier of destiny is a skilled salesman, especially when it comes to himself
BE AFRAID, Michael D. Be very afraid. And the same goes for the rest of you. Seán Gallagher is going down a storm.
It’s Sunday afternoon and there isn’t much sign of a recession in Blanchardstown shopping centre – the place is thronged and judging by the amount of fancy carrier bags, people are still spending.
Into this whirl goes the man who startled the political pundits last week, leaving them choking on their predictions when he shot up in the opinion polls.
Gallagher wants to be president of Ireland. If the reception he got yesterday is anything to go by, he may yet get his wish. The establishment parties have a definite surger on their hands and quite how they are going to cap him is anybody’s guess.
Those hoping that his very long and very recent history with Fianna Fáil might see him supplanted in voters’ minds as Seán “Gaffager” would have been dismayed by the scene. Only one person, as far as we heard, mentioned the toxic FF words.
Neither did he, now that he is avowedly Independent.
Instead, he was greeted with the sort of enthusiastic recognition that your ordinary politician would kill for.
He is a skilled salesman, you can see that. If he was on The Apprentice, Bill Cullen would be hailing him as a great "entrepreneur". As a nation, we do love our entrepreneurs, apparently.
It’s his business background, not to mention his celebrity, that seems to make Gallagher so attractive. Despite the ringing cash registers in Blanchardstown, the way people talk of him as somebody who might help bring business into the country points to the issue that is really troubling the electorate. Here, they think, is someone who might be able to do something for the economy.
How he could do that within the strictly regulated confines of the presidency doesn’t appear to figure in those musings.
It was 22-year-old Ian Duignan from Castleknock who put his finger on this conundrum when he pushed through the admirers for a quick word with the candidate. They chatted for a while and the electrician came away pleased with the encounter.
“I told him I just think it’s great that he’s running for president, but I think it’s wasted because he should be running for taoiseach. Enda Kenny is only a primary school teacher. He’s a businessman.” So Ian will be voting for Gallagher so? “It’s between him and Martin [McGuinness]. The past would be our present if it wasn’t for him.” But back to Gallagher.
“What party is he in?” asks the young man.
“He’s an Independent.”
“That’s perfect,” comes the reply.
Gallagher is running one slick campaign. His canvassing team employ a mixture of charm and hustle. They aren’t campaigning as much as selling and they clearly believe in their product.
One woman is cornered by a pleasant man in a Gallagher sweat shirt and baseball cap. “He’s an entrepreneur and we need an entrepreneur in the park more than a politician in these tough times.” Alan Brogan, the captain of Dublin’s All Ireland winning team, materialises and sets hearts aflutter. The canvassers thrust leaflets at him for him to sign, which he does, but draws the line at putting on a Gallagher cap.
Earlier in the day, Fine Gael’s Gay Mitchell was on radio and, in an obvious reference to TV star Gallagher, took a swipe at “celebrity candidates”. Gallagher was asked about this and it was mentioned that he has been critical of negative campaigning.
“Well, I have not been critical of negative campaigning. I just don’t believe in negative campaigning,” he said, showing how he has outpaced Dana in the sweetness and light department.
"Look, there's yer man off Dragons' Den! Look, there's Seán Gallagher!" And they flock to him in a way you don't usually see with politicians – except when Bertie Ahern and Charlie Haughey were in their heyday.
Gallagher’s grip and grab technique is textbook perfect. Grip the extended hand, grab the upper arm with the other and look into the eyes before moving on to the next person.
“This boy has some technique,” marvelled one photographer who has covered more than his fair share of campaigns.
It’s always the same. Grip and grab, look into the eyes and ask, with winning sincerity: “What’s your first name?” Think Daniel O’Donnell trapped in a prop forward’s body and you go some way towards the appeal of Cavan man Gallagher.
He did it to the bemused journalists as they asked their questions. “What’s your first name? Nice to meet you, Donal.”
One of the radio journalists wasn’t impressed. “He asked me my name last week too, and he got it wrong five minutes later.”
In another old campaign ploy, some of the team stand near this journalist and speak loudly to each other about how well the campaign is going. One of them marvels at how well Mrs Gallagher looks. “Isn’t she gorgeous,” he says to nobody in particular. “Trish the dish.”
She certainly looks good, wearing a classic dress in a shade of burnt orange. Very Jackie O.
Trish is good at the touchy feely too and she asks allcomers, “What’s your first name?”
Esther Byrne from Ballyfermot gets the grip and grab treatment. She says she loves Dragons’ Den. Surely that’s not why she’ll be voting for Gallagher? “No, it’s because of what he stands for.” And what’s that? “He stands up for the working class.”
Julian Byrne from Rathfeigh in Meath wishes him all the best. “He has the ordinary people at heart and isn’t highfalutin like the rest of them,” she says.
The only note of discord comes from a woman leaving the centre who says loudly: “He’s a Fianna Fáil man.” How does she know that? “Because I’m a Fianna Fáiler.” Not that this would bother Gallagher as he spreads his “message of positivity and confidence”. He is also “continuing to listen”.
Blanchardstown is in Dublin West, where there also a byelection taking place. Among the posters on the lamp-posts is one for Independent candidate Barry Caesar-Hunt. His claim to fame is that he had a run in last year's The Apprenticeshow.
We blame George Lee for all this.
