It was the week before Christmas about 20 years ago. Dublin county councillors had adjourned their meeting early to go for their seasonal drink together. As I was walking out the door, a jovial councillor approached and asked me to join them in Conway's pub. I explained that I had to get back to the office to file my report. He was very insistent. Then he shook me by the hand and said: "Have a happy Christmas. Have a drink on me." A £5 note fell from his hand on to the ground.
I was furious. I picked it up and told him not to try a pathetic stunt like that again. He laughed heartily and ran away. Mortified, I couldn't believe what had happened. What sort of gombeenism was this? What sort of mentality had he? I have a rule not to socialise with politicians, as it is better for both sides to keep their distance.
Choir at GPO
As I walked down O'Connell Street, the city was full of Christmas cheer and colourful twinkling lights. I was still trembling with anger at what had happened and decided I would post the fiver back to the man, a prominent rezoner.
Then I came across a school choir singing carols under the portals of the GPO, that great landmark of our independence and democracy. The innocent little youngsters were singing their hearts out. I walked over and placed the ill-gotten fiver in one of the collection boxes. I can still see the look of astonishment on the face of the little girl. A fiver back in those days would probably be the equivalent of £20 today. It made her day. It was probably the best thing a Dublin county councillor has ever done for Dublin. And he didn't even know it, nor did he get any votes out of it.
I tell this story to reflect the mentality of some Dublin county councillors at that time. My man is probably not on Frank Dunlop's infamous list, as it was much later when Frank started dropping in on council meetings. But even then there was a hard core of councillors who were prolific rezoners. They rammed through rezonings against the advice of the officials, against the wishes of local people and sometimes with a picket protest outside the building. As Local Government Correspondent for this paper during the 1970s and 1980s, I had the misfortune to have to cover Dublin County Council regularly. Month after month, year after year, it was a frustrating experience, a part of my career that I'm glad is over.
It was the time when Dublin was beginning to expand, spreading out to Tallaght in the west and up to Balbriggan in the north. You did not have to be a rocket scientist to know that big money was going to be made by land-owners. Land in those days was more valuable than oil. Co Dublin was Texas. As the city trundled out into the county, landowners, developers and builders watched, salivating, rubbing their hands in glee. It was the Klondyke all over again.
Little protest
Sitting in the press bench for two decades, watching hundreds of rezonings, material contraventions of the Development Plan and notorious Section Four motions (forcing the manager to carry out the councillors' wishes) proved quite traumatic. It was obvious that democracy had gone mad. Media reports showed clearly that the abuse going on, but nobody - except the people living near the areas to be rezoned - protested.
We didn't know there was anything illegal involved, but I remember writing a few times that some councillors must be getting big donations from landowners and developers at election time. This resulted in one indignant councillor saying: "You would think we were crooks the way you are slanting your reports in favour of the officials."
Yes, I admired the courage and integrity of the officials who, meeting after meeting, stood up to bitter attacks. I admired their patience and fairness. The councillors would go through their usual modus operandi. They would make longwinded speeches, stressing the need to build houses for young people, provide employment, reduce the long dole queues, etc. They conveniently ignored the fact that there was already plenty of land rezoned for housing and industry. They ignored the fact that there were no services, water, sewerage, infrastructure, shops, amenities or transport - also, that there was very little money in those days to provide these services. Councillors just wanted the land rezoned.
After about two hours' debate their patience would wear thin and the pack leaders would start shouting: "Put the question, put the question. . .We have talked long enough about this. We have heard enough from the officials." Then the steamroller would come into operation. Nearly all of Fianna Fail, half of Fine Gael in favour of the motion; Labour and half of Fine Gael against. It was like clockwork.
Council officials were heroic. Two men in particular stand out: Al Smith and Larry Brassil. They can look back with pride on the way they stood up to some very heavy pressure from councillors who were determined to get their own way, but they were swept aside each time.
Deeply upset
Dublin County Council staff are deeply upset at present. They are hurt to hear the revelations of one of their most senior officers, George Redmond, to the Flood Tribunal. They feel they are now being tarred with the same brush. A senior official told me recently: "The public in the past could never question our integrity, but now they can now criticise us in the same breath as those councillors who took bribes. It is infuriating."
Redmond has tarnished the image of council officials, but certainly some of the men I saw in action were exemplary. They were fair, courteous and full of integrity. It wasn't easy to express those virtues in the climate of the 1970s and 1980s. They, more than anyone, will be pleased to see the boil being lanced by Frank Dunlop's evidence.
As for me, the Flood Tribunal revelations have made an old reporter very happy.