Campaign Notebook , Feb 22, 1982

It has to be that the press conference is for Fianna Fail. Down the corriidor in the Burlington they're getting ready for the Fine Gael show in an hour's time - but all they have on the tables down there is coffee. Here the amber shimmers through the glasses like a warm· sun rising on a win ter's morning. Like Charlie says, things ain't so bad that we can't afford a little splash. by Gene Kerrigan
Last June, Garret FitzGerald took a train around the country and at each stop he got out on the platform 'and spoke of the financial crisis and of opportunity and the journalists draggged themselves off the train and scribbled their notes - and strange scents from the train's kitchen were borne in mind. Sizzling steak. Back on the train, fresh table-cloth, another course, free gratis and for the hell of it.

And each journalist covering the trip was presented with a moulded metal quill, painted silver, and a mock ink-spot stamped "Fine Gael". Stricttly Hector Grey, you understand, but' such were the good old days back in '81, when elections were about who could distribute the greatest number of funny hats or the most airports or international sports complexes ...

Before you could get to the drink last Wednesday you had to listen to Charlie wrap up his campaign. The guy from CBS had the only TV camera and he needed a bright light on top to work with.

"Take away the light, please," said Charlie, "I like to see the whites of their eyes."

Charlie likes to wrap up a cammpaign with some light-hearted banter with the press. They'll ask him how many seats the party will get and he'll say, aha, no' I wouldn't speculate about the size of the majority. And they'll ask him if he'll resign should Fianna Fail lose and he'll say, aha, no! I wouldn't even contemplate the posssibility of losing. And these kind of dumb questions get asked today - but it's only half a day since Tuesday's television confrontation between Garrret and Charlie and there's unfinished business, so we're going to have some serious stuff before we get to the bannter and the drinks.

Because someone lied last night. If you took a longer word, like rnisunnderstanrliug or misinterpretation, you might f'i t it into the gap between what Charlie said and what Garret said. But the word we have here is lie. Someone looked out through the RTE cameras at lots of thousands of people and lied through his teeth. And at this press conference, or at the one up the corriidor later in the afternoon, someone is going to lie again.

For the first time in the history of state. Or, tonight's historic televiision debate. The RTE people kept sayying things like that. Like maybe Garret was going to arm wrestle with Brian Farrell, or Charlie was going to flap his arms and take off into the night toowards Knock airport. Two very famiiliar politicians talked, argued.

Before they did that, they had to run the gauntlet of RTE obsequiiousness. Station executives wore the kind of smiles politicians wear when they're waiting for a recount. Direcctor-General George Waters was rubbing his hands like they were covered in oil and he didn't have any Swarfega ... "This is the computer, Taoiseach, and this ... "

Today Tonight Editor Joe Mulhollland ran around on his toes, flapping his arms over Garret and Waters. "Eh , DG, in to the eh, hospitality . . . eh "

Controller of Programmes John Kelleher was shaking any hand attachhed to a politician.

After the hospitality and make-up came the Mock-up. The Mock-Up was the official title for having Charlie and Garret shake hands in front of Brian Farrell. When they had shaken hands they sat down again. Then floor manaager Walter Harrington asked them to get up and shake hands again. FitzzGerald started laughing. They shook hands again. Then went back to their respective rooms. Roars of laughter could be heard from the room where FitzGerald and his entourage were watching a Fine Gael party political broadcast.

Then the two went out for the live show and one of them lied.

Next morning Garret FitzGerald did a quick flit in his bus around Haughey's constituency, Spread on the table in front of him were the morning papers, with verdicts on Last Night's Historic Television Debate. The Indeependent had asked a hundred people in a hotel who they thought had won. The Press had telephoned 65 people with the same question. Fitz'Gerald, with apparent seriousness, analysed the results of the 'looney survey.

Seems that Garret won the arguument but Charlie won the debate. Or vice versa. Garret mightn't have looked too good because of the lousy camera angles - but Charlie kept looking out of the corner of his eye and on TV that makes you seem shifty.

But there was the bit about the Central Bank refusing a loan to Charrlie's government. And the bit about Charlie knocking £130m. off the 1981 budget estimates without connsulting his Cabinet. Garret said yes, Charlie said no - and these are not the kind of things you can be hazy about. A Jack Lynch feint, like it slipped my mind, honest - that doesn't cut the mustard. Someone lied.

But the questions of the day were who won, who was most attractive to viewers, who had the best perforrmance.

A social centre. Off the bus, shake hands with Sister Kevin. They get a bit of a grant from the Corporation, a bit of a one, says the nun. And FitzzGerald, on the last day of the cammpaign, his face strained, makes the effort to listen, absorb, digest, reply.

In this campaign and the last one FitzGerald came to the last day tired - when he goes out on these hops, skips and jumps around the country he meets people, his face changes as he talks, his mind works, he keeps the set speech to a minimum and immprovises around it, running up and down the scales of the issues. He shakes a lot of hands, so many that his right hand becomes swollen.

Haughey's hand swells. But he has a technique by which his mind seems to hover somewhere else as the hand goes out, pumps, moves on. A mental helicopter that eases the trip. When a campaign ends he is as impassive as when it began.

FitzGerald is in Coolock Garda Staation, and Inspector Mulroy is telling him how some crimes in the area have gone up a hundred percent in a year. Taking cars is a big thing. Fitz Gerald

listens and after a while slouches down on the side of a desk, taking the weight off.

Inspector Mulroy talks like he knows he's a cop and yet he knows that that's not all that's needed. He tells how he has been making contact with community organisations, local traders, working a youth liaison scheme. Sure, more police would help - "But man-power isn't the whole answer." (The TV discussion on crime had centred wholly on who could process the most recruits through Templemore.)

Jim Mitchell was preparing some legislation, said FitzGerald. Fine, said Mulroy, he knew about that. "The jails are full," he said quietly, "and there's a backlog of two and a half years in the courts." Extending the age for the juvenile liaison scheme beeyond seventeen would be a help, though. And FitzGerald gets into a discussion about just what kind of changes in legislation would be best '-. and he's thinking again. There weren't that many hands to shake in the garda station and he could have been in and out in a minute ...

On to the old folks home and the people are thrilled to see him and tell him how well he did on TV. A woman wants married women kept at home so that young people can have jobs. FitzGerald doesn't say anything. The same woman says that unmarried mothers who have a second child should not get the allowance. "It makes prostitutes of them." FitzzGerald puts his lips together, parts them and says, "I'll note your points." A vote's a vote.

The predominant topic of connversation before the press conferrences begin that afternoon is who won on TV last night. And that kind of question comes up later on. Charlie does a full frontal with a couple of Central Bank reports and repeats his position of last night. In a long, agonnising series of questions and answers, FitzGerald repeats what he said last night and will go little further.

Michael O'Leary says that if the Coalition parties have a majority Labour will certainly enter governnment, let there be no doubt about that. But doesn't he have to consult the party's Administrative Council? Yes, he will consult his colleagues but he can say now that Labour will certainly, let there be no doubt about this, enter government.

If that's so, why bother consulting the Administrative Council?

With the straightest face you'll see outside a graveyard, Michael replied, "Because we're a democratic party."

Michael has been in a tailspin from the beginning of the campaign. Now he says his little piece an d sits there making notes while FitzGerald takes the weight, He passes the notes to left and' to right. When he's not making notes, Michael draws little faces on the sheets of paper in front of him. He passes a note to FitzGerald which asks FitzGerald to make a plea to FF voters "to cross the political divide tomorrow."

As the affair breaks up, FitzGerald is moving away and O'Leary calls him back to have their picture taken togetther.

The trouble with asking people to cross the political divides between Fianna Fail, Fine Gael and Labour is that first you have to show them where the divide is . . . •