MARBLE. Marble stairways and marble banisters. Marble balustrade. Marble walls and marble halls, marble pillars and marble arches. Hard and cold and streaked with lines and patches of something coming through. By Gene Kerrigan
The debate on the Criminal Justice Bill raises questions about the wider powers being given to the police. The powers and methods which are now being legitimised by the Bill barged their way into Christy Lynch's life and tore a family apart.
"To be the medium for possibly malicious lies about a group or individual seems very chancey indeed"- John Feeney. Evening Herald, 11 May 1983
On Wednesday December 7 there was a reception to launch "The Boss", the book on Charles Haughey by Joe Joyce and Peter Murtagh.
In April of 1967 Brian Lenihan, Minister for Justice, went to the Dail with a modest little Censorship of Publications Bill. Four months later the measure was passed. In itself the Act was a minor reform. In effect it was a major step away from what have become known as "traditional values". Five thousand books were immediately taken off the banned list.
An examination of over seven thousand Dail questions processed during forty sitting days this year shows that only four out of every ten questions asked could be considered legitimate. The majority of the questions are designed to increase the electoral prospects of the TDs asking them. Over a full year, with the average number of sitting days of 87, the misuse of parliamentary questions costs the tax payer almost half a million pounds and contributes to the distortion of the democratic process.
Things being what they are, holidays and stuff, I'm a bit pressed for time this month and so I've roped in a couple of guest stars to help out with the column. Like you to meet two of the finest people it's been my pleasure to know - Ira Ellenthal and Lou Porterfield. Big hand for Ira and Lou - thank you.
She was maybe seventeen. Faded denim and a combat jacket. He was an adjacent age and wore similar clothing. Her hips were swaying, shoulders twitching, her left hand working in a little counter-rhythm, drumming on his back. He was bent over, ninety degrees, and vomiting like a one-armed bandit paying off a Jackpot.
There I was, February 1973. A young man in a world of infinite promise. A bit worried about some of the things in that world, but confident enough that it would all come right in the final reel. And we all had a chance to make sure it did. Here came an election. My first general election. The first election in which the kids of the Sixties could vote (they wouldn't let us vote in '69, you had to be 21).
In his first year as Director (of the Arts Council), 0 Briain gave a memorable lecture/performance at the National Gallery in Dublin. Sitting in a dentist's chair and wearing a crash helmet he held forth on the state of the arts in Ireland. The same year he opened the Living Art Exhibition sitting in a deck chair with his back to the audience, wearing a pair of swimming trunks. Sunday Tribune May 8