TUESDAY 20 JUNE 1995
Published by The Irish Press NUJ, Liberty Hall. Origination by Malcolm Kindness, Telephone 4962551.
There is an inscrutable law which pertains to Dublin: if you come to like some institution in this fair city, it is all too likely to disappear in your lifetime, perhaps even in your lunchtime - as happened a few weeks ago not far from Mulligan's in Poolbeg Street. Now read on...
With my tongue tied behind my back I can chant a sad roll: Groome's Hotel, The Russell, The Hibernian, The Pearl Bar, The Scotch House, The Metropole, The Theatre Royal, The Evening Mail and The Silver Swan are among the institutions that have gone the way of all flesh, not to mention bricks and wood and glass and mortar.
As you will probably have deduced from a recent installment in this paper I miss The Silver Swan most of all: among its virtues, as I explained last week, was that it had videophones before that advance in communications was envisaged in Japan, not to mention Silicone Valley itself.
And it was in The Silver Swan that I encountered my road to Damascus; I realise that the metaphor is rather mixed up - but so was I and probably still am.
That fateful event took place on a late September day in The Year Of Our Lord 1970; the temperature was about 70 - not centigrade I hasten to add; the humidity and the pollen count were low; nevertheless, Kerry defeated Meath in the final of the football All-Ireland, Gaelic version.
A little while previously I had been expelled from Gamblers Anonymous - you will not be shocked to hear that I had £300 on my native county as they went into battle that day on the field of Croke.
It was, incidentally, the first 80-minute final - there now is a nice piece of useful information for you; it could prove very beneficial at a table quiz.
I adjourned to The Silver Swan - and you thought it was only parliaments and county councils and courts that adjourned; in fact, any layman or woman can do it.
And there in magnificent isolation I commenced to enjoy rather large timbles of an excellent liquor distilled in a little town in the north-east of this island.
I stood in the exact middle of the bar - on the floor, that is; I was then a few inches over six feet in altitude and had unrepentant long hair; O I was a quare one, I can tell you.
I suppose it was hardly surprising that I drew attention much as I abhorred it; it didn't help that I was talking to myself and singing snatches of old songs, mostly about lost love and the deaths of kings.
Near the street end of the bar I noticed that two men were looking askance, whatever that means; because they were extinguished looking as distinct from distinguished looking, I divined that they were journalists.
One of them was a master of disguise: a soft hat covered his forehead; thick spectacles concealed his eyes and part of his nose; sidewhiskers and clouds of cigar smoke did the rest; he could have robbed a bank or even two banks without a balaclava.
I almost forgot to tell you that he was of medium height and build, at least for that place and time.
His companion was smallish; his hair confirmed your intuition that in a previous incarnation he had been a fox, first class.
Late in the night the odd couple plucked up the courage to approach me; they discovered that I was friendly, even if I didn't speak the language.
The master of disguise, whose name I learned was Sean Ward, had just been elevated to the bridge of the Evening Press - hence the clouds of cigar smoke.
The fox in human form introduced himself as Liam Flynn - and in a voice that suggested he would one day be of pious and immortal memory.
And he added that he was Art Editor of the Evening Press: you could have knocked me over with a pun - he didn't bear the slightest resemblance to Picasso or Van Gogh or Manet or Monet or Cezanne or Gaugain or Courbet or even Da Vinci himself.
Later, after I had learned to decode pressspeak, I discovered what an Art Editor does to earn his cakes and ale.
He doesn't scour the highways and the byways seeking young talent in painting and sculpture; Liam was in charge of the photographic department of the paper and hence had to deal with such ikons as Pat Cashman and Austin Finn and Colman Doyle himself.
I hasten to add that Sean Ward and Liam Flynn were to become great friends to me and still are - we got over the language difficulties.
This was all to come - read all about it in our next enthralling installment.
(To be continued)
The liquidation of Irish Press Newspapers will cost over £4 million in statutory redundancy and minimum notice payments alone - with the State set to have to pay the lion's share.
These figures do not take account of any other payments which may be due to workers, if the liquidation goes ahead.
Nor does it include the massive ongoing cost to the State of keeping 600 people on the dole.
Statutory redundancy must be paid directly from the employer to the employee, but, if employees are not paid after taking all reasonable steps to obtain it, short of court action, they may apply to the Department of Enterprise and Employment for payment.
Employers are entitled to a 60% rebate of statutory redundancy payments from the Social Insurance Fund, provided the employee has been given two weeks notice.
The Department is "not in the business of making estimates" as to what statutory redundancy and minimum notice would cost in the case of Irish Press Newspapers Ltd. until it had examined the cases of the workers involved, according to a spokeswoman.
But The XPress can reveal that the actual cost of these two elements alone will be £4.1 million, if the liquidation goes ahead, as chief executive, Vincent Jennings, again pledged on radio over the weekend.
The information on the cost of the final closure comes from a reliable source familiar with the situations of all 600 employees of the company.
Under the statutory redundancy payments scheme, workers are entitled to a half a week's pay for each year of employment between the ages of 16 an 41 years, one week's pay for each year of employment over the age of 41 years, and, in addition, one week's pay irrespective of service.
A week's pay is subject to a ceiling of £300 per week, or £15,600 per year.
Minimum notice of redundancy provisions vary according to the length of service of employees.
Workers with up to two years service are entitled to one week's notice; workers with two to five years service get two weeks notice; staff with five to ten years service, one month's notice; employees with ten years to fifteen years service, six weeks notice; and those with more than fifteen years service are entitled to two months notice.
At current unemployment benefit rates, having 600 additional workers on the dole as a result of the liquidation of the Irish Press will cost the State over £2 million annually.
The closure will also cost the State approximately double that figure every year in lost tax revenue from employees.
The shutters came down on Dunnes Stores shops all over the country yesterday as management appeared to give up their attempts to keep branches open during the strike.
And the shop and barworkers union, MANDATE, whose 5,000 members in Dunnes are on strike, appealed to the Government to intervene in the dispute.
The union demanded the tabling of legislation on Sunday working and minimum hours immediately, if that is the only way to resolve that dispute.
Over 30 of the company's 62 branches were closed for business yesterday afternoon, according to MANDATE, and Dunnes' bid to split the workforce seemed to have failed.
In those branches which had been opened with a skeleton staff yesterday morning, reports indicated that virtually no business was being done, according to Minister of State at the Department of Enterprise and Employment, Pat Rabbitte.
Referring to one woman from the Clondalkin branch interviewed on RTE radio who sounded optimistic that the strike would collapse, he said that she was "whistling past the graveyard".
And he said that it was "unacceptable" for a major employer to refuse to use the industrial relations machinery of the State to resolve their disputes with their staff.
Maurice Sheehan, MANDATE national officer, said that 30 branches were closed by yesterday afternoon, and that the fact that the Clondalkin workforce, who were relatively new and inexperienced, "came out with a bang" was a major boost to the strike.
If management had been able to keep stores open, the company could not afford the massive loss of business caused by customer support for the strike, he said. "But the people who are calling the shots can," he warned.
"They could run the company down. There would be pressure on them not to do that, but they could," he added.
Many of those involved in the strike believe that "personal pride" on the part of those in control of Dunnes is the biggest problem in the dispute.
The company management appeared to have the attitude that if they couldn't win the dispute, they would "take the ball away" said Mr. Sheehan.
And he appealed to the Government to pass legislation on Sunday working, and to review the Shop Acts to give workers a rights to a minimum floor of conditions.
"They have promised to review the Shop Acts but they have done nothing about it," he said.
LAST WEEK's special screening of Neil Jordan's The Crying Game at the Adelphi proved a resounding success. Extracts of the film-maker' talk on Freedom of Speech will be published in the XPress later this week.
The 600 laid-off Irish Press employees, along with family, friends and supporters will take to the streets of Dublin this coming Wednesday, June 21, in a mass show of unity to protest the planned closure of the newspaper group.
Marching together under a single banner, the workers will assemble at The Municipal Art Gallery in Parnell Street at 1pm. A letter will be handed into the Press Group headquarters and the march will then move off through O'Connell Street, D'Olier Street, and around Trinity College before concluding with a mass rally outside the Dail.
Politicians from all the major political parties have been invited to address the crowd and there will also be speakers from the ICTU and The Dublin Printing Trades Group.
Participants in the march are asked not to bring any banners, since it is intended purely to highlight the plight of the 600 Irish Press workers who now face such an uncertain future.
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