A boom town

Former Argus editor Kevin Mulligan reflects on the paper’s biggest ever story

Little Dundalk, perched on the north-east corner of Ireland, getting a visit from the President of America.

It was in pre-mobile phone days.

At least I hadn’t one.

It was a quite normal Friday night. I had been out for a few after-workdrinks with friends in my usual haunt the ‘Vinegar Man’s’.

We didn’t dare call it that.

Brian (McEnteggart) the owner would ban anyone using that name.

An uninformed colleague used the dreaded name within Brian’s earshot and paid the consequences - a ban until Brian relented.

I digress, there was the restless buzz in the place.

It was the place to be on a Friday night - where else would a good reporter be.

Above the din I heard Paul (McGinn) now, like Brian, sadly deceased, call my name.

‘A phone call for you,’ Paul shouted. Who’s calling me here, I thought, interrupting the highlight of my week.

Must be important, otherwise an interruption at this time, on this night, was an unforgivable sin.

Naturally some dark thoughts invaded about a family crisis, but they were discarded by the voice on the end of the phone.

‘It’s Dermot Ahern here,’ he boomed, struggling to be heard above the noise. ‘Can you come outside?’ he queried. ‘Why can’t you not come in?’ I answered, even promising him a drink and some craic.

‘I can’t talk in there,’ he replied.

‘Ok then, I’m on my way’. Outside the beaming face of our very own Government Minister told it all.

‘Bill Clinton is visiting Dundalk next Tuesday night, but you can’t tell anyone’ he blurted.

Naturally I didn’t believe him. ‘You’re having me on’ was my reaction for I never even knew that the President of the US of. . A was planning a visit to Ireland, never mind little auld Dundalk.

Once he convinced me that the visit was actually happening I had to compose myself before re-entering the heaving bar just as the cocktail sausages were doing their rounds.

How was I going to handle this ? Here I was in possession of the biggest scoop any Dundalk journalist ever held and I couldn’t share it.

‘What’s up,’ asked a colleague.

‘Oh nothing,’ I replied, ‘ but don’t make any plans for Tuesday night, you’re working’.

‘On what’ he asked you’ll ever work on’.

I had been tempted to tell them, but I knew they would never believe it. Why, I got it hard to believe it myself. It was left at that, for the night got rather hazy as the impact of the news I had been told percolated my thoughts.

Almost immediately I was distracted by the knowledge that the pressure of deadlines would bring.

The visit was to take place on our deadline day, a Tuesday night - good for circulation - bad for stress.

Could we manage a later printing time to ensure adequate coverage of this occasion for the word historic wasn’t adequate to describe how momentous it was going to be.

Little Dundalk, perched on the northeast corner of Ireland, getting a visit from the President of America.

I was, I had to keep reminding myself, the biggest story I would ever handle and it had to be handled well.

The allocation of assignments for the team, Jim Smyth, Terry Conlon, Francis Carroll, John Mulligan, Margaret Roddy, Olivia Ryan, photographers Ken Finnegan, Tommy Conachy and Mick Slevin occupied the many working hours in the days before the visits.

With the world’s media on our doorstep, it was time to push out the welcome mat.

No interview for information about Dundalk was refused - when again would you get the chance to speak on CNN or the BBC.

Townspeople could hardly contain their excitement.

A game of spot the security team was in progress in the days prior to the visit as White House teams ensured that manholes were bolted down, and roof tops secured.

The wait was long. . endless for the President to arrive.

The crowd, massive, cold and becoming increasingly impatient didn’t know that the plan to fly the President’s family by helicopter landing in Aiken Barracks had to be abandoned because of fog and mist.

Instead he had to travel by road - a new road at that, the first to travel the MI - delaying the start of the welcome.

I loved the President’s line that he hadn’t a granny buried in Castletown adding ‘I hope you don’t call me a blow-in’.

Nor was I disappointed that he mentioned McManus’s not ‘ The Vinegar Man’s’ for he could have fallen off his platform and he’d have landed in Brian’s bar, provided he didn’t mention that name he may have even got a drink.

He did join Barry Reddan in the nearby First Active office in the Queens where he and his family mixed freely.

Afterwards on a very rickety tower above the Market Square from where BBC NI were perched I was asked by Donna Traynor what I thought was the best thing about the visit.

‘Meeting you’ I quipped, never thinking of the consequences not far from home.

It was that kind of day, a day never to be forgotten.

One that started in the ‘Vinegar Man’s’ and Brian never knew.

Maybe it’s just as well.

The town was quiet, the massive crowd dispersed, the security detail, long gone when we emerged from our Park Street office with the history making ‘Argus’ put to bed.

‘We need a drink after that’ someone intervened, not realising that Brian would never let us in at that time of the morning.

As ever, any editor the world over, knows that all reporters want to do is talk about a good story when it’s all over.

I had realised that and had alerted a true friend, Tony O’Kane then the owner of ‘ The Century’ to the need.

He obliged with pints and chips from Mullens next door and President Bill was tucked up in bed in Belfast before sheer exhaustion and the pints got the best of us.

Yes it was a time to remember and to reflect with some pride on the words of the President ‘ this is now a boom town . . it’s a new day in Dundalk, and a new day in Ireland’.