Mary O’Rourke and I only crossed paths twice. When she held the position of Education Minister during the late 80s, many public services in the country were severely hit. In the department I headed at St Patrick’s College, all my part-time tutors were taken away, leaving us in a lurch, which is revealed by my personal files.
Somehow, I managed to secure an appointment for a meeting, the methods of which I am unsure. However, it was successful and the late Ms O’Rourke was soon sitting across from me in her office – her papers before her and me armed with documents filled with facts, numbers, charts and everything else required to state my case correctly. My objective was to restore a crucial part of our teaching staff and I had my pleading argument ready.
In my experience, politicians often make you feel as though you’re communicating through an impenetrable glass wall or a solid protective barrier. In other words, their aloofness is palpable.
However, this wasn’t true for Ms. O’Rourke. She listened attentively, spoke calmly and sensibly to me, tackled the problem with resolve, and looked me in the eyes without seeming intimidating. She took notes and maintained her affable smile, without losing her inherent grace and poise.
My initial anger and frustration on entering the room had dissipated considerably after our interaction, or at least it recoiled and hid within me. I wouldn’t say it was a relief or a silver lining, but it was something akin to these two emotions – a term, I believe, we haven’t yet devised.
The typical scene, where a politician would assure you that they’d try their utmost, or that your concerns would be assessed, or subtly hint through gentle words and delay tactics that they are doing something, did not play out this time. Conversely, the underlying message, conveyed with utmost respect and a touch of sorrow, yet bereft of any definitive wording, was that no action would be taken! And truthfully, it didn’t happen. My metaphorical heap of papers and documents was rendered useless and stashed away for future endeavours.
But there was one statement she made at the time that opened unexpected doors for me.
‘We’ll recognise each other next time we meet, Alan,’ she proclaimed.
The fulfilment of this assertion was far from immediate, taking nearly a couple of years. The venue was a Dublin city hotel where I was scheduled to meet her one Wednesday afternoon. As I was leaving, coincidentally meeting at the entrance was none other than the Minister herself, Mrs Mary O’Rourke.
‘Really good to see you, Alan,’ she said warmly ‘I trust you’re well?’
Caught off guard, I was simply left speechless, which is quite a rarity for me.
How did she manage to recollect one face from among thousands, especially several weeks spanning two years? Could such a remarkable skill, along with others, be what set Mary O’Rourke apart as a politician, and painted her persona from the top of her head down to her toes, from earth to the skies?