Liberace could have joined Fianna Fail without any bother. He had three appropriate credentials. He was a perjurer, he was a devout Catholic and he coined the phrase “crying all the way to the bank.” I always considered perjury an extreme offence, up there with treachery for heinousness. Bless my innocence. At the three great tribunals of my lifetime, the Beef Tribunal, The Mahon Tribunal and The Moriarty Tribunal, the lies came tumbling out, in a steady stream.
A different stream of words, this time from Daily Mirror, gossip columnist William Connor, led to Liberace taking a libel action. He got $22,000 (E 500,000) in settlement against the journalist, who wrote under the name Cassandra.
“They say that this deadly, winking, sniggering, snuggling, chromium-plated, scent-impregnated, luminous, quivering, giggling, fruit-flavored, mincing, ice-covered heap of mother love has had the biggest reception and impact on London since Charlie Chaplin in 1921.”
The critical word in that passage is fruit. In America, fruit was slang for homosexual and Liberace took the stand and denied point blank that he was gay. It was perjury with style.
Our perjurers are a rum lot. Luckily you can’t libel the dead, so we can declare that freebooting Liam Lawlor was a blatant perjurer. Charles J. Haughey was no slouch either. Is there a patriot amongst the many builders, bankers and financial gurus, someone with a conscience, who might still stand up and tell us honestly, how and why the plain punters of Ireland were locked out from such a momentous decision If you put a tune to that, Liberace could play it.
Just like many political craw-thumpers, who have served in cabinet, Liberace was a devout catholic. Now there’s nothing wrong with being a devout catholic, if you can stomach the hypocrisy and the steady flow of lies and denials that emanate, still, from the Vatican.
Liberace met Pope Pius XX and considered it one of the highlights of his life. For whatever reason, on the day, Liberace wore a regular dark suit. My guess is he didn’t want to outshine the Pope in the bling department, or he didn’t want to meet the Pope just to find himself discussing the merits of pink velvet surplices, or teasing out the age old problem of what to wear under the red dress. Tights or jocks?
When the Pope came to Ireland, our politicians were falling over each other to see and touch The Holy Father, while at the same time, down in Galway “the young people of Ireland” were singing “ he’s got the whole wide world in his hands,” conducted by a father of one, Bishop Eamon Casey, ably assisted by a father of two, Fr.Michael Cleary. Yes Ted. I’m serious.
“I’m crying all the way to the bank” emanated from Liberace’s response to a very bad review. He wrote the critic a letter saying “Thank you for your very amusing review. After reading it, in fact my brother George and I, cried all the way to the bank.”
That’s a real Phil Hoganism. Anyway, we have no more tears to shed on this Island of Snakes and Squalor. We cried when you allowed the banks to casually throw money at amateur builders, dish out unsustainable mortgages and chase away a generation of young people, some of whom will never return. And you have continued to hire people on huge salaries, despite your election promises.
Before you hocked our future, did you not stop, even for a moment, to consider asking us how we felt about it? And will we ever be told what was said at that fateful meeting on the night we surrendered and committed to the Bank Guarantee. When historians look back on this, they will say there were too many weaklings on our side and as we are the people, who will be paying back money for the next thirty years, democracy got a kick in the nuts that day. As the great American comedian, Rodney Dangerfield used to say, “I get no respect.” And neither did we.
Liberace called himself “A One Man Disneyland”.
Maybe we should be like Liberace and go the Disneyland route. We are already living in a kind of Disneyland. What we need is one good man to emerge, someone with balls, good judgment, someone who’’ll stick by their promises to curb huge salaries, someone who will wade into the murky waters of the HSE and not emerge until the service runs smoothly. And someone who will root out comfy little quangos and rogue executives in state and semi-state organisations.
The Garda Band could lead the government, in white tie and tails, ball gowns for the ladies, to link up with Mickey Mouse as he leads the parade around St. Stephen’s Green and down Grafton Street to a public bar-b-que at College Green, where hopefully the Disney litter disposal squad would make our streets as squeaky clean as their facility in Florida.
The Yanks already love our Disneyland. 2% Corporation Tax! You wouldn’t get it in a tax haven.Article Written by Shay Healy First Published in The Irish Daily Mail, Saturday 8th June 2013 Shay Healy’s latest eBook ‘The Danny Boy Triangle’ is Out Now on Kindle 2.99 Free Kindle Reader – download app