Tony Gregory was a hero in our house during my childhood. Even in the extremely interesting political times of the late ’70s and early ’80s, Gregory stood out among the throng. He was young, good-looking, articulate and angry. He spoke with an inner-city Dublin accent at a time when such an accent wasn’t heard very regularly on the national airwaves, and he had something to say – in fact he had a lot to say. And he looked different as his refusal to wear a tie – a reputation that was earned apparently completely by accident – marked him out as something quite unique.
His political activism was born out of the poverty and disadvantage of the north inner city which was almost completely disregarded by the two main political parties in the land. Nobody spoke about issues such as housing, unemployment, poorly resourced schools and drugs like Gregory did, and he took no prisoners. He was a breath of fresh air when he first came to public prominence; he succeeded in being elected to Dublin City Council in 1979 and was then elected in 1982 to a seat in Dáil Éireann that he never lost.
Much is made of the ‘Gregory Deal’ that exploded his name onto the national stage, but it is easy to forget how much work and activism was necessary for him to be elected to the national parliament in the first place. His local activism, with the help of diligent colleagues like Fergus McCabe and Mick Rafferty, always focused on the needs of the people in one of the most disadvantaged areas of the country. Nobody gets elected as an independent TD without putting a massive amount of work in on the ground, and often they can disappoint when elected, just like every politician. But again, Tony was different.
I won’t dwell too much on the deal, but I was always fascinated by the manner in which it was agreed. Famously, he forced the two would-be Taoisigh to come to his powerbase on Summerhill Parade in his heartland and forced them to listen to what he had to say. He had the balance of power and he wasn’t going to be impressed by high office or by plush surroundings. Charlie Haughey gave him what he wanted, but only after agreeing to a document drafted over cups of tea on a wobbly table. And that deal delivered the first ray of hope to his community that many people had ever seen. He will never be forgotten for it.
If the ‘Gregory Deal’ made Tony Gregory, then his imprisonment immortalised him. Campaigning for the rights of the Moore Street traders and thrown in jail for his trouble, there was no end to the admiration that supporters of all political parties had for his determination. He was determined, he was dogged and he was ruthless in his own way. He was a winner and winners need to be ruthless – especially when you attempt to face down the cancer of the drugs trade.
I met Tony Gregory for the first time seven years ago, when we both sat on an after-schools committee at Sheriff Street, and he remarked to me that he had a lot of teachers out canvassing for him in the recent election. Tony was difficult to get to know, and I can’t pretend that I knew him well, but he was certainly one of the straightest people I’ve come across. A genuine straightness can make many people uncomfortable, especially when they hear things said that they don’t want to hear.
For the last number of years in his eventful life, Tony was as always demanding services for his constituents and battling, battling, battling. He had a remarkable capacity to show respect for fellow politicians who he respected, be they a lowly councillor or a TD. I think he genuinely didn’t appreciate how much of a hero he was for some people, like me.
Of course they say that you should never meet your heroes as they will always let you down. But I always enjoyed the post-meeting banter with him, Christy Burke and Tom Stafford especially. It wouldn’t be unusual for a few of us, after a meeting or conference, to chat about this issue or that person, and for Tony to be at the heart of it all, laughing away.
I never met him during his sickness. The odd e-mail sent from our school inviting him to various events was always replied to but he was unavailable for obvious reasons. I can’t say that I knew him well, and I didn’t share all of his political philosophies or indeed some of his methods, and I wouldn’t dare – as Bertie Ahern attempted – describe him as a friend. But to me he’s a hero, and I am very glad to have met and to have known one of mine.
May he rest in peace.
Aodhán Ó Ríordáin is a primary school principal in the Sheriff Street area of Dublin, a member of the Labour Party, and formerly Dublin’s Deputy Lord Mayor. His column appears every week in Metro Éireann.
