Michael D looked shell-shocked. So did some of the beaten candidates. But they were gracious in defeat
A ROLLING maul of minders and family members appeared at the bottom of the steps.
Pandemonium.
The president-elect had arrived. But we couldn’t see him in the scrum. Then there was a gap in the wall of bodies and there he was, in the centre. You could see the white hair. Two young supporters gasped.
“It’s like he has a halo of light around his head,” cried one of them.
That’s what happens to winners. He may have been president-elect, but Michael D Higgins was lucky to make it across the finish line last night.
At one stage, it looked like he might earn the distinction of becoming the first Irish president to arrive at his count by ambulance. When he appeared at the door, he was mobbed by photographers and television crews. His entrance turned into a frightening rolling maul.
The civil defence medical team looked with concern. Security men tried to force a way through the mob. There were very real concerns for Michael D’s safety.
With the help of God and too few policemen, the next president of Ireland was steered through the mayhem.
On his way, he met Martin McGuinness, the man that the Labour Party is strenuously insisting was not responsible for seeing Higgins elected.
Earlier in the evening, the Tánaiste Eamon Gilmore bumped into the Sinn Féin leader, Gerry Adams. A big grin spread across Gerry’s face. “You owe us big time now!” he smirked to Eamon. (In fairness, he was only joking. No, really. Funny, in earnest.)
Higgins and McGuinness embraced. “Martin!” said Michael. “A Chara!” said Martin, and then he kissed Sabina, the first lady-elect.
If his changed status hadn’t quite sunk in by the time the results of the first count were declared, it will be conveyed to him in no uncertain terms this morning.
But last night, when the first count was announced, he still looked rather shell-shocked. At the end of the night, he was put into the hands of two Special Branch officers and driven away.
There were tears in Michael D’s eyes as he stood on the platform in Dublin Castle to hear the figures.
Here, candidates were reunited for one last time. They stood in a line, but not to debate each other. The contest is over and, already, the last four weeks seem a lifetime away. It was a vicious campaign. But as the six stood silently together (Dana arrived late) all the angst and acrimony had melted away.
Michael D looked around, his hands clasped together. He wore a happy tie of flowers and pink butterflies.
His wife Sabina looked elegant in a wool Michel Ambers coat and dress in shades of heather pink. His four children clustered around him.
As the results were announced, the unsuccessful five smiled for all they were worth.
It looked a big effort for Gay Mitchell who seemed as if he couldn’t quite believe what the final outcome had been for him.
David Norris beamed. He wore the look of a man who had failed, but failed better.
The Labour supporters were beside themselves with joy. Seán Gallagher, who came a distant second, was very gracious.
Dana made a strange comment when asked if she might go for a hat-trick of campaigns: “I think I might be too old to run for president again … oh … no… maybe not, because I’d still be younger than Michael D. But however, I think its really great to have come through a campaign…”
Around the count centre, Labour supporters were joking that the Áras will, indeed, hear the patter of tiny feet – whenever Michael D’s hit the ground again.
After the first count was announced, Michael D went on to the Radisson Hotel in Golden Lane where he was greeted by the entire Galway United team, still in their strips after playing Shamrock Rovers earlier in the night.
“The best is yet to come,” he told them.
Meanwhile, the ascent of President Michael D was already making worldwide news.
The Sydney Morning Herald was on the ball: “Elderly poet wins Irish presidency”.
