SEÁN PATRICK FitzPatrick's facilities were awesome – a sort of gold-plated executive washroom with an entrepreneurial twist. Each year, he flushed through an enormous amount of money, writes Miriam Lord
Now it seems most of it, along with the nest eggs of small shareholders, has gone down the drain.
His facilities cost tens of millions, but the boss of Anglo Irish Bank decided he was worth it and who was going to contradict him? Not him, swashbuckling Seán Fitz of the two Pats, poster boy for The Boom.
The man is on first name terms with the current and previous taoiseach, for God’s sake. They both call him “Seanie”.
Anyway, Seanie – we feel we know him well enough at this stage – designed these special facilities for his sole use. Building on a Vision, is how he might have described his edifice in some future address to the Irish Management Institute. Were he not now disgraced.
Building on other people’s money, is how it might be described by the victims of his vanity.
There’s a new chairman in Seanie’s place now. Donal O’Connor stepped centre stage yesterday. Can’t imagine Biffo or Bertie calling him Donie.
He is a tall man with swept-back grey hair, wearing a silver grey tie and a dark grey suit. Following the exploits of his high-profile and rather glam predecessor, this time around it’s a case of grey rather than greed is good. But don’t let that signature colour fool you. O’Connor is an accountant.
Donal chaired yesterday’s extraordinary general meeting of Anglo Irish Bank, and it was he who brought up the subject of Seanie Pat FitzPat’s marvellous facilities.
Listen to this.
“Mr FitzPatrick had a revolving facility,” Donal told his quietly seething audience.
The mind boggles. Revolving? Must have been above in the penthouse. Maybe that’s why nobody knew about it, including the bank’s auditors – both internal and external. They’ve lost the power of speech with the shock.
But there’s more.
“Mr FitzPatrick’s facility was clearly very large,” added Donie. (€84 million, at the last count.) His audience, similarly, and, in some cases, prematurely grey, was disgusted. Seanie Pat FitzPat’s extremely large facilities were one of the main reasons, according to the Minister for Finance among others, that the bank is being nationalised.
It’s a bit like that time when television footage showed the interior of Saddam Hussein’s deserted palace, and the whole world marvelled at his bathrooms, with their solid gold fittings.
These days, the nation is marvelling at FitzPatrick’s facilities, while a large group of people have lost the money they were relying upon to see them through their old age.
You see, Donal O’Connor couldn’t really bring himself to use the word “loan”. So instead he called the astonishing amounts of money borrowed from Anglo by its chairman “facilities”. Seanie kept these loans a secret.
A facility here, a facility there, and the next thing you’re looking at €84 million, personal disgrace, national upheaval and heartache for a lot of hardworking people.
There was a board of directors when Chairman FitzPatrick was playing the numbers.
Some have resigned, but most remain. They sat on the platform in the Round Room of the Mansion House, a long line of glum faces. Not one of them spoke, not even to each other. They just sat there while the shareholders excoriated them, waxen candidates for an economic chamber of horrors.
“You can come in here and sit like dummies,” protested one angry pensioner. “And I’m sorry to make a derogatory comment.” The silent suits were lacerated. Apart from the two new appointments – former Fine Gael leader Alan Dukes and former head of the Revenue Commissioners, Frank Daly, who were ostentatiously exempted by speaker after speaker.
Grey O’Connor apologised again and again for the past mistakes of the bank he has only recently come to serve. He apologised again and again for the deeds of his predecessor. But he gave little new information to the devastated shareholders.
But he was courteous and patient. Had he bent any further backwards in his attempts to empathise he would have turned into a croquet hoop.
In many ways, Donal O’Connor finds himself in a similar position to Brian Cowen. Not only has he been given a new job, but he has been landed with his charismatic predecessor’s mess.
Also like Cowen, O’Connor is loathe to criticise the regime that brought about the debacle. “I have been enormously impressed by their professionalism and commitment and work on behalf of the bank,” he said, wringing his hands. This attitude infuriated the mostly elderly shareholders. “Don’t talk rubbish!” came a shout from the hall.
Senator Shane Ross tore strips off the board while his sidekick Eamon Dunphy watched in admiration. Gay Byrne caused a frisson when he arrived. In our time of need, where is Brian Cowen? Never mind, Uncle Gaybo is here . . . He left before the end and was waylaid outside. He said he wasn’t a shareholder, but had just popped in for a look because he was in town and his son-in-law happens to be employed by the bank in London.
“The whole thing is bordering on the inexplicable,” declared Gaybo, expounding to the delight of those journalists saddled with the unenviable task of cornering departing pensioners in an effort to find out how much they lost.
And this was the awful part of it. Away from the suits and the platitudes and the polish of the going-forward brigade. The anorak was garment of choice in the hall. Designer shoes and bags were not in evidence. These were not fat cats. Just people who had worked hard and invested their money in the hope it would work for them. At the very least, they had expected appropriate stewardship of their savings.
They didn’t get it.
But back to Gay. “I thought Prionsias De Rossa was absolutely wonderful,” he declared.
Which will have come as a surprise to the Labour MEP, who wasn’t there. We think Uncle Gay meant Shane Ross.
Most shareholders were resigned to never getting any return on their investments. One lady fixed the board with a steely gaze: “I’ll remember your names, and if I every have money again to invest and I see you on the board, I’ll run the other way.” John O’Leary (85) came up from west Cork. He wanted to know why no Government representative was present, “as a final courtesy before the final curtain drops”.