IN THE Rotunda, the air was heavy with expectation. Much juggling of phones and anxious men pacing around the pillars.
Finally, after a gestation period more suited to an elephant, a large bearded bundle of joy bounced through the front doors.
On Tuesday night, at City Hall, to Senator Norris, a nomination.
“Celebrate democracy!” he cried, just stopping short of handing out cigars.
At long last, after nearly two years of trying and some serious knockbacks, David Norris had arrived on the ballot paper.
Call it last gasp, 11th hour, under the wire – whatever way you look at it, he had cut it fine, with nobody to blame for his frantic, faltering lurch across the line but himself.
Eight weeks ago, after yet another setback, he had given up trying, thought he had tried everything to bring about his happy event but it was just not meant to be.
He stood on the steps of his home in Dublin and declared his presidential dream was over. “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better,” he said then.
Now he has been given the chance to try again.
There were jubilant scenes in the imposing Rotunda of City Hall when councillors voted by an overwhelming margin to facilitate his bid for the presidency.
A long list of terms and conditions applied to their assent, but they concern the campaign proper. For the moment, after a long and fraught journey, it was enough for Norris to heave a long sigh of relief and go home to bed, still in the race.
His hopes seemed, as they say, dead in the water, until Michael D Higgins came along and gave him the kiss of life. What a thought. We’ll move on. But yes, his triumphant rebirth came at the hands of Labour’s Michael D, his crucial intervention at a meeting with his party’s councillors (they have a large majority) resuscitated Norris.
To say the Senator was grateful would be an understatement. At a suspiciously choreographed chance meeting between the two in the Rotunda – Michael D on his way out after meeting his colleagues and high-as-a-kite David on his way to observe the imminent vote – the Senator fell upon his saviour and rival.
“You’re a generous, a decent and a good man, and I thank you!” he gushed, taking the Labour man by both hands and looking into his eyes.
Michael D responded with grace. “It’s about democracy, David, and I hope you have a good campaign.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as, to the distant gnashing of teeth from the other five candidates in the caring stakes, the pair outdid each other in sincerity and magnanimity.
“You’re a real democrat, Michael,” emoted the Senator. “Thank you very much. I’m dee-lighted we met, I’m not sure you got the message – it should be on your machine.”
“I did,” smiled the man ahead in the polls.
“Good,” smiled the man in pursuit.
Such graciousness.
“Give my love to Sabina and the family,” said David, and with that, the saintly Michael D wafted off, his job done.
David said he was “deeply moved” by his fellow academic and former Seanad colleague’s selflessness. “Michael D Higgins is a gentleman. He’s a scholar. He’s an old friend of mine,” said the deeply moved Norris.
“You have to hand it to him, he pulled a master stroke there,” sniffed a Fine Gael councillor, watching the Labour group retreat.
Mannix Flynn proposed the motion to support the Norris candidature “on behalf of the thousands and thousands” of signatures gathered in his support.
“It has been a very hard and harrowing time for this candidate,” said Mannix, hoping the council would give the Senator “a warm welcome and comfort”.
Not all councillors were in favour of giving the nod to Norris. They cited what they saw as his ambivalent stance on adults having sex with minors.
Fine Gael’s Bill Tormey was particularly forthright in his criticism. “Senator Norris has smeared himself . . . because he doesn’t believe in an age of consent.”
In the public gallery, the Senator shook his head slightly, then looked straight ahead, expressionless.
As some of his colleagues flinched, Independent councillor Damien O’Farrell talked of “grooming” and “buggery” and “underage sex” and said: “I have no doubt as to where I stand on the issue.”
He said Senator Norris had many questions to answer.
Overall though, the view was that councillors have no right to stand in the way of democracy. Most said they were in favour of putting Norris on the ballot sheet, but that did not necessarily convey support for him in the campaign.
Fine Gael’s Gerry Breen summed it up: “We’re endorsing his candidacy tonight, we’re not actually voting for him.”
Norris knew he had it in the bag. The indications in the chamber pointed to success. With each pledge of a vote, he seemed to relax a little bit more, the dimples growing ever deeper above the beard. With each favourable contribution, the cheers from his supporters in adjoining room could be heard in the chamber.
Finally – the vote. More cheers. Their man, at long last, had made it to the final round of judging.
Andrew Montague, the Lord Mayor of Dublin, announced the result. Thirty in favour, six against and 11 abstentions. Dublin had seen their man right.
Earlier in the day, he suffered a reverse when Cork City Council didn’t deliver a nomination.
Soon afterwards, we got tongue-in-cheek text confirmation of the reason from a proud Corkonian: “Cork councillors did extensive checks into Norris’s background before the vote. They were appalled by what they found and voted against when they heard he had no Cork connections whatsoever.”
When the result was announced, as the roars intruded from next door, Norris stood and gave two little bows. It was just after 7.40pm and he had made the cut with just over 16 hours to the deadline.
Talk about making heavy weather . . .
The press withdrew to the Rotunda with its statues of Grattan and O’Connell and the rest. Norris descended in the lift with Mannix Flynn and into a frenzy of cameras and microphones and elated supporters.
He made his way to the podium, sweating in his sensible grey three-piece suit, white hankie billowing from his breast pocket.
There was no better place to make a speech kicking off a campaign. With his words echoing under the domed roof, he thanked the councillors for their kindness.
“This is the spirit of the nation!” he cried, getting somewhat carried away.
Then he invoked Daniel O’Connell. “At another time, he was reviled and yet, he came through.”
Soon, with that presidential wave – the one thing about his woefully inept campaign that he seems to have perfected thus far – he exclaimed: “Celebrate democracy!” Then it was outside, in an unmerciful scrum, to a waiting car.
“Will you release the letters?” journalists shouted. At first he said he couldn’t hear them, then he said the issue had been addressed, then his minders quickly shepherded him to the car.
“Well done Ireland, never mind the bloody letters,” cried a supporter.
We’ll see. But for now, he’s on the ticket. That’s good.
The rest is yet to come . . .
