In the aftermath of the much-regretted passing from amongst us of Anthony Cronin, I would like to contribute a modest footnote to one of his major achievements. The establishment of Aosdána in 1981 as a vehicle by which to give support and honour to the writers and artists of Ireland, many of whom, while being people of great talent, might well find themselves relatively neglected by the buying public, and thus in pretty grim financial circumstances, was a most imaginative initiative, the consequence of his co-operation with Charles J Haughey during his first term of office as taoiseach, and it is one that, despite a few hiccups and some unedifying squabbles, has stood the test of time.
The development of the concept (deriving from the ancient Celtic social category of aes dána, or “men of art”) is credited in large measure, and rightly so, to Cronin, who was Haughey’s artistic adviser at the time, but no idea comes out of nothing, and I think that I can perhaps throw a little light on what might be termed the prehistory of this fine initiative.
The story goes back another 10 years, to 1971, when I was invited, rather unexpectedly, to become one of two advisers (the other being Denis Donoghue) to the distinguished Irish-American journalist (and later Ambassador to Ireland), William Shannon, in relation to the newly-instituted American-Irish Literary Award – another initiative, in this case of the American Irish Foundation, that has had a long and distinguished history.
Odd though it may seem that I was thus chosen, it is largely explained by the fact that, being as I was at the time in the University of California at Berkeley, I had become acquainted with that most amiable of men, Tom Jordan, who was the chief fundraiser for the American Irish Foundation, and was based in San Francisco, and he roped me in (I would have met him at a number of Irish-American receptions, such as the lavish parties given by Billy Vincent, who was a notable patron of the foundation). The idea of the award was, and still is, to provide a strategic leg-up – or, perhaps better, breathing-space – for a young and promising writer or artist, who could profit from a comfortable “sabbatical year”. The drill was that there would be a public announcement, soliciting applications, and then Donoghue and I would get together and come up with a name or two to be submitted to Bill Shannon.
On receipt of the applications, Donoghue and I duly consulted, as best we could – he being in New York, I on the west coast – and we agreed on a very promising young poet called Seamus Heaney to be the first recipient of this prestigious award.
However, that was not to be (though Heaney did in fact get the award the next year, as I recall!). It did not come about because Bill Shannon had what he thought was a better idea. It happened that, among the large crop of applicants, there figured the name of Austin Clarke. Now Bill knew the Irish scene well enough to know that (a) Austin Clarke was one of our most distinguished senior poets, and (b) that he was, despite this, sadly neglected by the public, and in consequence rather hard up. So he exercised his prerogative to override us, and to give the opening award, not to an up-and-coming young talent, but to Clarke.
Denis Donoghue was so indignant at this that he resigned forthwith (he was succeeded in due course, for the record, by Terence De Vere White). I did not resign, as I appreciated that Bill Shannon had the right to make his own decisions, and I could see what was motivating him. I still felt, however, that this was not what the award was intended for, and that led me to give some thought to the question of how one might both help and honour senior Irish artists.
What occurred to me was to propose the institution of something resembling the British Civil List – a badge of honour, with a modest pension attached. This thought remained with me into the next year, when I was back in Ireland on sabbatical. It was then that it occurred to me to write to my neighbour in Kinsealy, Charles Haughey. I wrote to him because I had been most impressed by his earlier initiative of remitting tax on artistic productions, and it seemed to me that this was a logical extension of that – not much good, after all, remitting tax on artists if they don’t have any income to speak of in the first place! So I wrote him a letter, telling him of the incident involving Austin Clarke, and suggesting that some scheme might be devised that would help senior men of letters in his position. Of this letter of mine I no longer have a copy (it may emerge from the Haughey archives in due course, if these are ever made available to the public!), but I do have a copy of CJ’s reply, and I think that it shows the quality of the man rather well.
On his record, Haughey was indeed the obvious political figure to turn to. The only problem was that now, instead of being minister of finance, he was very much in the wilderness, in the aftermath of the Arms Trial – a circumstance to which he makes ironic reference in his letter, which I now quote. It is dated, from Abbeville, April 15, 1972.
“Dear Mr. Dillon,
Thank you for your letter of 10th April. I am very grateful to you for bringing this matter to my notice, although as you know I no longer have responsibility for questions of this sort. It is quite true that we did have something in mind for Padraic Colum [I had mentioned him as an example], and I agree that the man you mention [Clarke] should also be entitled to some recognition. I don’t know if it will be possible to get anything done, but I will certainly talk to some of the people concerned about it.
Thank you very much for your good wishes for the future.
Charles J Haughey.”
Well, he did talk to some people, and he did – in due course – get something done about it. But I think it is characteristic of the man that, even at that low stage of his fortunes, he did not simply brush me off, but was still concerned with large questions of cultural policy. As to the initiative, in the form that it ultimately came to fruition, the credit is plainly due very largely to Anthony Cronin, and I do not wish to diminish that at all – except to call to mind that due credit should be accorded also to Charles Haughey himself, without whom none of this would have happened.
John Dillon is Regius Professor of Greek (Emeritus), Trinity College Dublin
