THE DAY WASHINGTON CAME TO OMAGH TOWN
The day Washington came to Omagh town
By GEOFF HILL
IF you were out looking for anyone on the streets of Washington DC yesterday, you were out of luck, for they were all in Omagh.
Indeed, William Jefferson Clinton arrived in town with what seemed like the entire population of the United States, never mind the Capitol.
With him he brought a long-suffering wife, a fleet of stretch limos concealed in the bellies of large helicopters, and several dozen men who last smiled when they were three, who had all bought their haircuts and sunglasses in the same shop and who spent the afternoon talking to their cufflinks.
They were probably radioing for a McDonald's, although in vain, for in that respect Omagh remains one of the last pockets of civilisation on the planet.
Two of them had even climbed to the Courthouse roof with what looked like violin cases, although they seemed like the sort of chaps who think Paganini is a hit man for the Mafia.
You may accuse the British of being paranoid and xenophobic when they go abroad, but at least they only bring teabags and cornflakes.
After a morning spent shooting the breeze with the great and good of Belfast, Bill, Hillary, Tony and Cherie finally arrived in Omagh in late yesterday afternoon and were taken straight to the town's leisure centre for a private meeting with the families of the victims.
It was a private meeting, but it must have been an eerily unsettling one for the relatives, for the leisure centre was the makeshift morgue where they identified their dead after the blast on August 15.
Waiting in High Street, meanwhile, were the luckier ones: the shopkeepers and the civil servants, the doctors and nurses, the solicitors and local councillors who make up the tightly-knit community of this sleepy market town which was so rudely awakened only a few Saturdays ago.
Among them was the Ulster Unionist MP for the area, William Thompson, whose earlier criticism of the visit had become tempered by time.
"On balance I think it's a good thing," he said. "You can still say that he's trying to deflect attention from his troubles at home, but he's a politician, so you'd expect him to. I think since he's in Northern Ireland, he could hardly not have come to Omagh."
And Oliver Gibson, the town's veteran DUP councillor who is well into retirement and still as sharp as a pin, said: "There's a lot of respect in the town for the office of President of the United States.
"After all, over half the signatories on the Declaration of Independence were from this part of the world.
"But although we're glad to see him, bear in mind that he's in political free-fall and heavily dependent on the Irish/American vote, so he needs Omagh more than Omagh needs him."
Indeed, he should know: his niece Esther died in the blast.
And then there was Sean O'Connor, the local teenager seen by millions of television viewers on an amateur video wandering around Market Street in shock wearing his Celtic shirt in the aftermath of the blast. Yesterday, he was still wearing it.
And John Hall, a charge nurse at the Tyrone County Hospital, whose aptly named daughter Grace survived the bomb, although she was in McElroy's shoe shop only 13 yards from it.
And all around them were the good people of Omagh, who as an indication that they are thankfully getting back to normal, were talking more about the weather than the bomb.
Up at the end of High Street, a group of teenage girls spent half-an-hour patiently persuading one of the men from the FBI, CIA, MFI or whatever it is, to smile, finally being rewarded with a grin which was a tribute to American healthcare.
And finally, just after 5pm, there he was: leader of the free world to most of us, the great Satan to Ayatollah Khomeini or Hillary, general lad about town and Boris Yeltsin's only friend in the world.
Stepping out of an airlifted limo with Tony and Cherie Blair, he and Hillary unveiled the plaque at the site of the blast and laid a floral tribute.
Then they walked slowly up the street to the waiting crowds and a ripple of applause from the grown-ups, a howl from a three-year-old who didn't know any better, and a cry of "Monica" from a woman who probably should have.
"Please do not try and hand anything to the President." said one of the men from MFI. As if we would.
First came Hillary, looking a little strained, as well she might. Then Cherie Blair, who managed to look both happy and sad at the same time.
And Tony, who always looks like the best boy in the Sixth Form.
And finally Bill, who had the slightly too forced smile of a man who knew he was walking on two types of thin ice: of an infidelity discovered at home, and of being abroad in a town which wished that the reason it was being honoured by the President of the United States was not the the recent death of 28 on its streets.
It was, as Monica Lewinsky would say, all over very quickly, and as the sun sank behind the Courthouse, the people of Omagh scratched their heads and wondered if this had all really happened to them: first the bomb, and now within weeks every leader on the planet walking the streets.
Throughout the troubled history of Northern Ireland, politicians have often been criticised for doing too little, too late.
But for a baffled if grateful Omagh yesterday, it had probably all been too much, too soon.
By GEOFF HILL
IF you were out looking for anyone on the streets of Washington DC yesterday, you were out of luck, for they were all in Omagh.
Indeed, William Jefferson Clinton arrived in town with what seemed like the entire population of the United States, never mind the Capitol.
With him he brought a long-suffering wife, a fleet of stretch limos concealed in the bellies of large helicopters, and several dozen men who last smiled when they were three, who had all bought their haircuts and sunglasses in the same shop and who spent the afternoon talking to their cufflinks.
They were probably radioing for a McDonald's, although in vain, for in that respect Omagh remains one of the last pockets of civilisation on the planet.
Two of them had even climbed to the Courthouse roof with what looked like violin cases, although they seemed like the sort of chaps who think Paganini is a hit man for the Mafia.
You may accuse the British of being paranoid and xenophobic when they go abroad, but at least they only bring teabags and cornflakes.
After a morning spent shooting the breeze with the great and good of Belfast, Bill, Hillary, Tony and Cherie finally arrived in Omagh in late yesterday afternoon and were taken straight to the town's leisure centre for a private meeting with the families of the victims.
It was a private meeting, but it must have been an eerily unsettling one for the relatives, for the leisure centre was the makeshift morgue where they identified their dead after the blast on August 15.
Waiting in High Street, meanwhile, were the luckier ones: the shopkeepers and the civil servants, the doctors and nurses, the solicitors and local councillors who make up the tightly-knit community of this sleepy market town which was so rudely awakened only a few Saturdays ago.
Among them was the Ulster Unionist MP for the area, William Thompson, whose earlier criticism of the visit had become tempered by time.
"On balance I think it's a good thing," he said. "You can still say that he's trying to deflect attention from his troubles at home, but he's a politician, so you'd expect him to. I think since he's in Northern Ireland, he could hardly not have come to Omagh."
And Oliver Gibson, the town's veteran DUP councillor who is well into retirement and still as sharp as a pin, said: "There's a lot of respect in the town for the office of President of the United States.
"After all, over half the signatories on the Declaration of Independence were from this part of the world.
"But although we're glad to see him, bear in mind that he's in political free-fall and heavily dependent on the Irish/American vote, so he needs Omagh more than Omagh needs him."
Indeed, he should know: his niece Esther died in the blast.
And then there was Sean O'Connor, the local teenager seen by millions of television viewers on an amateur video wandering around Market Street in shock wearing his Celtic shirt in the aftermath of the blast. Yesterday, he was still wearing it.
And John Hall, a charge nurse at the Tyrone County Hospital, whose aptly named daughter Grace survived the bomb, although she was in McElroy's shoe shop only 13 yards from it.
And all around them were the good people of Omagh, who as an indication that they are thankfully getting back to normal, were talking more about the weather than the bomb.
Up at the end of High Street, a group of teenage girls spent half-an-hour patiently persuading one of the men from the FBI, CIA, MFI or whatever it is, to smile, finally being rewarded with a grin which was a tribute to American healthcare.
And finally, just after 5pm, there he was: leader of the free world to most of us, the great Satan to Ayatollah Khomeini or Hillary, general lad about town and Boris Yeltsin's only friend in the world.
Stepping out of an airlifted limo with Tony and Cherie Blair, he and Hillary unveiled the plaque at the site of the blast and laid a floral tribute.
Then they walked slowly up the street to the waiting crowds and a ripple of applause from the grown-ups, a howl from a three-year-old who didn't know any better, and a cry of "Monica" from a woman who probably should have.
"Please do not try and hand anything to the President." said one of the men from MFI. As if we would.
First came Hillary, looking a little strained, as well she might. Then Cherie Blair, who managed to look both happy and sad at the same time.
And Tony, who always looks like the best boy in the Sixth Form.
And finally Bill, who had the slightly too forced smile of a man who knew he was walking on two types of thin ice: of an infidelity discovered at home, and of being abroad in a town which wished that the reason it was being honoured by the President of the United States was not the the recent death of 28 on its streets.
It was, as Monica Lewinsky would say, all over very quickly, and as the sun sank behind the Courthouse, the people of Omagh scratched their heads and wondered if this had all really happened to them: first the bomb, and now within weeks every leader on the planet walking the streets.
Throughout the troubled history of Northern Ireland, politicians have often been criticised for doing too little, too late.
But for a baffled if grateful Omagh yesterday, it had probably all been too much, too soon.
Further Information
Publisher: NEWS LETTER
Ref: NL/277
Published Date: 04-Sep-98
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