Gerry Conlon was astute enough to know that American political influence casts a long shadow and that sometimes that shadow engulfed 10 Downing Street. He also knew that, as a miscarriage of justice victim, he was in a unique position to exhort American politicians to persuade the British government that it was not in their vested interest to continue to deny justice to the Birmingham Six. So, in early March 1990, along with his trusted cousin Martin Loughran, Conlon returned to Washington to attend the Congressional Human Rights Caucus hearing on the Birmingham Six case, which Congressman Tom Lantos had promised he would convene during the Irishmen’s previous trip. The hearing was co-sponsored by Congressman Joe Kennedy of the Ad Hoc Congressional Committee on Irish Affairs.
There were high expectations of a successful outcome to the caucus hearing, not least because Conlon had a masterful grasp of his brief and had the ability to deliver a faultless presentation. More than any other facet, it was his personality that made him a reliable persuader: in temperament, he was a composite of nervous energy and cordiality; in conversation he had the gift of giving the speaker his undivided attention; in practice, he was blessed with a prodigious memory, which meant that he could remember dates, places and people’s names, even if he had not seen those people for a while, sometimes for years. This meant that if he had been introduced to a politician in the past, or his wife, or his kids, he remembered their names and details. This was impressive data storage, which did not go unnoticed by almost everyone with whom he came into contact.
Once again Conlon availed of Sandy Boyer’s services to help co-ordinate his activities. Even before Conlon had left for the United States, Boyer, an unsung hero of the Birmingham Six narrative, had been busy sorting out the Irishman’s agenda: ‘In the week or so before the hearing, I was speaking to Joe Kennedy’s staffer regularly. We were going over the schedule for the hearing and I was able to answer questions about the case.’1 The significance of Boyer’s contribution cannot be underestimated because, as a result of his discussions with Kennedy’s staffer, a briefing document for members of the caucus was produced, which said: ‘Their [the Birmingham Six] convictions were based upon signed confessions and forensic tests which indicated that the defendants may have been severely beaten at the time the confessions were obtained. Furthermore, the forensic tests were shown to be incomplete and unreliable.’2
Boyer had meticulously prepared the ground, and now it was time for the Guildford Four man to deliver. Boyer recalls:
Gerry and I met in Washington two days before the hearing. We went to talk to the Kennedy staff member who was organising the hearing. She wanted us to meet Joe Kennedy the next day and started to tell us that they had a new office. When, rather than her telling me where the new office was, I told her, Gerry gave me a big wink. The point isn’t that I had done anything especially brilliant, but that Gerry, without even thinking about it, was sending me a compliment, just between the two of us. Little things like that made it such a pleasure to work with him.3
Sandy Boyer recollects that when the caucus convened on 12 March 1990, Joe Kennedy’s staffer was buoyed up because there were more members of the US Congress in attendance than there were staffers. As well as Conlon, the caucus was addressed by Gareth Peirce; the Catholic Primate of All-Ireland, Cardinal Tomás Ó Fiaich; human rights advocate and barrister Lord Tony Gifford QC and Seamus Mallon, the Social Democratic and Labour Party MP for Newry and Armagh. Mallon made it clear that it had been the IRA, not the Birmingham Six, who had carried out the bombings.
If knots were tightening in Conlon’s stomach as he waited to address the congressmen, he did not show it. Neither did he show any concern about the fact that he had no prepared notes to refresh his memory – his memory did not need refreshing. Sandy Boyer recalled: ‘Gerry was the star. In his testimony he said, “I know what happened to the Birmingham Six because the same thing happened to me. I was held for six days in four police stations without food or sleep. I was beaten, humiliated, degraded and stripped naked. At the end of six days I signed a confession. I was never allowed to see a solicitor.”’4
As it turned out, many praised Conlon’s presentation. Congressman Joe Kennedy said: ‘It’s one thing to hear all the very sound legal arguments put forward by Tony Gifford, but nothing compares to hearing Gerry Conlon. It certainly left an indelible imprint on my mind.’5 Colman McCarthy, a member of the Washington Post Writers Pool, later wrote: ‘Gerry Conlon, with unclipped coal-black hair, dark mournful eyes, and a wrinkled suit, had the look of a villager in one of Ireland’s wild moors. He might well have been in one today – farming, raising a family – had the British government not imprisoned him for 15 years as one of the Guildford Four.’6
In his concluding remarks to the caucus, Congressman Chairman Tom Lantos said: ‘It is clear in this instance that British justice has failed, and we will pursue this matter to its end.’ Thanks to Gerry Conlon, Sandy Boyer, and others – Amnesty International in particular – the long shadow of American political influence once again engulfed 10 Downing Street, and it could not be ignored.
For Gerry Conlon it was time to take off that wrinkled suit and hit the bright lights of the Big Apple, where he stayed with friends in the Floral Park neighbourhood of Queens. At the Limelight nightclub in downtown New York, a young Irish girl called Ann McPhee introduced herself to Conlon and said that she was nanny to the Irish actor Gabriel Byrne’s children. She told him that Gabriel was handing out Gerry’s book to everyone who visited him, encouraging them to read it. It was through Shane Doyle, Gerry’s friend and owner of Sin-é Café in Saint Mark’s Place, that a meeting was arranged with Gabriel Byrne.
Gerry found Gabriel impressive: ‘Gabriel Byrne called. He said he’d read the book and loved it and thought it had the potential to make a great film.’7 After their discussion, Gerry decided that Gabriel was the man who could get his film produced. However, with no screenplay, no definitive outline, no money, and nothing more than a wildcat idea, the two men shook hands and concluded a gentleman’s agreement for a nominal figure of one dollar, which gave Byrne the option to develop a film based on Conlon’s life.
On 26 March 1990, RTÉ, the Irish broadcasting company, screened Dear Sarah, a £1 million television drama based on letters written by Giuseppe Conlon to his wife Sarah while he was in prison. The drama, written by Irish journalist Tom McGurk, told the story of how Sarah had visited Giuseppe for the first time, and of how they had to sit at opposite ends of a glass screen, unable to even touch hands. It also showed Sarah Conlon’s immense courage and fortitude, as she fought, almost alone, to clear her husband’s and son’s names, and of how she coped with the strain of travelling between Belfast and Britain to visit her dying husband.
Giving a background analysis to Irish News reporter Pete Silverton, McGurk said: ‘Sarah had an invalid husband and a son she spoiled stupid, and one day a steamroller hit her.’ Silverton pointed an accusing finger at Gerry Conlon for the trouble that had befallen the Conlon and Maguire families:
The steamroller made two passes over Sarah, of course. First her son was arrested – drinker, druggie, gambler, layabout, petty criminal. Like the rest of the Guildford Four, you couldn’t have relied on him to burgle the local chippie, let alone organise a pub bombing. Then his ‘confession’ – naming the Maguires – led directly to his own father’s arrest. Would it be any wonder if the Maguire family refused even to speak to Gerry again? Of all his relatives, they must have thought, why did he pick on us? What did we ever do to him?8
Had Conlon been in an uncharitable mood, he might well have returned the question to Silverton: ‘What did I ever do to you?’
Speaking of Dear Sarah, Ann McKernan said: ‘There were dramatic moments in the film … my father being trailed up the stairs in the prison when he wasn’t able to walk, my mother’s letters being taken from him. These things they did to my father because they couldn’t beat him as he was a sick man.’
Commenting on the drama, RTÉ executive producer Joe Mulholland said, ‘It is a haunting and disturbing true story of a bewildered and ailing man caught up in an implacable system. But it is, moreover, a love story of two people whose faith in each other never wavered.’9
Proved Innocent was launched in Buswells Hotel in Dublin on 11 June 1990, and later that night in the