One man's decades of dedication to the cause

GALWAY FOOTBALL: FOR 40 years, he was a singular and unforgettable presence, the tall man in the hat who was to Galway football both its sovereign leader and its valet. John "Tull" Dunne's contribution to Gaelic games took the shape of an epic role at the sporting and organisational heart of the association that simply will not be repeated, writes KEITH DUGGAN

Tull (he never knew the origin of the nickname other than it had been passed through the family from his grandfather’s time) did it all – he won two All-Irelands with Galway as a player in 1934 and (as captain) 1938; he was trainer – and more – to the championship- winning team of 1956 and to the deathless side that won All-Irelands in 1964, ’65 and ’66; he was still on the sideline when Galway lost three All-Irelands in succession in the 1970s; he was a referee (he whistled Jack Lynch’s football All-Ireland in 1945); and he was an administrator with an impeccably conscientious and fussy streak, taking as much care about recording the minutes of obscure county meetings as he did with the famous pinstripe band on the socks the invincible mid-60s maroon team wore.

He did all this throughout those decades while maintaining a sense of reserve, a distance between himself and the many fabulous footballers who passed through his charge as Galway established a reputation for expressive and free-thinking football.

Liam Sammon, who will manage Galway in tomorrow’s Connacht final against Mayo and has been lauded for restoring those traditional elements to the Galway game, was among the younger players Tull fitted into the team who completed the three-in-a-row in 1966.

“He was always in favour of young lads,” acknowledges Cyril Dunne, Tull’s son and the feted attacker and free-taker on those teams. “Jimmy Duggan came in and Colie McDonagh and Liam (Sammon) around the same time. Go back to 1956 and he had Seán Healy playing at right full back at around 19. Mattie McDonagh played centre field at 19. It was sort of unheard of at the time, having 19-year-olds playing senior football, but he had no fear about bringing them in.”

In an era when telephonic communication was still a luxury, Tull Dunne made full use of the wire service in his job with Posts and Telegraphs to keep up with the progression of promising players, and, after that, he made it his business to be pitch-side for minor, under-21, junior and senior matches of all kinds. He was ubiquitous, but his presence was always an occasion.

Jim Carney, the celebrated Tuam newspaperman, recalls the stewards in Tuam stadium all but squabbling to open the gate for Tull – this at a time when players sometimes had to plead to get in. He had a regal demeanour that went back to his playing days.

“There is no more popular footballer west of the Shannon than John Dunne of Galway,” wrote Pat ’O in this newspaper in December 1937. “Tall, lathy and unassuming, he was always in the picture through Galway’s great struggle with Cavan in the All-Ireland final of 1933. Midfield or centrefield was John’s best position, but he was seen to good purpose on either wing, where his long, raking stride would eat up space.”

By the time he won his second All-Ireland in 1938, Dunne had become an accomplished administrative figure, and in the coming decades his mastery of GAA bureaucracy and his ceaseless energy for coaching saw him move to the centre of Galway football.

Colie McDonagh had him as coach at minor and Under-21 level before he won a junior All-Ireland in 1965 and was drafted into the senior team for the shimmering year of 1966. His experience meant Galway football began and ended with Tull Dunne.

“He was not a manager in that we didn’t refer to him as that,” McDonagh says. “He was the boss. He ran Galway football in those years. He had Frank Stockwell and Brendan Nestor with him, but as far as I could see he looked after the teams, he booked the hotels, he did the administration and he did carry out the role of manager as it is understood today.

“I wouldn’t have had a lot of conversation with him, but every now and again he would talk you through a game. You didn’t stand on his corners – you would not have been inclined to be late for training. You wouldn’t like to draw him on you. In football then, there was not a lot of tactical talk, but there was a big emphasis on training and Tull had a very clear view on how he wanted us to play the game.

“He didn’t want any dilly-dallying on the ball from the backs. I don’t think he would take too kindly to the short passing movement out of the back lines now. He wanted the ball cleared quickly – he used to say, ‘Get the ball away and ask yourself questions after’.”

Dunne was born in Ballinasloe in 1912, a child of the Civil War, and for a lad fascinated by Gaelic football he was born in the right town. Although a few championship seasons are marked incomplete, Ballinasloe (as St Grellan’s) put together a staggering record of undefeated seasons that ran from 1913 until 1929. Dunne won his county senior medal at 17 in that final, unbeaten year. Throughout those years, Ballinasloe had four Egan brothers who were celebrated for their ability as sportsmen.

“I imagine that Tull would have been sort of in awe of these Egan brothers, and growing up watching a team that was literally invincible was his heritage,” says Jim Carney. “That must have helped shape his drive when it came to Galway football.”

Carney has vivid memories of Dunne. As a young reporter, he wrote a few critical lines that drew one or two inscrutable looks from the Galway trainer, but no cross words. When Tuam stadium was the spiritual home of Galway football, Dunne’s voice would often carry from the Galway dressingroom into that of the opposing team. His mantra was that Galway men were as good as those from any other county.

Galway teams turned out much as he tailored himself: they were immaculate and striking. No detail was too small. It wasn’t that Dunne sought to distinguish himself through his demeanour: he just had presence.

“He was a handsome, unsmiling man,” Carney says. “He always wore a very stylish, long coat and all his life he wore a very handsome hat – not a cheap hat, I would say now. And he had a magnificent posture – right up to the end, you never saw Tull dropping his shoulders. I saw pictures of him leading out teams in the 1930s in this commanding walking style, straight leg and powerful shoulders. So at Galway matches, even in later years, you saw this tall man coming with the hat. And it created an impression.”

Famously, during a skirmish after an under-21 match between Galway and Roscommon in the late 1960s, Tull’s chapeau got knocked off in the mayhem. That seemed like a greater violation than any of the pushing and shoving that had preceded the incident and it quickly restored calm.

By then, Dunne’s place in Galway football was such that it must have been impossible to imagine how the county would prosper without him. His minutes alone have left a legacy, a wealth of information.

Cyril Dunne admits there is no clear answer as to why his father was so devoted to Galway football. He often went to training with him as a child and, as he himself developed into a gifted footballer (and hurler), he trained under his father’s tutelage.

“I was acclimatised by the time I got to the senior side so it never seemed that strange. There was no real problem. I think he used to relay a lot of his messages through Frank (Stockwell) or Brendan (Nestor) for me rather than tell me himself. But I knew where the message was coming from. And then, if you had a bad game, you would hear, ‘ah, he was only picked because his father is there’. You will always have that, but it did follow me around for a while.

“But as to why he gave it so much time, I really don’t know. He had no other real interests – he used to hunt rabbits and liked the dogs, but apart from that it was Gaelic games. I do think that, by the 1970s, he would probably have got out if he had not been so stuck in the middle of it. He never showed it, but he was terribly disappointed by those losses.”

As Colie McDonagh puts it: “He took all defeats to heart – it was almost as if he felt he had been defeated himself, as well as the team. But I have to say that the words he spoke after those losses, they were just as good as when we had won.”

When Dunne retired in 1980, among the glittering GAA cast that showed up for a social function was Bill Kinnerk, the losing captain from 1938, a gracious gesture to a match and to an era that even by then seemed at a great remove.

Jim Carney cannot say he was every truly close to Tull; there was always a reserve there, but in later years it was accompanied by flashes of humour.

Similarly, Colie McDonagh saw little of him once he quit the Galway scene. “We would bump into one another at matches now and again. I always found him easy to get on with him and had a great respect for him.”

Throughout the 50s and 60s, as his reputation grew, so too did his aura.

“We probably shouldn’t have been as intimidated by Tull as we were,” Carney reckons. “But he was just formidable. And looking back now, it would have been impossible for one man to run Galway football as he did without this incredible respect that he commanded.”

He bowed out of football management just as Mick O’Dwyer’s Kerry team were on the threshold of a fascinating duel with Kevin Heffernan’s Dublin side, a rivalry that would define Gaelic football in the 1970s and illuminate the notion of the “manager” in the popular imagination. But O’Dwyer had played on those Kerry teams that had lost to Galway in the semi-final of 1963 and the All-Ireland finals of the following two years.

Like everyone, he was aware of the taciturn, groomed man in the hat who presided over these maroon triumphs. The Kerry man could not have missed the respect in which Tull Dunne was held as he later embarked on a career that would transform the emphasis Gaelic teams placed on managers. Tull Dunne, almost by accident, was a pioneer of that movement.

“When you think that John won in 1934 and was there all the way through, it is an extraordinary contribution,” says McDonagh. “And he was not recognised as managers subsequently were. I have always thought that.”

Dunne remained an enigmatic figure until the end: never in his life was he interested in channelling his influence across the county for personal gain and he was never bothered about the garlands and plaudits either.

It was all about the game and Galway football, and for decades he did what needed to be done in his own fastidious, dauntless way until it was time to stop. When he died in 1990, Galway’s All-Ireland days and that great dynasty seemed farther away than ever. It must have seemed to him – and others – that once he departed, the brand of confidence and purist ability departed with him.

Strange that there is not yet a statue in his likeness located at the football theatres of Salthill or Tuam or Ballinasloe, but his name and reputation suggest a more durable material than bronze or stone. And the conviction behind the style and confidence that has returned to Galway football over the past decade owes much to the enduring inheritance bequeathed by Tull Dunne.

“By the time he won his second All-Ireland in 1938, Dunne had become an accomplished administrator, and in the coming decades his mastery of GAA bureaucracy and his ceaseless energy for coaching saw him move to the centre of Galway football