Meet Fancy Dan, the man who wasn't there

How many ways can you say you know nothing, wonders MIRIAM LORD

NO FINGERS. Just fudge.

Still, at least Fancy Dan – who won’t get out of bed unless it’s for more than €360,000 a year – was proving his worth at the Irish Nationwide AGM.

How many ways can you say you know nothing? The permutations are infinite, and no better man than Danny Kitchen to amble through them until the clock runs down or his audience of angry pensioners senses cling film snapping off the sandwiches in the tea-room next door.

Danny is chairman of Irish Nationwide. He was offered Michael Fingleton’s job when Fingers retired from the building society earlier this month after 37 glorious years in charge.

Glorious for Fingers, that is, who left with a pension pot so large it would scarcely fit at the end of a rainbow.

No wonder Chairman Kitchen reportedly turned down the job because the salary, capped by the Government at a pitiful €360,000, was not enough. A reasonable response, when viewed against what his predecessor had been pulling down in wages, and suchlike.

Some people muttered at the time about it being the first known occurrence of a Kitchen not being able to stand the heat.

But Danny had no problem yesterday absorbing the anger of his building society’s combustible account holders.

The agm season is in full swing at the moment, although they aren’t the giddy social whirl they used to be. Serial attendees have far more important issues to discuss these days than the quality of refreshments offered by the various financial institutions and the plcs. There are worse ways to put in your morning or afternoon. A few hours of fat cat baiting in a nice hall, followed by tea and finger food. (The quality of which, we hear, has declined as rapidly as the share prices. The best the Bank of Ireland could offer recently was water, and only to those willing to search the Stygian gloom of the Savoy Cinema for a dispenser and plastic cup.) Those bank shareholders, who had enjoyed dividends in the good times, lost a lot of money. Some – and it was heartbreaking to hear the stories – were distraught at the evaporation of the financial security they had worked so hard to put in place for their declining years. The anger at that extraordinary general meeting was very understandable.

Yesterday afternoon in the RDS, the atmosphere was different. Yes, there was anger at the way people felt their building society had been run into the ground by a man who walked away from the wreckage with a very large fortune. But these account holders had not lost their life-savings, or the money earmarked to pay nursing home fees. The Government has guaranteed their deposits.

What they were mourning was the loss of what might have been: an anticipated windfall of about €15,000 when their building society was sold off. Instead, the Irish Nationwide is now a financial basket case, depending on taxpayers’ money to keep it afloat. “You are chairman of a bankrupt organisation, why don’t you just admit it?” one frustrated member told Danny Kitchen.

“I had already put that money aside, in my head, for my grandchildren,” said one woman in the tearoom. “I was looking forward to the bonus when the society was sold off,” said another. Did she regret investing her money with Fingers? “Oh no, they pay a good interest rate on deposits.” Five directors were on the platform, which was a blue-tinged twilight zone thanks to the background lighting. Two of them were Government appointees. The members gave them a round of applause. Besides Fancy Dan, who hasn’t been long with the company, only one of them had links with the Fingleton era.

This was a man who was referred to as “Stan” by speakers. But there was no Stan on the platform. They were referring to the company secretary, John S Purcell. Very confusing.

Dan and Stan were grilled by members, who wanted answers about Michael Fingleton’s extraordinary bonus payment, paid at a time when the society was on its uppers.

They couldn’t help. Marie Gallagher, a small lady with a big voice demanded: “Would somebody kindly tell me where is Mr Fingleton . . . Should he not give an account of his stewardship and not have others to speak for him?” The chairman replied, to a chorus of derisory laughter, “I don’t know where he is today.” Questioner after questioner asked who was responsible at board level for signing off on Fingleton’s bonus.

“I can’t give you information that I don’t know. I wasn’t there . . . It’s unfair to pillory people who were not involved in the decision,” said the chairman. The meeting moved on to the Fantastic Pension, followed by the eyepopping loans given by the building society to Seán FitzPatrick of Anglo Irish Bank. Danny Kitchen’s answers continued in the same vein.

Shareholder James O’Neill was unimpressed. “I’m a little bit taken aback by the fact there is so much you don’t know. If God spares me, I’ll be back at the next agm and I don’t want to hear an indication of ignorance.” He finished with a quote from a Tom Lehrer song: “‘Once the rockets are up, who cares where they come down? That’s not my department, says Werner Von Braun.’” With his own lyrical reply, the chairman sighed, “I think it,s slightly unfair/At the end of the day, none of us were there.” He was acting “in the spirit of trying to move on rather than look back”. “Dan and Stan, but no Ollie,” snorted one of our ladies in the tearoom. (Chicken and stuffing, salad, and tandoori chicken sandwiches on their plate).

They expect a much less relaxed and far more sulphurous atmosphere at the AIB agm today. “Thank God we only have a handful of shares. They always do the best spread.”