SOME PEOPLE have it. Some people don't. Brian Cowen is a natural, writes MIRIAM LORD in Co Offaly.
He is no pretty-boy politician, modified to fit the template of an overpaid image consultant. He is not a slave to the cameras. He hasn't advisers plotting his every move. He doesn't need the comfort blanket of a prepared script.
He has passion. He has a big loud voice and a lopsided smile and he'll sing at the drop of a hat. Annoy him, and he'll go through you for a short cut. But he's not afraid to cry.
What a blessed change from the bland.
His has been a quiet ascent to the top; content to remain a loyal servant in the shadow of a spectacularly successful leader. Save for occasional flashes of brilliance, Fianna Fáil's heavy gun has kept his powder dry.
But by God, Brian was firing on all cylinders on Saturday.
And there it was at last: proof that he has those qualities of leadership that so many in his party have talked about for years. Here was the reason his Dáil colleagues seek out his company. Here was why the grassroots adore him. Here was the reason he is so highly regarded in his native county and loved in his hometown of Clara.
Two mesmerising performances, when he held the crowd in the palm of his hand, then left them with a song.
With two powerful, old-style speeches, rich in emotion and love of place, Cowen captivated his audience. He talked of a better Ireland, of the way things used to be, when the values of community and patriotism and pride in your place were important. When people looked after each other, and out for each other.
"It's not all about what's in your pocket; it's as much about what's in your heart." As he spoke of the type of country he wanted, "making sure everything we've built is not wasted away by a 'me' generation", his words connected with the thousands listening.
The crowds had come to welcome him home - that was the main purpose of the exercise. Brian didn't have to do much more than turn up at the two main venues and wave. Instead, he enthralled the crowds with a passion and conviction that was memorable to watch.
They hushed and stayed still, in a way you never really see these days, and listened to this politician until the very end. Very impressive.
Of course, he is Taoiseach now, and so can do what his old friend, Albert Reynolds, said he should do. He can be himself.
Offaly gave their new Taoiseach a rapturous reception. He was cheered through the streets of Tullamore and Edenderry, Daingean and Clara. He is the county's living, breathing antidote to all those jokes about thick Midlanders.
Biffo? "Beautiful Intelligent Fellow from Offaly!" That's what the poster in O'Connor Square said.
And what about the old gag about the newspaper headline: "Offalyman Gets Fierce Big Job in Dublin." That's always trotted out when someone you know from Offaly gets a promotion.
News is, the Offalyman did get a fierce big job in Dublin.
His name is Brian Cowen and he's the Taoiseach. No wonder they were laughing on Saturday.
Tullamore was plastered with posters congratulating Cowen. The most ubiquitous said "Brian Cowen - Offaly's First, Ireland's Finest". The town band lined up outside the Church of the Assumption at lunchtime, ready to escort him though the streets. The local James O'Connor Cumann lined up behind a banner. The streets were lined with wellwishers.
Taoiseach Cowen, wife Mary and daughters Maedhbh and Sinead, in the back of a new pick-up truck, were driven slowly to the town square. "G'wan Brian . . . Good man, Brian . . . Well done . . ." He waved from the Biffomobile. He seemed to be on first name terms with half the town.
The band broke away and assembled in front of the platform, while a piper led the Taoiseach and his family the last bit of the way. The crowd roared. Brian sat down and looked across the sea of people, with their flags and balloons.
The band played The Taoiseach's Salute. The crowd was impressed, because it was their Taoiseach's salute.
After the speeches, and Brian's tour de force, it seemed like the formalities were over. The band launched My Wayfor their closing number. Brian looked at his missus, looked at the crowd, looked at the band and looked at the microphone. He couldn't resist. The crowd went wild. He grabbed the mike.
"The record shows. I took the blows and did it my wayyyyyy!" The square was in uproar. "Good night!" said Brian and he sat down. The band struck again. This time, The Offaly Rover. The Taoiseach was up like a shot. He shushed the band. Somebody started to play a backing track. "Turn off that yoke!" Off he went, in full voice. The crowd joined in. The Taoiseach punched the air, keeping time with his foot. Hands joined, arms went up and everyone began to sway. The same on the stage - Mrs Cowen and the children, new minister Batt O'Keeffe, half the county council.
He sent them home happy.
Next stop was the county council offices and a civic reception. Most of the media gave it a miss, as Clara was deemed the place to be.
The reception was a formal affair, until the very end, when the musicians from Killeigh Comhaltas started to play in the foyer. The Taoiseach's daughter Sinead (16) joined them on the bodhrán. Then, under the approving eye of her dad, little Maedhbh (10) did a dance.
Next minute, the Taoiseach was up shaking a leg, doing a Michael Flatley. Not to be outdone, two Comhaltas ladies joined the fray, and with Maedhbh and Brian, they started a four hand reel.
It was getting infectious. Brian's wife Mary belted in, followed by his mother May, showing a neat turn of foot.
Suddenly, the whole place joined in. The Taoiseach's protocol officer looked like he was about to have a canary. Eventually, order was restored and the happy Cowen family proceeded to the main event - The Clara homecoming.
The place looked great. Christy Cowen's Pub - it belongs to Brian's big brother - was hopping. A big platform had been set up in the middle of the Fair Green. "I was up there at eight o'clock this morning supervising it!" Senator Donie Cassidy told us.
At the bridge into town, a pipe band waited to lead in their local hero. Members of the Ber Cowen Cumann, wearing white sashes, formed a guard of honour. The Biffomobile was pressed into action again.
Under the railway bridge, upon which the photographers had congregated, Brian obliged by looked up as they passed, holding up a black and white Clara flag. He spotted people in the crowd and waved. He saw Kathleen O'Meara, who will be 90 in September and called out her name. She was delighted, because she didn't think he would see her in her wheelchair.
"I knew his dad and granddad. No better man. No better man. I'm proud of him." They stopped to pay their respects outside Christy's pub. It was a bit like a funeral. Particularly as one elderly man was weeping into his pint.
The crowd got bigger as the parade approached the Fair Green. Donie Cassidy ran alongside the Biffomobile, a protective hand on the front bonnet, like a CIA man.
Around the corner and up to the field, with the Protestant church at the top of the slope and the Catholic church at the bottom. Both are called St Brigid's.
The crowd piled in, with three cheers for Brian. Two trailers were side by side, one an overflow for the politicians. But they all wanted to stand on the same one as Brian.
Former deputy and Brian's director of elections Ger Connolly gave a rousing speech. Ger has a unique relationship with the English language - a boon for colleagues like Brian and Willie O'Dea, who are great mimics.
"Today is wha hi call the pivitotal of my career" roared Ger, as tears of laughter rolled down Willie's face. "The PIVOTAL of my career!" Brian's brother introduced him. "Just after our father died, Brian cried that he wouldn't let him down. He hasn't let him down and I'm sure you won't let him down." The Taoiseach removed his glasses and wiped away the tears. He embraced his brother before his speech.
He spoke, without notes and just two swigs from a bottle of water, for over half an hour. The crowd lapped it up. He spoke of his love of Clara, and how it shaped him. He spoke of community and values and responsibilities. He spoke of football. He even got in the Lisbon Treaty.
Finally, with cheers echoing into the evening, he sat down. But not for long. "You wanna sing a song? I'll sing a song." After two false starts, he belted out a magnificent ballad about his father Ber.
"Ber Cowen he is a TD me boys, Ber Cowen he is a TD. He got Clara a swimming pool because it isn't by the sea!" The crowd didn't want him to leave, but he had to go. They pushed around his car.
"C'mon, folley me now. Hold onto me coat" a granny hissed to her grandson as she got to shake his hand.