From the S&S archives:Eamon De Valera, Ireland's durable statesman
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Eamon De Valera, prime minister of the Republic of Ireland, is a tall, energetic person whose youthful stride and lively wit belie his crusading 75 years.
A man whose whole life has been purposefully dedicated to freedom's cause, De Valera related a story which helps illustrate the methodical manner in which he has striven for — and attained — the various stepping-stone objectives of his career.
"When I was in jail — to while away the hours — I would write or do mathematics on any piece of paper I could find. Sometimes they would find the paper. But they were never able to find the pencil with which I wrote.
"Now, as any good housewife will tell you, no matter how well you clean a room there will always be little pieces of 'fluff' gathered on the floors. But in a little piece of 'fluff' the guards would see, and pay no attention to, there was a little piece of lead about a quarter of an inch long."
As he spoke, the prime minister's expressive hands moved as the long fingers wound and unwound an imaginary piece of "fluff." The his face crinkled into a big grin and he added, "You know, they shook down my cell every day, but they never did find that little piece of lead."
Born in New York, Eamon De Valera came to Ireland when he was three years old and was raised by his uncle, Patrick Coll, in County Limerick on Ireland's west coast.
He attended Blackrock College just outside Dublin and was later to become a mathematics professor there. The prime-minister-to-be had soaked up a fair amount of Irish culture and tradition and had developed a keen interest in the Gaelic language. He had also become intensely interested in Ireland's history and the country's yearnings for freedom from more than 600 years of foreign rule.
De Valera became a member of the Gaelic League, an organization primarily interested in the restoration of the ancient language and customs. Eventually he became convinced, together with other young intellectuals of the era, that the tiome might come when Irishmen would be forced to combat further oppression by force of arms. He joined the Irish Volunteers.
After his daily stint in the classroom he spent his evenings in the green fields at the foot of the Dublin mountains, learning the basic arts of the soldier.
De Valera's call to destiny came with the gallant but unsuccessful rebellion of Easter Week, 1916. With a pitifully few men, he defended Boland's Mill on the south side of Dublin to the bitter end in the week-long fight. Along with the other 14 leaders of the rising, he was sentenced to death.
The sentence was carried out on he other 14 as almost the entire civilized world cried out in horror. A mass grave dug for 100 rebels closed on the 14 but De Valera's sentence was commuted to life imprisonment.
Later, under the pressure of world opinion, he was released and once again took up the battle for Ireland's freedom.
Since those fateful days of 1916, De Valera's career in statesmanship has fluctuated from the heights to the abyss. In his own country he fought on the Republican side of Ireland's bitter Civil War.
He reached the heights of international statesmanship as a leader in the activities of the League of Nations. At that time a Continental newspaper wrote of him:
"Eamon De Valera is probably the first president of the council and assembly of the League who has heard sentence of death passed upon him, which is perhaps still, as it was in Stendahl's time, the only proof that a man cannot be bought ..."
Those words, written by a Swiss journalist in 1932, go a long way toward explaining the durability of Eamon De Valera. There has never been a hint of scandal in his personal life and even his worst enemies concede that he has held without deviation to his political ideals and his plan for the complete independence and economic development of his country.
Twice in his career he has seen the electorate of his country deny support to his program. Each time, in conformity with Ireland's constitution, he has taken his place with the loyal opposition.
In 1957 De Valera's Fianna Fail party received a record vote of confidence and he told the nation: "The battle of the polls is over. I am glad the result has been decisive." Once again the Irish electorate had returned De Valera to office as Taoiseach — the Irish title meaning "leader of the people" — in effect, prime minister.
De Valera's personal tragedy is the fact that his sight has been failing for several years. Meeting him, you would not be aware of his handicap. His mobile face, and those expressive hands, more than compensate for his loss of sight.
"But," he told The Stars and Stripes a little wistfully, "I regret no longer being able to read."
