Back in the noughties, a conversation between me, Eamonn Connolly, Brendan Murray, and Fintan Gavin over lots of pints of Guinness led to Poker For The Homeless getting up and running.
It was quite successful, but a couple of years later Eamonn called me and said there was someone I just had to meet. Having great ideas isn’t Eamonn’s strong suit, but this time he hit the jackpot.
He brought me to the Cistercian Day Centre, where Dublin’s homeless were fed daily by Brother Kevin and his team since 1969. The man Eamonn wanted me to meet was Brother Kevin, who had set up the Centre himself and was up at 4.30am every morning to get things started.
Those breakfasts won’t prepare themselves. We went to Kevin’s very basic office, where he proceeded to tell us how his operation worked. He was easily the most impressive person I’ve ever met. There was an aura about him, a serenity, an unshakeable belief that things would work out no matter what difficulties came his way. He took us down to show us where lunch was being prepared, served up, and eaten. We watched him walk among his people — a kind word here, a gentle tap of encouragement there. You could see why everyone loved him. Most of those working there were volunteers. I would come to recognise that Kevin’s goodness inspired all around him, and they derived great joy from helping him on his mission. We quickly decided we wanted to help too.
The first event we ran for Kevin took place in the Jackpot, thanks to Paul O’Reilly’s generosity. It was sponsored by Boyle Poker, who arranged a photoshoot in the Jackpot the day before the event for the Irish Independent newspaper. I brought along my friends — sports legends Ken Doherty and Reggie Corrigan — and the three of us posed for dozens of photos. In the paper the next morning, there was a lovely pic of Ken and Reggie, but no sign of me. Kevin thought it was very funny. I didn’t, as I knew I was in for a hard time from the two lads.

The turnout was great that evening. I asked for a little silence so I could introduce Brother Kevin. As soon as the little man from Cork started to talk in his soft voice, you could hear a pin drop. He said he had no time for gambling, as it was the cause of a lot of problems he had to deal with, but that he would make an exception in this case. He went on to hold an audience of hardened gamblers spellbound as he told them of his life on the front line — protecting our most vulnerable citizens and replacing their despair with hope. He brought the house down. I told Eamonn to take him to Ryan’s pub for a cup of tea. As soon as they’d left, people started giving me bundles of money for “that wee man.” This wasn’t in the script, but I took it anyway. I eventually went to Ryan’s, where I started pulling money out of pockets and giving it to Eamonn, who was in charge of our banking. Kevin was impressed and asked where all the money came from. I told him I’d worry about where it came from, and he could concentrate on where it was going. He agreed.

We carried on making the Capuchin Centre the focus of our fundraising for years. We visited Kevin as often as Eamonn or I could think of an excuse to do so. We got caught up in the whole buzz of the thing and honestly believed we were dealing with a living saint. Eamonn organised a visit to meet Kevin for Bridie and Barney Gribben, a popular Northern Ireland brother and sister who helped greatly with our efforts. They were as blown away as we were.
Many years later, the Pope visited Ireland, and a visit to the Centre to meet Kevin was a major part of his visit.
While he was in Dublin, Eamonn and I were in Skibbereen playing poker with Tim O’Sullivan and the lads. I can’t remember why. At about 5 in the morning, two cash games were still going strong in May’s pub. Eamonn was at the other table, but I overheard what was going on. One guy asked Eamonn why we weren’t in the Centre for the Pope’s visit. Eamonn said that we’d been invited but that I had said that the craic in Skib would be better. This was a Class A howler of a lie from a man known for his honesty.
A week or so later, we dropped in to see Kevin. I couldn’t help myself. I just had to tell him about Eamonn in Skib.
Jesus, he loved it. For a man who saw so much pain, he still had a marvellous sense of fun.

When he finished laughing, he told us his own Pope story. He forgot to mention that the Pope gave him ten million. His story began when the Pope had left to get ready to go to Croke Park, where a large crowd was expected to greet him. Kevin was scheduled to meet him there. The senior policeman who’d been in charge of security for the papal visit told Kevin there were still four police motorcycles outside, and he could tell them to escort him and his lads to Croke Park and get them through the traffic. Of course he accepted. As they approached Croke Park, the crowds started to cheer and wave Irish and papal flags. They thought Kevin was the Pope. I asked him what he did. He said, “I didn’t want to have them feel let down, so I waved back. If it made them happy, no harm done.”

Kevin retired a couple of years ago. He returned to his beloved Cork to spend the short time he had left close to his family. He made his final journey to Dublin to be buried near the people he had given so much to. The media focused on the important people who were at his funeral. I was watching the ordinary people of Dublin line the streets to show gratitude, love, and respect to this amazing man. He was, for sure, THE PEOPLE’S CHAMPION.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.