Joe Duffy retirement: Liveline host presided over Ireland's court of public opinion
The announcement by
Joe Duffy
that he is to
retire as host of Liveline after 27 years
may have caught listeners by surprise, but signs that he might leave RTÉ Radio 1's phone-in show have been there for some time.
With the 69-year old broadcaster's contract due to expire this summer, there had long been chatter – including on his own programme – about the possibility or indeed viability of an extension: his €351,000 salary made him
the highest paid person
at cash-strapped RTÉ in 2023.
But whatever about the inevitability of his departure – he informed management of his decision to retire last year – what is undisputable is that he exits the stage as one of the most influential, and distinctive, figures in Irish broadcasting.
[
Joe Duffy to leave Liveline at the end of June after 27 years
Opens in new window
]
A native of Ballyfermot, Dublin, Duffy's working class background marked him out from most of his broadcasting peers. After studying at Trinity College Dublin, he served as president of the Union of Students in Ireland – even being briefly imprisoned for his role in a student protest – and worked as a probation officer, before landing in RTÉ as a radio producer in 1989.
READ MORE
Having first made his name as a roving reporter on the Gay Byrne Show, he was unceremoniously dropped from the programme in 1996.
Redemption came when Duffy replaced the late Marian Finucane as host of Liveline in 1998. During his tenure, Liveline was transformed from a slightly generic phone show into Ireland's supreme court of public opinion: his tagline, 'Talk to Joe', could be seen as either invitation or threat.
Duffy brought his everyman style to the role, combining rooting-for-the-little-guy theatricality with an activist's drive for social justice, with a hefty helping of dramatic Dublinese thrown in. It also helped that he took over Liveline during an explosion in mobile phone ownership, enabling instant feedback on his topics.
At his most effective, Duffy had a benign populist's instinct for stories that exercised listeners. His on-air campaign against so-called head shops prompted the government to close such outlets in 2010, after weeks of grimly lurid tales about the harm caused by narcotic legal highs.
[
RTÉ reports €9.1m deficit last year as Liveline host Joe Duffy highest paid with €351,000 package
Opens in new window
]
[
Joe Duffy media firm sees accumulated profits top €520,000
Opens in new window
]
More recently, in 2022, Duffy gave a platform to women sharing their experience of menopause, shining a spotlight on an inescapable fact of life that had previously been largely ignored in the media. He also courted controversy by addressing the reliably contentious issue of transgender rights.
But perhaps the presenter's most significant achievement was the platform he provided for survivors of institutional and clerical abuse. His sympathetic handling of guests gave witness to the horrors they had endured, and encouraged ever more people to share their stories, whether from industrial schools, mother-and-baby homes or elite Dublin schools. In doing so, he brought the crimes described in official reports to life in harrowing fashion.
Generally, however, Duffy dealt with more personally scaled matters, from consumer scams to crime stories, with results that could be moving, unintentionally hilarious or, all too often, tediously petty. He could also be sensationalist or sentimental, to the point of caricature: he was a favourite target for impressionists and satirists, from Mario Rosenstock to David McSavage. Despite all this, Duffy kept the show on the road, as Liveline's consistently high ratings attested.
Still, it seems like the right time for Duffy to step back. Some of his show's recent conversations have been more akin to nostalgic reminiscences than discussions on hot topics. Meanwhile his role was increasingly filled by stand-in hosts such as
Katie Hannon
and
Colm Ó Mongáin
, inevitably fuelling speculation about his future. Indeed, whether the Liveline brand should continue without Duffy is another question: for one thing, younger people hardly make phone calls any more.
Either way, Duffy's departure leaves a huge hole in RTÉ's radio schedule, one which will be hard to fill. Equally, Irish public discourse is losing one of its most compelling, if occasionally infuriating, interlocutors. For Joe, the Liveline is about to close.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Irish Times
an hour ago
- Irish Times
The Cave review: Tommy Tiernan is perfectly cast as a downtrodden barroom philosopher in Kevin Barry's bleakly funny play
The Cave Abbey Theatre, Dublin ★★★★☆ You are not going to get away with calling your play The Cave – particularly if your characters are actually confined in such a space – without audiences wondering about Plato's most famous allegory. The Greek wondered what we would know of the world if all we saw were shadows flickering on the wall of a rocky cavity. Archie and Bopper, depressed Irish siblings, have more than that. They have a smartphone. The former climbs a ladder and waves the device at the heavens in often-futile search for 'coverage'. Their particular interest is a celebrity named Elvira and her frustrating association with 'the Irish actor Con Costello' (a man they despise). Do they really learn any more about Elvira than they would if they saw only her shadow? The lying PR wonks who haunt Instagram were, after all, nowhere in Plato's story. Right? Kevin Barry 's bleakly funny new play for the Abbey is not about the internet. But no piece so concerned with our habitual flight from reality can ignore that engulfing phenomenon. The singular writer, as busy a dramatist as he is a novelist, came up with idea while pacing the Caves of Keash, near his home in Co Sligo. Joanna Parker's set design gives us a huge grey outcrop – like a giant crumpled tissue – fronted by a shallow opening from which emerge stolen tools, wheelchairs and drinks trolleys. READ MORE Archie, as played by Tommy Tiernan , is curious and vulnerable but not yet lost to despair. Bopper, given hunched reality by Aaron Monaghan , is a more troubled fellow. He yearns for a perfect moment in 1995. He fixates on the loss of his testicle. Archie worries he may do something silly. There is no escaping comparisons with the first act of Waiting for Godot. Like Samuel Beckett's Vladimir and Estragon, the two men worry over matters of existential importance, but we get more sense here of the characters' place in wider society. After a few early confrontations, we learn that Helen ( Judith Roddy ), the poor garda tasked with warning them about antisocial behaviour, is their long-suffering sister. Halfway through it seems as if the apparently inseparable pair may actually get to live apart for a spell. One can scarcely imagine that of Beckett's duo. Directed with discipline and clarity by Caitríona McLaughlin , the three actors slip comfortably into well-fitting skins. Tiernan could hardly be better suited for a downtrodden barroom philosopher. Monaghan keeps the rage at an impressive simmer throughout. Roddy gives early hints that Helen may not be quite so reliably 'sensible' as she at first seems. Presented, a little like a Wes Anderson film, in 13 chapters – each titled in voiceover and overhead projection – The Cave is a little short on overarching structure, but it compensates with a nagging commitment to themes of psychological evasion. Too many of us, like Archie and Bopper, are perched at a metaphorical distance from the rest of society, finding ways to distracts ourselves from pain, responsibility and the inevitability of death. Maybe The Cave is a play about the internet. The Cave is at the Abbey Theatre , Dublin, until Friday, July 18th
Irish Times
7 hours ago
- Irish Times
Rory Gallagher to be honoured with naming ceremony at Cork Airport
Liverpool has John Lennon Airport, Belfast has George Best Airport and now Cork is about to honour one its most famous sons, rock and blues legend Rory Gallagher by naming the main entrance route to Cork Airport in his honour. Taoiseach Micheál Martin will officially name Rory Gallagher Avenue at a ceremony at Cork Airport on Saturday. In attendance will be Rory's brother Donal and other family members as well as lord mayor of Cork Dan Boyle, a musician and fan of the late virtuoso guitarist. Gallagher was born in Ballyshannon, Co Donegal, and grew up in Cork. It was while on Leeside that he began his music career, playing first with showbands such as The Fontana and The Impact before forming Taste with fellow Cork musicians Eric Kitteringham and Norman Damery. But it was with the second incarnation of Taste, with Richard McCracken on bass and John Wilson on drums, that Gallagher toured the United States with Eric Clapton and Blind Faith before putting in a storming performance at the Isle of Wight Festival in front of an estimated 600,000-plus fans in 1970. READ MORE Dissolving the blues-rock trio in late 1970, Gallagher went on to have a highly successful solo career, selling millions of albums, being voted guitarist of the year by Melody Maker readers in 1972 and earning the respect of such legends as Muddy Waters and Clapton. [ Statue of Rory Gallagher unveiled in Belfast to honour musician's connection to the city Opens in new window ] Gallagher died on June 14th, 1995, aged 47, from complications following a liver transplant. To mark the 30th anniversary of his death, Cork City Council, Cork City Libraries and Gallagher's estate are holding a series of commemorative events this weekend, Cork Rocks for Rory. Cllr Dan Boyle said the commemorative events would include photographic and original memorabilia exhibitions at Cork City Hall, Central Library and Public Museum and a citywide walking trail commemorating the life and legacy of the musician. 'Rory Gallagher has been Cork's finest cultural export across the world. As we mark the 30th anniversary of his passing, we must celebrate his genius.' Gallagher's nephew Eoin Gallagher said: 'The Gallagher family are honoured and proud to endorse this initiative led by the lord mayor of Cork, Dan Boyle, and Cork City Council. 'The interest in Rory's music and life has only continued to grow and grow, here in Ireland and throughout the world. We are delighted to support these simultaneous exhibitions and the establishment of the permanent 'Rory Gallagher's Stompin' Ground' Cork City Walking Trail.'
Irish Times
7 hours ago
- Irish Times
Resurrected Reverend – Frank McNally on the Irish priest who 'did a Reggie Perrin'
Fans of the 1970s sitcom The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin may recall that it gave a new name to a certain desperate stratagem used by people who need to reinvent themselves. Despairing of his bland, suburban life, the hero stages an apparent drowning by leaving his clothes on a beach and disappearing. Thereafter, anyone faking suicide in this manner was said to have 'done a Reggie Perrin'. But the tactic didn't start with Reggie, of course. Almost a century earlier, for example, a Catholic priest from Sligo had resorted to the same thing. He too later turned up alive and well, in James Joyce's Ulysses among other places; although he had been rediscovered well before that and may have been Ireland's most notorious cleric by the time Joyce mentioned him. READ MORE Born to a farming family in 1856, Thomas Connellan attended a seminary from the age of 13 and later Maynooth, before serving as a curate in the 1880s, first in Sligo, then Athlone. A spell living in the diocesan palace, however, left him with a severe dislike for the bishop. And while preparing a sermon on transubstantiation one day, he realised he didn't believe the doctrine anymore. For a time, he wrestled with his conscience, torn between wanting to quit the priesthood and his fear of causing scandal. Then one morning in September 1887, he left his clerical clothes in a boat on the Shannon, swam to the river bank, and changed into the secular outfit he had hidden. Now dressed as a civilian, he made his way to Moate, caught a train to Dublin, and from there travelled to London, where he found work as a sub-editor on a newspaper. He later recalled: 'The load of suffering and care which I had carried for years remained with my clerical garb in the boat'. In the meantime, his death had been assumed. 'The Melancholy Drowning of the Rev. T. Connellan, C.C. Athlone,' read one newspaper headline, while the Athlone Boards of Guardians adjourned a meeting in sympathy. Connellan's reappearance in Sligo two years later caused 'a very great sensation', as the Daily Express put it. Not only was his still alive, he was now a Protestant, almost as dramatic a turn of events then. Catholic sympathy gave way to outrage. And as the gloves came off on both sides, Connellan recovered from his earlier fear of scandal to become a zealot, more Protestant than many Protestants themselves, and a scourge of his former church. The Connellan family reacted in different ways. Thomas's siblings also converted and left the area. Other relatives stayed but changed their name to 'Conlon'. In the propaganda war that followed, Roscommon Herald publisher Jasper Tully led the prosecution, calling Connellan an 'apostate', deriding his 'sham' suicide, and running articles by a local priest who claimed that the conversion was motivated mainly by a desire for women. Connellan dismissed the 'gutter eloquence' of Tully, which he said: 'glides off me as easily as summer rain off a duck's back'. He also turned the fake drowning to advantage, quoting the obituaries as evidence of his good character. The ex-priest toured Britain and Ireland on a mission to expose not just the abuses of the Catholic church but also of a 'crypto-Catholic' tendency in Anglicanism. His lectures often caused riots, though he was warmly received in the Ulster bible belt, at least. A typical letter to the Belfast Newsletter congratulated him on 'spreading the light in darkest Ireland' and compared the campaign against him to the one Martin Luther faced. But Connellan could do calumny too. From 1891, his base of operations was at No. 51 Dawson Street Dublin, where he published a monthly newspaper called The Catholic, dedicated to ridiculing his former faith, exposing supposed scandals in the church, and evangelising. This is where Leopold Bloom in Ulysses, fresh from lunch around the corner in Davy Byrne's, ruminates on religious conversion, including his own father's: 'Mr Bloom turned at Gray's confectioner's window of unbought tarts and passed the reverend Thomas Connellan's bookstore. Why I left the church of Rome? Bird's Nest. Women run him. They say they used to give pauper children soup to change to protestants in the time of the potato blight. Society over the way papa went to for the conversion of poor jews. Same bait. Why we left the Church of Rome?' The Bird's Nest was a Protestant missionary society in Kingstown. In Hans Walter Gabler's version of Ulysses, which corrected many supposed errors in the original, the full stop after its name is eliminated, so that the sentence reads: 'Bird's Nest women run him'. This somewhat changes the meaning, intended or not. In a related vein, Connellan's anti-Catholic campaign peaked with a 1908 pamphlet Scenes from Irish clerical life , a semi-fictionalised account of sexual misbehaviour in the church, which according to the Dictionary of Irish Biography, 'was considered prurient even by some supporters'. Thereafter, his health declined and with it his attendance at public meetings. He continued to edit his newspaper until catching a fatal dose of flu in January 1917. This time, reports of his demise were not exaggerated. Although he had kept a low profile in later years, his death notice stressed he had not reverted to Catholicism.
