All that's left of nest-eggs now on chairman's pinstripe suit
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It was an eggstraordinary general meeting. The first disgruntled AIB shareholder had barely launched into the opening diatribe of the day against the quintet of bank bigwigs on the podium, when he was distracted by the sound of a loud SPLAT.
Like scrambled Scuds, two eggs had been launched at the embattled bankers by a particularly irate shareholder.
The bank's chairman Dermot Gleeson tried to duck, but one of the eggs detonated on the arm of his pinstripe suit, while another narrowly missed the chief executive Eugene Sheehy and spattered on the bank logo behind him.
The egg-thrower, 66-year old Gary Keogh from Blackrock, was swiftly -- though politely -- escorted from the conference hall, and he exited the Ballsbridge Bank Centre spitting nails all the way.
"If we didn't live in a tolerant society, the chairman and the rest of the board would be hanging by their necks by piano wire out there on the road," he stormed.
"My pension is wiped out," he added.
The provoked pensioner admitted that he had planned the egg-chucking.
"I never did anything like that, but there's a first time for everything," he said with a grin.
He was sorry for one thing: "Unfortunately I missed Eugene Sheehy."
The chief executive may have dodged the airborne eggs, but there was no escaping the fusillade of fury and the barrage of insults hurled at him and his colleagues during the day-long EGM and AGM yesterday.
Almost a thousand distraught shareholders trekked up the broad concrete avenue and past the large two-pronged metal sculpture which, in these more cynical times, looks suspiciously like a giant V-sign, to try and find out what the hell has happened to their nest-eggs.
The morning's extraordinary general meeting was supposed to deal mainly with the proposal to accept the Government's €3.5bn dig-out in return for a 25pc stake in AIB.
But the dam of anger wouldn't hold until the afternoon's annual general meeting, and wave after wave of anger, distress and worry broke over the five board members.
"This is more like the Joe Duffy Show," remarked one shareholder, as hand after hand shot into the air, looking for the roving microphone, eager to share their tales of woe or to vent their outrage.
But instead of Uncle Joe they were faced with the less avuncular Dermot Gleeson, whose name is frequently preceded by the word 'pugnacious'.
However, the chairman was making a Herculean effort to make nice.
His opening statement was peppered with mea culpas: "I regret some of the lending decisions that were made," he said.
The shareholders weren't in a forgiving mood. Susan Kelly told the board: "We feel absolutely robbed and cheated. You have pauperised a generation.
Another shareholder John Chamney was equally blunt.
"Over 40 years we built our country, and you guys, along with our incompetent government, have destroyed it."
Pensioner Padraig O'Cleirigh drew applause for his eloquence, describing the plight of "ladies in nursing homes, dependent on blue-chip shares, people who saved for a rainy day, their dreams have been shattered".
Mr Gleeson seemed a little nervous at the outset, but once he'd wiped most of the yolk off his sleeve, his composure returned.
"The tabloid search for a scapegoat is understandable. Find the bad guy and throw eggs at him I suppose," he shrugged.
He did his best to be contrite, admitting, "we drank too deeply from the national cup of confidence".
He had no good news to offer about when the payout of dividends would resume -- "I'm unable to tell, it's an extremely painful matter for shareholders".
The afternoon session, after everyone had been plied with plentiful amounts of tea, triangular sandwiches and cocktail sausages was more of the same.
But there was also a feeling of frustration. Like it or not, they were all in this together.
Only one woman was brave enough to venture the opinion that the shareholders had to take some of the blame.
Nobody forced them to buy shares, and perhaps, "we were all part of the Celtic Tiger and got swept away".
The resolutions dealing with the recapitalisation were passed with 99pc of the vote.
Apart from the odd outburst of testiness, Mr Gleeson kept his cool, delivered the bad news, avoided some of the questions and rolled with the punches.
"Brian O'Driscoll is a wonderful rugby player," said John Chamney.
"I'm with you there," agreed Dermot. "He could learn a lot from you about side-stepping," added the shareholder drily.
But beside the chairman, CEO Eugene Sheehy, who announced his resignation last week, cut a far more sombre figure.
He took to the stand to try and explain why it had all gone so horrendously wrong on his watch. And he kept it simple.
"The real mistake I obviously take responsibility for, is that we lent too much money to property developers," he admitted, adding that he "does reflect on it, and obviously it's been front and centre of my mind every day. And that's the God's honest truth."
There was some applause -- the rest were probably too transfixed with astonishment at the sight of a genuinely humbled bank executive.
At the end of a long day, the shareholders trailed out disconsolately.
Their anger had been vented, but talk is cheap. Just like their useless bank shares.
- Lise Hand
