That Fortune Cookie

A Wexford priest who has been named in various newspapers as facing at least 22 criminal charges, has been running numerous journalism and media courses in Dublin for the past five years.

Father Sean Fortune (42), a native of Gorey, Co. Wexford, has until recently been administrating his so-called Institute of Journalism and Theatre, which began operating as an independent agency in 1991. Again until recently, he also taught the main journalism module on an EC-funded journalism course at Palmerstown’s Poballscoil Iosolde.

Fr Fortune is not a member of the National Union of Journalists, and his qualifications as a journalism guru amount to little more than a spell doing media studies at the University of London in 1986. He has been charging his students up to £1,000 each to attend the courses, which consist of four-hour tuition sessions once a week for 25 weeks. At the end of the course each student is presented with a diploma signed by Fr Fortune himself.

However, the value of the diplomas is questionable, to say at least. According to numerous students we spoke to, the exam results attained by Fr Fortune’s students usually inhabit the percentage range of the high 90’s. Such seemingly inflated marks as well as the dubious quality of some of the course lectures, mean that the diplomas are unlikely to be recognised by any prospective employers in the fields of journalism and media.

One of the priest’s ex-students who spoke to Hot Press last week now works for a local radio station in the Midlands. However, he was of the opinion that he got the job despite hi Institute-endorsed "qualification", not because of it. The ex-student declines to be named, because he feels that any association with Sean Fortune’s activities may damage his future prospects in the media (and several other people that Hot Press contacted for this article were of the same opinion).

"I certainly played down the fact that I’d got it on my CV at all" he said. "Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t want people knowing that you signed up for this kind of ramshackle journalism course and wasted your money."

For an ordinary priest Father Sean Fortune had an extremely high profile. He was regarded as a jovial and charismatic bundle of energy in his Wexford parish of Enniscorthy – the phrase "human dynamo" crops up a lot in reference to him. He wrote a column once a week for the Wexford Echo, produced several records (of what particular musical genre is unclear), and presented a programme on Wexford local radio. And he had enough influential friends in Montrose to get an RTE producer and newsreader (Bil Keating and Michael Murphy respectively) to appear on his institute course as lecturers.

One year, the end-of-course certificates were given out at the diploma ceremony by Where in the World? presenter Theresa Lowe, was apparently a "patroness" of the Institute. Ms Lowe was filling in for Wexford-based Fianna Fail TD John Browne that night. Due to the Harry Whelehan scandal that was erupting at the time, Mr Browne had had to give the ceremony a miss.

In 1991, Fr Fortune set up the Institute of Journalism and Theatre, charging students £1,000 per head for four hours once a week (usually Monday evenings 5pm-9pm) over a 25 week period. He publicised the course by taking advertisements in the Sunday Independent.

There were two media courses per year. The first would commence in January and end in June, while the second would begin in July and finish in December.

Fr Fortune paid £10,000 to rent space in RTE’s Montrose complex for the duration of each course, at £400 per day. However, it would only take an attendance of ten students for him to recoup that amount, and the average attendance on each course was between 30 and 40 people. So, from a financial point of view, it would be an understatement to say that he was more than adequately covering his costs.

The course lectures were held in rooms located within a prefab-cum-annex at the back end of Montrose, close to the RTE radio centre. There were three lectures per night, dealing with TV or radio (on alternate weeks), print journalism, and public relations.

The lecturers on the media studies course were high-profile: Irish Independent religious affairs correspondent Joe Power (who gave the print journalism lectures), RTE television producer Bil Keating (who handled TV), and writer and local radio broadcaster Patricia O’Reilly (radio lectures). Fr Fortune himself handled the subject of public relations.

Typed notes were handed out during the lectures. However, most typed manuscripts appear to have all been written by Fr Fortune, with Bil Keating, Joe Power and the others having little or no input into their creation.

It could be argued that their quality left something to be desired. A random four-page sample of course notes obtained by Hot Press contained no less than 84 spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, as well as frankly baffling advice to budding journalists such as "Choose the precious word" and "Use a Saxon word rather than a Roman one".

Once, when a student queried the amount of cock-ups in his notes, Fr Fortune stated that he employed a local handicapped woman to type them for him, hence the high incidence of mistakes.

After a few weeks of reading them, more than a few of the students were of the opinion that the course had little or nothing to offer them. Having already invested such a sizeable amount of money, however, they decided to stick with it and hedge their bets.

The quality of the lectures was also open to debate. The students that Hot Press talked to generally regarded Bil Keating and Patricia O’Reilly as competent and efficient, but Joe Power of the Irish Independent apparently tended to read a pre-prepared script aloud without looking at the class.

"He gave me modules on which I based my lectures," Joe Power acknowledged when contacted by Hot Press. "He wanted me to talk for an hour and what I did was put in my own introduction, which lasted about twenty minutes. Then I did twenty minutes on his module. And I opened the last twenty minutes to the students so tht they could ask questions on the lecture I’d given."

Fr Fortune’s own lectures on PR also received criticism. "He rambled all over the place," says the Midlands ex-student. "He’d start off on public relations, as you’d expect, but then he’d go off at a tangent and not come back. Eventually his lectures always degenerated into Fr Trendy-type sermons. You’d spend more time talking about Eamon Dunphy or Gay Byrne than you would about PR."

In addition to the aforementioned lecturers, RTE newsreader Michael Murphy also appeared on the course in a guest capacity, as did Palmerstown Community School principal Peter Murphy, who delivered several lectures on law and the media.

FAILURE RATES

A PLC journalism course runs at Palmerstown’s Poballscoil Iosolde from September to May, in conjunction with the National Council for Vocational Awards. Alongside his Institute for Journalism and Theatre activities, Fr Fortune was responsible for the main journalism segment of this course (which also includes sections on media, typing, shorthand, photography and journalism law), and again, according to student sources, he repeatedly awarded marks of either 9/10 or 10/10 to his pupils every week for their submitted articles.

The results that Fr Fortune gave in the end-of-term exams, too, did not slip from the 95%-100% range. But the sections of the Palmerstown course which were instead marked by outside sources apparently resulted in rather higher failure rates among the students (part of the main exam was assessed by City & Guilds).

Patrick Tierney, a former student at Poballscoil Iosolde’s journalism course, is scathing in his assessment of Fr Fortune’s capabilities. "His module was complete crap. The marking system was laughable – 9 or 10 out of 10 for every article. There was no standard in it at all. By the end, I had the impression that everybody in the class was just writing any old shit they could think of and giving it to him.

"His notes were riddled with mistakes and spelling errors. It was ironic, what with him being in charge of the print journalism module."

Another ex-student who did not wish to be named was succinct in her appraisal of Fr Fortune’s module.

"He just didn’t know what he was on about," she said. "His notes were crap, and his actual lectures said absolutely nothing. It was a waste of time. You’d find yourself falling asleep. On one occasion he told the class that he’d interviewed Michael Jackson."

In February 1995, there was an unexpected development. Fr Fortune did not show up for two weeks running at his Tuesday afternoon slot in Palmerstown. He had been scheduled to give a three-hour lecture to his class, as normal, but it was a fortnight before he was seen again. Rumours circulated that he had taken a holiday in Belgium due to ill-health.

After this, Fortune returned to Palmerstown and apparently offered no explanation to the students for his absence. On March 28, 1995, he again absented himself from Poballscoil Iosolde, and was uncontactable on his mobile phone. On the same day, a story appeared on the front page of the Irish Press concerning a Wexford priest who was being sought by the Gardai in connection with alleged sexual offences committed against minors.

At the weekend, the Sunday Independent of April 2 ran a story about an unnamed Wexford priest from the Ferns diocese who was under investigation for a "large number" of sexual abuse charges. The article included a statement from one of the alleged victims, saying that he had been sent a letter from the Catholic Church hierarchy which apologised for the abuse and promised that the priest in question would be moved away from the victim’s locale promptly. The letter was signed by Bishop Brendan Comiskey.

The article also contained the information that when the priest himself had been contacted by the Sunday Independent’s Veronica Guerin, he "switched off his mobile phone". Oddly, Fr Fortune’s relationship with his mobile phone was legendary – frequently, during lectures in RTE and Palmerstown, students say that the device would ring and he would leave the room to take the call outside.

Concerns were now aroused among the students in Palmerstown. "It was amazing, the change that came over him in the last couple of weeks of the course," says one of the former students at Poballscoil Iosolde. "He went from being this brash, ebullient figure toeing comparatively quiet and low-key.

"The marking system was unbelievable – 9/10, 10/10 every week, and astronomical results in the exams at the end of the year. Unless he was going for some sort of stratagem of giving people high marks to boost their confidence, it’s utterly pointless. You could write three pages of absolute drivel and still be assured of top-class marks."

Fr Fortune, when he eventually reappeared a couple of weeks later, made a point of telling his students that (although six weeks of the course still remained) they had already completed his module of the curriculum, and that he would be personally marking their exams.

"We saw the stories in the papers, and we drew our own conclusions. And when he came out with all that stuff about us being finished the course early, that confirmed it," says the Palmerstown student.

The priest did not return to Palmerstown from that point on, and his post as chief journalism lecturer at Poballscoil Iosolde has since been filled. Hot Press contacted Peter Murphy, the school principal, for his views on the matter.

"I don’t know what you want me to say – I’ve nothing to hide as regards Fr Fortune," he said this week. "He taught here for two or three years. I’m more or less aware of his present situation, but only from what I read in the papers. The relationship between Fr Fortune and ourselves is an unusual one in terms of employment, so we haven’t any records of what dates he was absent from the course."

In a most bizarre twist, Fr Fortune had claimed to students that he was not being paid for his work in Palmerstown, and this assertion is backed up by Mr Murphy. "He certainly wasn’t paid by me," he said. "I don’t know what arrangement he may or may not have had, but I’m not aware he was paid a salary at all. When the position became vacant, I placed an ad and he applied for it along with one or two other people, and he got the job."

What qualifications did Fr Fortune have for the job?

"You’d have to ask him that yourself."

For his part, Mr Murphy was paid to lecture twice per term at Fr Fortune’s Institute of Journalism and Theatre, on the subject of law and the media., Asked if he had any doubts about the quality of the course, he replied: "Absolutely not. If anything, it was very, very good. I wasn’t involved intimately with the course but I thought it was extremely well-organised. I’m not aware of dissatisfied students, although I know there have been one or two in the media."

Asked if he knew Fr Fortune well, Mr Murphy replied: "Only professionally."

What was his impression of him? "I would make absolutely no comment."

Throughout the conversation, Mr Murphy constantly stressed his fear of being misconstrued. "I have had situations in the media over this thing, and I have been misrepresented. I don’t mind answering your questions, but I have to be careful."

AWKWARD QUESTION

On January 3 of this year, an advertisement was seen in the Classifieds section of the Irish Independent, promoting three-day weekend journalism/media courses. The first one, a certificate course, was to be held from January 5-7, and the second, a diploma course, was to be held from January 12-14. The ad boasted of "a practical, hands-on course". The means of contact was the number of a mobile phone: Fr Fortune’s mobile phone.

How anyone can award a qualification in any subject after just three days of study defies belief, but Sean Fortune managed it.,

The courses were being held at the Montrose Hotel, beside RTE’s Donnybrook complex. What Hot Press reporter Craig Fitzsimons range Fr Fortune the next day to enquire about a place (see accompanying feature), he was initially quoted a price of £300 – for a three-day course. Fr Fortune then asked Craig some questions about his current employment status, to which Craig responded that he was presently on the dole. Asked if he could do any better on the price, the priest immediately slashed £100 off the asking price.

Initially, on the first day the lectures were all delivered by Fr Fortune himself. He promised that Joe Power of the Irish Independent would be correcting some of the "homework". According to some of the students, his demeanour during the course was one of deep suspicion. Well-justified, as it turned out: on the Friday, he ejected a Star photographer who had turned up to take some shots of him. During one of his lectures he casually mentioned that he was suing an (unnamed) newspaper for libel and slander.

Also, on one occasion while Craig Fitzsimons was absent from the room, Fr Fortune apparently had an informal chat with some members of the class, during which he voiced his suspicions that Craig was a journalist (due to the fact that Craig had asked Fortune some awkward questions the previous day).

On Saturday, January 6, The Star ran a front-page story headlined "SEX RAP PRIEST RUNS CLASSES", naming Fr Fortune. Exactly a week later, Hot Press sent a photographer to the Montrose Hotel, as the diploma course was scheduled to be held there over the weekend. But when the lensman reached the venue, he discovered that Fr Fortune had vanished, cancelling the course at the last minute.

On the face of it, Father Sean Fortune appears to have harvested large sums of cash in return for doubtful diplomas and certificates masquerading as genuine qualifications. He himself has no journalistic credibility to speak of. His Institute of Journalism and Theatre has no listed address and cannot be found in any phone book, and seems to consist solely of himself, his mobile phone and his bank account.

What will his next move be?

Hot Press made numerous attempts to contact Bil Keating about his involvement in the Institute of Journalism and Theatre. However, having promised to speak to us on a number of occasions, he remained unavailable for comment at the time of going to press.

Now, read the tale of Hot Press' Craig Fitzsimons at The Institute of Journalism and Theatre.

BELOW PAR FOR THE COURSE

On a cold Friday evening in the plush surroundings of the Montrose Hotel a couple of weeks ago, fortune was smiling down on me. The portly, larger-than-life figure of Father Sean Fortune, to be exact, founder and driving force of the so-called Institute of Journalism and Theatre. I gripped his sweaty palm in a firm handshake and introduced myself as Craig Moore (the name is borrowed from an Australian centre-back who plays for Glasgow Rangers). Soon afterwards, the "class" commenced, and I prepared to further my education, naturally eager to brush up my woefully inadequate journalistic skills.

First we were handed typed notes on the subject of ethical standards. Perhaps mindful of his experiences in Palmerstown (see main feature), Fr Fortune had tidied up the wording, grammar, punctuation and spelling of his notes, all of which were flawless. The content was drivel, though – immaculately-worded drivel, but drivel just the same. The give-aways came when he was actually talking. At first, I thought it was a linguistics lesson. He wrote "JOUR-NAL-IST" on the blackboard, and explained how the word is derived from the French. Throughout the class, this remained the only thing on the board.

"What is a journalist?" he inquired, before rhetorically answering his own question. "It’s someone who works in the media – or medium, that is the singular – of print, television or radio." He went on to explain that "creative writing" meant "to create something".

Strangely, none of the twenty "students" seemed bothered that they were shelling out £300 each to be told this self-evident garbage.

We were informed that our first assignment was an essay, which would be marked by Joe Power, Religious Affairs correspondent with the Irish Independent. "He’ll give it a mark," explained Fortune, in a painstakingly slow manner," and when he marks it, that should give you some indication of your potential as (pauses and smiles) a print journalist. And the only way you’ll learn that (another long pause) is by doing it."

I had no intention of sitting through this for two hours. It would’ve gone on in the same vein if I hadn’t started piping up with a constant stream of questions, while continuously staring unblinkingly at him. "News should, first of all, it should be new," he argued eloquently. "Do you agree?"

"By definition, it has to be," I snapped irritably. Fortune went red, but carried on. "It should also be true," he continued, looking me in the eye. "I’m suing a paper at the moment, for libel and slander. They printed something about me that was untrue. And whatever comes out of it, it’s going to charity.?

He went on to explain how the public has a right to know what’s happening, "except when it’s contrary to the national security interest." Putting up my hand, I inquired: "Couldn’t that be open to (deliberate pause) abuse?" He gulped, agreed, then he asked the class what the word "ephemeral: meant. Borrowing the definition from St. Exupery’s novel The Little Prince, I replied, "Something which is in danger of speedy disappearance", staring right through him.

After a while he got used to my interlocutions, and he wasn’t as rattled. Contrary to my expectations, the more awkward my incessant questions became, the harder he tried to answer them, and the more he was willing to look me in the eye. Clearly, I was playing hardball with a wily auld fox.

Having regaled us with irrelevant and boring anecdotes about his ex-students, he asked the class their opinions on the general standard of Irish journalism. I replied "quite excellent". The woman behind me disagreed: she thought we were "deteriorating" and "going down the British road", offering the example of "the bishop in the clinic".

"Which bishop is this?" asked Fortune, as if they weren’t well known to one another. An awkward silence followed. Then he said, "Oh, Bishop Comiskey, right… I think that’s a matter of public record." Well, he should know.

Fortune then started blathering about how good handwriting was a journalistic prerequisite, and about Joe Power’s "beautiful script" and "expert penmanship". Well, quite. Most of the journalists I know have rotten handwriting, but I let it slide.

Having observed me scribbling notes frantically, he remarked, "It’s great to see people taking notes," and asked me what type of journalism I’d like to get into. When he heard the words "investigative journalism", he visibly winced.

Next, a news-reading lesson. His central premise was that "everyone has a different voice – t’would be a shame if we were all Sean Fortunes and Craig Moores." There’s no arguing with the former, at least. This triggered a stream of Fr Trendy peace ’n’ love piffle like :Good continuity will always have an element of music, and of course the most important element in the world, the human voice."

We were then asked to do a bit of news-reading, one by one. He predictably heaped gushing praise onto our efforts, asking at least half the punters things like "have you done broadcasting before?" or "That was beautiful!"

"News-reading also tends to be formal," he revealed, before going on to elaborate. "If you’re reading the news, you’re reading it in a formal way. And in this day and age, you have to watch how you word things. Like, if I was trying to be politically correct, instead of saying ‘is anyone here deaf?’, I’d ask if anyone had a hearing difficulty." Cue instant smart-arse Fitzer retort: "Well, they wouldn’t hear you." Amid general laughter, an ingratiating smile appeared on Fortune’s blushing face.

He clenched his gigantic palms together and continued on the subject of radio, launching into a spiel about what kind of people listen to the radio, and when. "Five o’clock, definitely, when people are driving home." Junior-infants maths classes with revelations like "1+1=2" had nothing on this guy when it came to stating the obvious.

Aware that Fortune wouldn’t be around the next day, I decided against devoting my entire afternoon to a junior infants-style journalism course. So I absented myself from the Saturday and most of the Sunday, returning just before the weekend’s final lecture at four o’clock, to Fortune’s visible surprise. I offered the excuse that my sister had been hospitalised due to an asthma attack.

His response was OTT, even for a priest. "Oh, Lord!" he repeated, mantra-like, for ages. This gave me the green light to ask him for a quick word. Off we strolled into the courtyard, out of earshot of the class. I then inquired as to the exact nature of the certificate. "What do you mean?" he replied, baffled.

Well, who’s the authorising agency? The City and Guilds, perhaps? "No, it’s an independent agency. The Institute of Journalism and Theatre," he replied. (This name, of course, is nowhere to be seen in the phone book.)

Yes, but who is it signed by?

"The Institute of Journalism and Theatre," he answered, like a broken record.

Well, who recognises it?

"Well, eh, you see," he spoofed furiously, "eh, ’tis recognised by people who’ve been given jobs in local newspapers, local radio stations, and things like that. Is that a problem for you, Craig?"

No, not at all! What are your qualifications as a journalism expert?"

"I studied at the University of London."

Er, yes. I refer you to the question I just asked. Have you any qualifications as a journalism expert?

"Well, I’ve none. I’m a priest, you see, so it’d be a dual vocation."

So you’re not a member of the NUJ?

"I’m not, no. No, no. No, I’ve actually a great respect for the NUJ. They’re very good, very good, yes."

This led to a sermon about how he thought the world of journalists had integrity. I allowed him to babble away about nothing for a few minutes (the details of which you don’t want to hear, believe me), but eventually he swung back around to the business at hand. He kindly promised to overlook the small detail that I’d missed almost the entire weekend, and said he’d give me a pass, if I did an article for Tuesday evening. At which point I interjected, "if I’m not mistaken, Father, your diploma results are never below 95%, and are frequently 100%."

"That’s not true, oh now, that’s not true."

(cutting in) "…And yet, when they’re marked by outside sources, such as the City and Guilds, there are frequent failures. Would you care to explain this incredible discrepancy?"

"Ah no. No, that’s not true."

So you deny that your diplomas are next to useless on the job market?

"I do. I do deny that." (very long, awkward pause.)

It was then that Fr Fortune offered to refund the fee I’d paid, despite a clause I’d signed on the application form stating that the money wasn’t refundable under any circumstances, Sadly, he made the cheque payable to "Craig Moore" – not much use to me. As a non-Catholic myself, perhaps I’ll send it to the Aussie and his Hun team-mates at Ibrox Park, with a footnote explaining how I struck another blow in the never-ending fight against the Papists.

As we parted, he mumbled about how sorry he was for my sister, and how he’d pray for her. As I walked away, I reflected that there was something pathetic about his demeanour which, inexplicably, made me feel slightly sorry for him.

When it comes down to it, however, this priest has persuaded a significant number of people to part with significant sums of money (literally thousands of pounds), in return for scraps of paper masquerading as prestigious diplomas and certificates. Considering the amount of money he must have amassed while plying his dubious trade, his surname seems curiously apt.