He knew when he returned home late Thursday from a grueling week of globe-trotting that the Nobel Peace Prize would be awarded in only a few hours. But George Mitchell was exhausted – and the last thing he wanted to do was set his alarm for 5 a.m.
So Mitchell called longtime aide Kelly Currie, who had promised to watch CNN for the live announcement from faraway Oslo. “If I’m included, call me up,” Mitchell said. “If I’m not, let me sleep.”
Friday morning, Mitchell and his wife, Heather, awoke to the sounds of their 1-year-old son, Andrew. Mitchell looked at the clock. It was just after 7 a.m.
“That’s when I knew,” he said, flashing his trademark smile.
The world’s most coveted honor indeed had gone to two peacemakers from Northern Ireland – Catholic leader John Hume and his Protestant counterpart, David Trimble – but not to the American mediator who helped bridge their differences. And that, Mitchell said as he later sipped his tea in a Barnes & Noble coffee shop near his Manhattan townhouse, is how it should be.
“It would have been nice to have been included, obviously. It’s a great honor,” he said. “But really, the important thing is that there is the hope for peace in Northern Ireland. People’s lives have been changed for the better . . . and to have played a role in that is really very rewarding.”
Some will say the Norwegian Nobel Committee was too stingy with its praise for those who helped forge the so-called Good Friday Agreement – a historic blueprint for peace in North Ireland that was signed on April 10, embraced by Irish voters north and south on May 22, and now inches slowly toward fruition. They will say the patient, articulate former U.S. senator from Maine, who devoted more than two years to nurturing the dialogue between Trimble’s Ulster Unionist Party, Hume’s Social Democratic and Labor Party, Gerry Adams’ Sinn Fein party and a host of others, should share in the worldwide adulation for finding an antidote to the violent convulsions that for three decades left Northern Ireland paralyzed with hatred and ever-thirsty for revenge.
But Mitchell, who earlier in the week had received just-in-case invitations from NBC’s “Today Show” and ABC’s “Good Morning America” and had activated Currie as his point man with the worldwide media if the news from Norway warranted, seemed just as happy Friday to field the relative trickle of interview requests that did materialize. (“We were rooting for you, senator,” said a woman from the BBC who barreled into the coffee shop in search of a sound bite. “Well, thank you very much,” replied an ever-gracious Mitchell, later wondering aloud, “How in the world did she find me?”)
Of course, it’s not as if Mitchell’s efforts have gone unrecognized. Week after week since last spring, hundreds of requests have poured in: This organization wants to honor him with a medal, that university has an honorary degree signed and ready – please, please, can he find the time?
“It’s gotten to be a little difficult, truthfully,” he said. “I’ve turned down maybe 80 percent of the proposals to honor me. It’s amazing to me – the number of organizations who have an interest in this.”
He does what he can. This week, he traveled to Dublin to receive an honorary degree Tuesday, flew to Los Angeles on business Wednesday, and found himself back in New York on Thursday to be honored by The Abraham Fund, a peace organization with ties to Northern Ireland. Other stops on the handshake tour have included the prestigious Philadelphia Liberty Medal, the Truman Peace Institute in Jerusalem and, in the coming weeks, Fordham University and Georgetown University Law School (Mitchell’s alma mater).
But the most memorable moments – both triumphant and tragic – still come from across the Atlantic. Last month, Mitchell attended the dedication of a new bridge spanning the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland. The old bridge had been destroyed by terrorist bombs; the new one includes a plaque with the inscription: “Senator George Mitchell Peace Bridge.”
“That’s typical of the reception I’ve received over there,” he said. “The people are warm . . . and grateful.”
And desperate for peace. Also last month, Mitchell joined President Clinton and British Prime Minister Tony Blair in consoling those who lost loved ones in the Aug. 15 car bombing at Omagh, which killed 29 people and injured more than 200. He can still see them reeling from the attack – Claire Gallagher, a “very courageous” 15-year-old pianist permanently blinded by the bomb; Michael Monaghan, who in a single instant lost his pregnant wife (they were expecting twins) and their 18-month-old daughter.
“He now has three children,” Mitchell said quietly. “He introduced me to his young son, Patrick, who made me think about my own son. And he said to me, ‘Patrick asks me every day, where’s Mommy?’ It was one of the most emotionally wrenching experiences I’ve ever had.”
It also puts all of the accolades – including the venerable Nobel Peace Prize – in perspective. Appropriate as it may be that the award went to Hume, the visionary who saw a way out long before most even started looking, and Trimble, who risked at least his political neck by keeping the Protestants at the table when it counted, the ultimate reward for Mitchell would be if history remembers Omagh as the “last spasm of violence.”
Shortly after awaking Friday, Mitchell faxed his congratulations to both Hume and Trimble and made a mental note to call them later in the day.
But his first priority, far from the announcement that didn’t wake him up, was the baby boy who did. Last October, returning to Belfast after the birth of his son, Mitchell informed everyone at the negotiating table that 61 babies had been born in Northern Ireland the same day as Andrew. Make their futures as bright as his, he implored his hushed audience.
“Today is my son’s first birthday,” he said, beaming. “We’re going to take him to the zoo down in Central Park.”
And that, at this stage in his celebrated life, is more than enough for George Mitchell.
“I feel good,” he said.
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