A shared attachment and a fond farewell to Bill O’Herlihy
I could see Bill was having a great time, in his element, meeting and greeting. For me, this was a great family occasion: our daughter Caroline was hosting the glittering event and, naturally, all our family wanted to share in the euphoria.
Soon I was sitting in beside Bill and we were chatting about the great night we were having. Talk turned to the changing face of the media — and a shared attachment to our old alma mater. You see, we both had worked for The Examiner newspaper, though at different periods.
After the final award winners were announced, our table was gearing up for a long night of jollity when Bill came by. “Goodbye, I’m off now,” he waved, beaming.
Imagine the shock and grief when I got a call mid-morning yesterday that Bill had passed away during the night. We had been among the last people to speak with him.
Amidst the shock and disbelief there is comfort in recalling snippets of our last conversation, the joyous occasion of the Irish Film and Television Awards ceremony. It celebrates Irish talent — and Bill’s talent was legendary.
The late Bill O' Herlihy pictured last night for the last time at the IFTA's pic.twitter.com/aAktr6qmx1
— Michael Mulcahy (@michaelrmulcahy) May 25, 2015
Everybody knows Bill had retired from anchoring RTÉ TV’s soccer coverage after an illustrious sports broadcasting career. That was last July. I’d retired seven years ago as a news journalist, having covered nearly all the major public inquiries and tribunals. It was in the hothouse atmosphere of the Four Courts where I got to know Bill.
Our paths first crossed in 1970 when his flourishing career in TV current affairs broadcasting was blighted. He was at the centre of huge public controversy which deeply hurt the Corkman. Bill was the reporter on the Seven Days programme which lifted the lid on the then rampant scourge of illegal moneylending.
Viewers saw loan sharks — in a Dublin street in broad daylight — prey on the poorest of the poor inner-city women. The thugs would hand over the children’s allowance books to allow the women to collect from the post office; then the thugs would take the money and scarper.
It was brave reporting on a social scandal but the programme used a filmed reconstruction to depict the dealing — without stating that TV viewers were actually seeing actors. The Fianna Fáil government was apoplectic and the Dáil ordered an inquiry. The conflict was fortuitous for Bill in many ways, as it resulted in him being moved from current affairs to sports, an area where he was to flourish for more than 40 years. His RTÉ TV soccer shows — which ran for decades — became the gold standard.
Bill had begun his career with the then Cork Examiner as a 16-year-old wunderkind and, I suppose, our cordial relationship had its origin in a shared heritage. Over the decades, I had occasion to regard Bill as the consummate professional — be it an as astute backroom guru for the Fine Gael party when elections were in the offing or as a first-rate public relations supremo.
On Sunday night as we talked with affection of this Cork-based newspaper and wished all who sail in her the best of good fortune — as it was for both of us who served— it was time to return to my table.
As I got up from the chair beside him I tapped Bill’s arm, somehow inspired to sign off with his immortal TV phrase: “We’ll leave it there so.” Bill completed it with his final “Okey dokey”.
