When I got to know Steve Hewlett at the BBC in the 1990s, I was always struck by his modesty and fair-mindedness, combined with a devotion to the highest standards in public service television. He never threw his weight around and treated everyone with the same gentlemanly tact.
We often met at BBC receptions to entertain the good and great, held in the sixth-floor suite in the senior management zone of TV Centre in west London, where we had to promote the values of the corporation while snacking on finger buffets and mediocre wine. Steve was incredibly well informed about what was happening in the industry, making him a magnet for those, like myself, who wanted the inside story.
On those occasions one could see how he turned the gathering of gossip into an art form, coaxing stories from guests without them quite realising what was happening and without Steve ever appearing prurient in his interest.
Implacable as a competitive journalist, he never lost his humanity and generosity towards others, qualities he showed in the extraordinary documentation of his fatal illness in the Observer and in his Radio 4 interviews on PM with Eddie Mair.
