Many tributes have been written following Gaybo’s death, but I wish to record here one occasion when he with unstinting generosity introduced a fan who was not his, but mine.
When I was planning to move from Dublin to Donegal in a kind of semi-retirement, Gay Byrne expressed some surprise.
“You’ll never settle down there”, he said. “You are a working journalist; you like to be at the centre of things.”
We were talking over lunch at a Lotto event that was packed with celebrities and I was there reporting the occasion.
As was his way with a few words, I knew exactly what Gaybo meant. He wasn’t being offensive to Donegal, a place he and I both loved.
He was a few years older than me and he figured I, who had an executive position on a daily paper, was engrossed in a job I loved and would be reluctant to abandon it for a move to the country.
I offered a fairly simple explanation for my move. “There comes a time for everybody when you feel you want to ease up and do something different”, I told him. “That time has come for me.”
Gaybo had an uncanny knack of reading the mind of his interviewees. I wasn’t being interviewed, but he fully understood what I was saying.
He simply nodded comfortingly, and then added softly: “You’ll still find plenty to do.”
And that’s why I referred to “a kind of semi-retirement” above.
Gaybo was quite right, of course! I didn’t stop working as a journalist or stop being at the centre of things.
OK, I wasn’t at the heart of the matter in national politics or the biggest crime investigations or near the glamour of the greatest showbiz stories.
But, as Gaybo rightly predicted, I returned to Dublin occasionally to do a part-time stint on Morning Ireland’s It Says In The Papers, and also got close to enough of the major events of the north-west to continue to earn a living as a “kinda semi-retired” journalist.
One of those occasions came a few years ago when Gay and Kathleen took a drive from their holiday home of 40 years at Tubberkeen, overlooking beautiful Dungloe Bay.
Dungloe, and much of West Donegal, was like a home to Gay. He was one of the community and loved pottering about undisturbed.
Anyway, one day Gay and Kathleen, and a neighbour from Dungloe whose name I unfortunately forget, travelled to Killybegs to visit one of the first cruise-line ships to sail into the port.
There was a good gathering of locals on the pier as the passengers disembarked to walk around the town or travel by tour buses to O’Donnell’s Castle in Donegal town or Lissadell in Sligo.
A number of locals were invited on board to view the ship and meet the skipper.
Gaybo, as was his wont, didn’t join the throng and was happy to stay on land and chat to me after I spotted him.
A few seconds after we parted, I suddenly heard a shout: “Paddy. I’ve got a fan here.”
“Gay”, I responded. “So what’s new? You have fans everywhere.”
“No”, came the reply. “This one’s yours.”
Gaybo had explained to his neighbour who I was and that I used to do It Says in The Papers.
The woman, who lived next door to the most famous man in Ireland and who I believed was the greatest broadcaster in the world, insisted that he call me back so she could shake MY hand.
Rest in peace, Gaybo!
