Decency. If anyone asked me to give a one word answer to what could be described as the dominant and defining characteristic belonging to Walter Smith that one word would be the winner.
Hands down.
Of all the Rangers managers I have dealt with on a journalistic basis over the last 51 years, Walter was easily the most impressive, influential and inspirational on a human as well as a professional level.
Willie Waddell was authoritarian and intimidating to a junior reporter in 1970.
Jock Wallace was the disciplinarian par excellence and will always loom large in the memory.
John Greig was the greatest Rangers player of my time but ultimately cast in the wrong role as a manager.
Graeme Souness had charisma enough to illuminate the pitch at Ibrox in the event of floodlight failure.
Walter was the full package, an amalgam of all of them with tactical nous thrown in.
No wonder Ally McCoist said it was like taking the microphone off Frank Sinatra and being asked to better Ol’ Blue Eyes when he succeeded Walter as boss.
Walter was a lifelong Rangers supporter with an affinity for the club you could reach out and touch.
David Murray would ultimately embark upon a series of judgements that would have a ruinous impact on Rangers.
But his finest hour came when he recognised the managerial greatness within Walter at the time when Souness departed for Liverpool and made the big call to make the perennial No.2 his No.1.
Souey will forgive me for saying it, but he left Ibrox for the continuation of his love affair with Liverpool. Walter was already at the place of his heart’s desire.
He had two loves in his life, one personal and one professional. His wife, Ethel, and his two fine sons, Steven and Neil, formed the essence of domestic bliss for Walter.
Rangers consumed the rest of the space that was left in his heart and soul.
He took Rangers to Nine in a Row, equalling Jock Stein’s record of consecutive titles for Celtic, and it was during the course of that run I had cause to appreciate on a personal level the greatness and generosity of the man.
My wife’s young nephew had undergone a serious brain operation that had left his parents devastated. The boy’s greatest wish was to do a stadium tour of Ibrox.
And so I walked into the foyer inside the ground as Walter emerged from the dressing room still swathed in a towel after training.
I dislike people calling me “Shug” when they think they are demeaning you. When Walter called out “Shug” it felt like a compliment.
I did my pitch on behalf of the kid but became conscious of Walter interrupting with “Shug. Shug. Shug.”
“What?” I said. “Are you telling me you’ve got Rangers supporters in your family?” he said with a mischievous look in his eye. We laughed the way you do when there’s mutual understanding and he told me to bring in the kid with medical problems.
Then the man with the weight of half of Glasgow on his shoulders got dressed and personally took the boy on a conducted tour of every part of the ground.
When he got to the players’ dining area they were all told to get in line and have their photograph taken with a visitor. Gough, Goram, Coisty, the lot.
Walter stood for decency.
Why wouldn’t he have linked arms with Ally and carried Tommy Burns’ coffin into St Mary’s church in the shadow of Celtic Park for the Requiem Mass that followed his tragic death? Walter was immersed in the historical conflict between the clubs but was never interested in its pernicious side effects.
He had managed with, and against, Tommy at club and international level. The regard they had for each other was obvious, there was no impediment large enough to stop him paying his
last respects.
When a derby match was done, Walter would often tell me, he would feel no elation, only a sense of relief that it was over.
This was the best of men and his loss is profoundly felt at a time when the relationship between the clubs could do with all the wise counsel it can get. Walter was a Rangers man who respected Celtic men.
Why wouldn’t he?
He had good friends who were passionate Celtic men.
Why wouldn’t he?
The greatest tribute supporters of both sides could pay would be to model themselves on him when it comes to mutual respect.
But Walter would have no objection to letting it be known that he was also capable of the most spectacular rants.
In the season Aberdeen were taking Rangers all the way in the title race, a story was planted that the Dons were considering a move for McCoist. Walter gathered the press at Ibrox and delivered the most sustained barrage of swear words I’ve heard.
As a denial of a story, it was unsurpassed.
If time was running out during a press conference and Walter had not got something off his chest he would thank you for asking a question and answer with a tirade that had nothing to do with what was asked but was well worth the detour.
He never did get that title of ‘Sir’ Walter but if ever anyone deserved recognition for the depth of his talent while remaining true to the generosity of his spirit it was him. He didn’t need any honours list to confirm his nobility.
