Noone times were the best of times

Gerry Noone died last week and with him died much of the camaraderie that was part of the Dublin sports journalism scene for half a century. Seldom has there been so much laughter at a funeral.

Let me explain that statement. As we gathered in little knots outside the church in Killester for his removal and beside the crematorium in Glasnevin the following day, everyone had their favourite hilarious story about Gerry and they were all recounted, indeed embellished, again and again.

The extraordinary affection which he had generated in his time as a freelance journalist and later as a "staffer" in the Irish Press group and later with the Evening Mail and The Irish Times was expressed clearly on the faces of those who were mourning his death. His brother Brian, speaking at the crematorium, summed up much of what was characteristic of Gerry when he gestured towards the place where the coffin had been minutes earlier and said: "Wasn't it typical of Gerry to disappear like that?".

One anecdote which epitomises his extraordinary talent is the one about the day he went down to the bookie shop to place a bet and buy a packet of cigarettes. A few hours later he phoned Dolly, his wife, from Newmarket racecourse.

Gerry, as that tale illustrates, had a penchant for many things, notably his ability to disappear. It was this ability which earned him the nickname "Mandrake", after the cartoon character Mandrake the Magician.

Yet it was his loyalty to friends and family and his availability when most needed that will be most remembered. He had no time for pomposity.

He generated goodwill wherever he went in the world of journalism and sport. In a pursuit where some "bitchy" people are less than loyal, Gerry stood out as somebody upon whom you could depend. He might avoid you for a day or two, but when his beaming smile greeted you later you knew that he had sorted the matter out. The phrase "No problem" was his constant, but not his only, mantra.

His quirky approach made many things difficult at times, yet his devotion to the craft in which he laboured was never compromised. Doing good by stealth was his stock in trade; confrontation was not part of his make-up. Whenever one of his staff in the sports department of this parish got a tad tetchy, Gerry's advice would be: "Relax!"

An anecdote about his unflappable nature tells of the occasion when he was working for the Evening Press in Burgh Quay as a sub-editor and the Olympic Games were being staged in Rome. The back page of the paper was set aside as the "Olympic" page and Gerry decreed that a photograph of American high jumper John Thomas should be stretched across the top of the page in the belief that the American hot favourite would win the gold medal in his event. With only minutes to go to "put the paper to bed", news arrived that the Russian high jumper had beaten Thomas by a centimetre with his last jump. Consternation reigned: the page would have to be re-done, the paper would be late. Not so! Gerry took a sheet of paper and wrote the headline which later appeared across the top of the page with the eight-column photograph of Thomas underneath. The headline read: "He must be leppin'!" The report from Rome was re-written to support the headline. The paper hit the streets on time. Sighs of relief all round.

Unpredictable would be too mild a description of Gerry Noone. Unorthodox would be nearer the mark. This would also apply to his journeys to provincial venues where his knowledge of local geography was scant if not entirely absent. Recounting a trip home from a golf tournament in Waterville, Co Kerry, he told his amazed colleague that he had come home through Boyle.

None of this ruffled Gerry's feathers. It was all part of the way he lived his life and sadly his retirement lasted no more than five years. Some of those years were shortened by poor health and deprived him of indulging his passion for golf.

Horses, and horse people, too, fascinated him and he took a quiet pride in being a central and crucial figure in setting up Irish Racing Services as an adjunct to The Irish Times. Gerry was a "fun gambler", who loved a flutter and was a great friend to many bookmakers. That being so, it is amusingly ironic that his last "little touch" was on Bobbyjo in the Aintree Grand National. In a moment of affectionate farewell, his family decided that the betting slip should not be cashed in but left clutched in his hand in his coffin. As someone who knew Gerry well, referring to the fact that the docket had not been claimed said afterwards: "The bookies won again". It is true of course, but as Gerry would say: `C'est la vie".