He was both jester and sage. If he doubted his own talent, he seldom showed it. Certainly he had low points, such as the occasions when his cabaret act "died", but his reaction was one of ruefulness rather than despair - and despondency only lasted until a fitting comment from one of his stable of political or celebrity targets shot to the surface of that gifted, manic brain.
He had too many ideas, too many projects to complete and too little time, even had he enjoyed another 25 years.
Acquaintances - even friends - may die and our reactions are those of sadness and regret, but with Dermot it is different. It is shock, it is disbelief, it is the loss of something in ourselves. He has been there for years on the edges of our consciousness saying the things we would love to say in the way we would love to say them, looking askance at pomposity, at celebrity, at the sheer ridiculousness of the self-proclaimed importance of those who purport to run our country.
He was not cruel, but he did want to leave little bruises. In fact he was often quite concerned when his darts hurt; I believe that is why he encouraged the subsequent friendship of his targets.
He did make enemies though. One of his subjects, who up to then had been a drinking pal, took grave offence at a sketch and threatened to sue. The friendship ended but Dermot continued to satirise the man.
BUT for many of us it was the sheer blackness of his humour that appealed. One of his ideas for our Candid Camera segments for The Live Mike show entailed hiring a hearse and coffin. We parked in a residential area of Dublin, I got into the coffin and Dermot and Fran Dempsey, the "undertakers", held the coffin half in and half out of the hearse. As a male passerby came along Dermot asked him to hold the coffin for a moment while Fran and himself went into the house "for the flowers". While the subject was holding the coffin I began to moan loudly from within and tried to lift the lid. The man roared: "He's trying to get out!" then fired the coffin back into the hearse and ran down the road. He had not gone far when he stopped, clutching his chest. Dermot, all concern, trotted up and asked him solicitously would he "like to lie down in the coffin for a while?"
He would have been both surprised and delighted at the outpouring of genuine sorrow and grief his passing has provoked. His influence crossed many social, sporting, literary, political and media barriers, and after all the years of struggle, he had made it to the top.
His life with Fiona and Ben was fulfilled and loving. That love also embraced his sons Don and Bobby, as well as his wife Suzanne, and his extended family.
He was a one-off - a true individual. He lit a light in most of our lives and as long as we live, it will not be extinguished. And if he is headed for a celestial world, they'll need to fasten their halos on tight up there!
A final thought. Supposing in 1978 - just as his career was about to begin - he was asked: "Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?" He would have asked for the bad news first. "You'll be dead in 20 years." "And there's good news?" "The good news is you'll die happy, loved by those you love, cherished by millions, and at the pinnacle of your profession."
Who can say for definite that he wouldn't have screwed up his face, put his head to one side, as he used to do, thought a moment and said: "I'll take it."