In the world of print, the exchange rate between words and photographs is put at 1,000 to 1. A good picture is worth a thousand words - a point drummed into young journalists early on by older hands. Those who had the good fortune to work with or near Austin Finn came to learn quickly that a good photograph by him came in at about 10 times that rate. And he took many good photographs and many great ones.
Putting a price on genius is a fool's game. Certainly, Austin did not put a great price on his own gentle genius. He saw himself as a journeyman rather than an artist, wearing his great talent lightly and without remark - more or less as he wore his rumpled, unbuttoned anorak.
His assignments ranged right across the spectrum, from hard news to features, and Austin came back with "the goods". But there was always something extra. While making his way to Leinster House for a ministerial photo-call, something might catch his eye - perhaps a harassed mother manhandling three youngsters through the city traffic, or two old-timers leaning on their sticks, deep in conversation at a street corner.
Austin would return to the office with the Leinster House assignment covered from every angle, and something new for his ever-expanding portfolio of Dublin life into which the three newspapers of the Irish Press group dipped deep and often. He made his professional life at Burgh Quay, working for the three titles. As was the way of things, the young Austin, fresh from his native Naas, Co Kildare, settled for a period as the photographer for Dubliner's Diary, Terry O'Sullivan's social column in the Evening Press. O'Sullivan liked to do things his way - and, as the establishing master of the witty, stylish, debonair column, he got his way and was pampered.
So it was that Austin found himself being chauffeured about Dublin in the evenings in the company of the great columnist. Terry loved opera, so the vehicle came with an on-board music system, something unheard of at the time. It wasn't long before another opera-lover had been created.
In time it was the operas of Verdi which became Austin's special favourites. He did not content himself with Il Trovatore, La Traviata and The Sicilian Vespers, but went on to become something of an expert on the full 25-work canon.
Over the years Austin Finn won many photographic awards. The great mark of his work was always an intense humanity, a keen good-natured observation of ordinary people going about ordinary things. And they were usually Dubliners. Down the years he moved through the city's streets, going about his work, but always ready to record those unexpected little sights of no importance which caught his eye.
Although he embraced the new colour photography of our newspapers, he was rooted in the old black-and-white world. His best work was undoubtedly in that medium.
Austin was working as usual on May 21st. He was on assignment in Ballsbridge for the Irish Independent when he was knocked down in a road accident. He died a little while later in St Vincent's Hospital. He was 56 years old.
Austin's wife Kathleen died four years ago. He is survived by their four children: Yvonne, Declan, Conor and Orla.
H.L.