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One of the more enjoyable experiences for this writer at Leinster House was an hour spent chatting with the distinguished actors Aidan Gillen and Tom Vaughan-Lawlor.
Their parliamentary visit was in preparation for the 2014 TV drama series Charlie, based on the life and times of the former taoiseach, with Gillen as Haughey and Vaughan-Lawlor as his press spokesman, PJ Mara.
As a journalist who had covered a good part of the Haughey-Mara era, I was asked to convey a flavour of their personalities.
Haughey’s reputation took a massive hit in the wake of the tribunal reports from 1997 onwards about the millions he received from various benefactors, but despite or maybe even because of that many people continue to be fascinated by him.
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My first encounter with Charles J Haughey took place in early 1984, when he was leader of the Opposition. It was arranged by Mara, with whom I had become acquainted in Doheny and Nesbitt’s pub on Baggot Street, a popular retreat for the political and media milieu.
There was a particularly tense relationship between Haughey and the media at the time and it was very difficult to gain any kind of meaningful access to him. Getting an interview would be quite a coup but it would never happen without conditions.
Mara reported back that the Fianna Fáil leader was prepared to talk to me, but there were certain no-go areas. Haughey would only discuss his years as a minister in the Departments of Justice, Agriculture and Finance and would not take questions on the 1970 Arms Crisis or on his personal finances.
Faced with a choice between an empty notebook and a piece in this newspaper that many would be likely to read, I chose the latter.
Having heard and read so much about Haughey over the years, it was like meeting a rock star – but more a member of a heavy metal group than a crooning boy-band.
Charlie was still wary and suspicious: “Why do you want to do this interview?” He was displeased with my reply that I was a member of a younger generation that was curious to know more about him and he responded rather brusquely to the effect that he was wearing better for his age than I was for mine. However, he did agree to meet at a set date and time for the interview.
Mara was there on the day. Perhaps surprisingly he did not seek to be present for the encounter but said to me on the way in: “No oul’ Arms Trial sh*te now.” I quoted the line in the paper and, although it was attributed to an unnamed Haughey aide, everyone knew who had said it!
Editor Douglas Gageby liked the interview but advised me to make specific reference to Charlie’s unwillingness to discuss his finances: “Otherwise, everybody will think you’re a f***ing eejit.”
Haughey was keen to highlight the fact that, as minister for justice in the early 1960s, he set up a military court (shades of the “Emergency” years) which forced the IRA to call an end to the cross-Border campaign that began in 1956.
He also set the wheels in motion for the virtual (now complete) abolition of the death penalty.
Haughey described politics as “an addiction” and admitted that “the roar of the crowd” was part of its appeal for him. As minister for finance he brought in the free travel scheme for pensioners which, he recalled, “was bitterly opposed at the time inside the establishment, the Civil Service”. He didn’t name anyone on that occasion but told me in a subsequent conversation that “the great Whitaker fought me to the steps of the Dáil on it”.
This was a reference to the department secretary, the legendary TK Whitaker, who died in January this year.
At this stage Haughey had begun to relax and even invited me to his north Dublin residence, Abbeville. However, I foolishly asked in advance to see the wine-cellar, which put him back on his guard.
I wasn't invited indoors but he did take me on a tour of the grounds along with Irish Times photographer Dermot O'Shea.
Haughey was very proud of the trees, referring to them in the masculine gender: “He’s called the Tree of Heaven, he turns a lovely copper colour.”
Pointing to a Ginkgo tree, which is meant to contain an element that prevents senility, he said: “Every morning I go out and eat a couple of leaves.”
It was a lighthearted remark, but one commentator thought CJH was losing his marbles.
Ever since, when reporting such comments I always write that the person “joked” or “quipped” because, as a late deputy editor of this paper, Bruce Williamson, used to say: “There’s no typeface for irony.”