At this writing, only a few hours after hearing the sad news, it is still difficult to realise that Gerry Noone is dead. When it came, the news fell heavily, exploding in the memory, amidst deep sorrow, a host of recollections of a great colleague in journalism and a great friend.

Although he had been ill for some time, and in hospital, his death was unexpected. Those of us who were his friends and close colleagues for decades before he retired from The Irish Times just six years ago, can only imagine, as we feel the blow ourselves, how devastating it has been for his wife, Dolly, and his family. Gerry was a distinguished and popular sports journalist. He started as a freelance - and played soccer for Bohemians meanwhile - during the years when his uncle, Billy Kelly, was sports editor of the Dublin Evening Mail, though he didn't need friends at court, anywhere, to open doors. He opened them himself with talent, keen interest and ambition.

After several years on the staff of the Evening Press he came to D'Olier Street with vast experience and an established reputation, first to join the Sports Department of The Evening Mail which had been acquired by The Irish Times in the early 1960s, and thence, within a year or so, to the daily paper.

There his career progressed through the posts of chief sports sub editor, assistant sports editor, then deputy and finally sports editor when Paul MacWeeney retired from that position. But in reality he was de facto sports editor for a considerable period of time before Paul stepped down.

An iron fist was never part of Gerry's equipment as head of the sports department. He ruled with benignity and, when necessary, adroit diplomacy.

He encouraged and promoted team work among his staff. Once the diverse jobs in the coverage of sport and the production of the sports pages were assigned, he did not intervene or interfere - unless an emergency of some sort called for such action.

He was blessed with an equable temperament. In the crises which occur from time to time in the assembly and production of a newspaper's contents he invariably proved cool, unflappable, imperturbable. Occasionally in such circumstances one suspected he struggled to maintain outward equanimity, but nothing ever surfaced to support that suspicion.

If a member of the staff had a problem and became upset about it during the course of work, Gerry's advice was delivered calmly and in one word, "relax". Inside and outside the business of journalism he was kind, considerate and understanding. Not that he didn't expect efficiency and productivity from the members of his staff, but he didn't demand it with any semblance of bossiness or autocracy. By nature he was generous, and a gentleman. His temperament ensured that he was never confrontational if any argument, a dispute or a conflict arose during the course of the sports department's work.

This writer remembers having had only a couple of rows with Gerry over many years working together. But they were not rows in the real sense, because Gerry quickly defused them and then we were friends again. One such row occurred on the night that Mohammed Ali (then Cassius Clay) met Sonny Liston for the first time in a world title fight. We were both working together through the night and into the early hours of the morning, organising and getting the report into a special late edition. The conflict arose over something trivial and I exaggerated it more than a little in some lines of verse which I wrote for Gerry on the occasion of his retirement from The Irish Times. I quote a few of them here:

Do you remember the night we fought

And the newsroom stopped to listen?

T'was the night of the World Title bout

Between Cassius Clay and Liston.

But though we clashed the job was done

Before day's dawn had broken.

And peace broke out as we left the `stone'

With a handshake as friendship's token.

His many friends, including this writer, now mourn his passing with his wife, Dolly, his daughters, Deborah and Jean, and sons Clifford, Gregory and Barry. We send them our deep sympathy.