Any man who crops up on the six and nine o'clock news in a dinner jacket, not once but several times in a few days, and is neither a celebrity nor a head waiter is bound to be noticed.
The fact that as treasurer of Tallaght hospital, Dr David McConnell was there to put a context on the huge black hole that is the hospital's budget, probably flew straight over a million heads. They were far too busy fantasising about his wild social life. The truth, alas, is more prosaic. As Registrar of Trinity College for the past couple of years, he has to attend commencements where degrees are awarded and bow-ties are standard attire.
In or out of a dinner jacket, however, Dr McConnell is not a man to ignore. This week, it was Tallaght Hospital. Another week, it might have been medical ethics or genetically-modified food. For nearly 30 years, he has worked to make a contribution and a difference. If his straight-talking, single-minded approach means a trail of people chafing at the nature of the contributions, well, he's also a man who welcomes a good fight. "But he doesn't hold it against a person who argues a different view to his," says Dr Mary Henry, a senator and fellow straight talker. "For him, it's the issue he's fighting, not the person."
Another of his strong points is his gift for communication. As a scientist working in the notoriously complex field of genetics, his ability to impart the essential elements to lay people without knocking them senseless is rare and wonderful. This is useful because in the earnest debate around genetics and genetically-modified food, Dr McConnell has had to square up to many an argument, often in public, and not always on the side of the angels.
In showdowns at public meetings and conferences, typically one to one with Dr Quentin Gargan of Genetic Concern, he emerges as a passionate defender of genetic engineering who refuses to contemplate a downside. But he is also a hugely persuasive speaker (attracting a gold medal for student oratory at Trinity), swift to reassure audiences that it was scientists who first went to governments to insist that proper regulations be put in place.
Although accused recently of trying to stack a panel in his favour during a public meeting that he organised, observers give him the benefit of the doubt. He is first and foremost a scientist who sees developments in a scientific way.
Dr Henry recalls the time he was talking animatedly about the opportunities presented by a genetically-engineered cow who could produce, oh, maybe seven times the normal amount of milk. Where would you be going with milk quotas and cows like that, asked Dr Henry, fresh from a Senate battle about quotas. "Eh . . . the Third World?" he ventured with a laugh.
Yet no one doubts his brilliance even if he is unusually generous in sharing the credits. "I get so fed up with some departments where you'd think no one existed but the big cheese," says Dr Henry, "but in David's case, he doesn't need to be the big cheese. He can share around the credit for publications and frequently he isn't mentioned at all." In Trinity, after studying under Dr George Dawson, a man whom he has always credited as a "wonderful teacher", he went on to win the Gold Medal with his BA (Mod) in Natural Sciences in 1966. Having borrowed the money to buy a ring for his brand new bride, Janet Overend, they struck out for California and the Mecca of genetics, the California Institute of Technology, probably one of the top five universities in the world, with 900 staff to 900 students and its own jet propulsion labs.
Gifted with a bird's eye view of America during the great social and political upheavals of the 1960s, it is said that he still grows misty-eyed at Dr Martin Luther King's "I have a dream" speech. He also grew to admire American frankness and the cando attitude. In 1970 he returned with his PhD as a lecturer to a department comprising three staff and one student and produced his first research project, "The Isolation of a Gene", a visionary project for the time.
Further study at Harvard under the Nobel prize-winning geneticist Dr Wally Gilbert equipped him to bring revolutionary technology back to Ireland. The department participated in the human genome project from the beginning and can boast significant contributions to the field.
In 1987, he succeeded his old mentor, Dr Dawson, as head of the department and - demonstrating the value of the pragmatic, single-minded approach - attracted and oversaw the investment of nearly £3 million of Smurfit money in a chair of medical genetics and in the brand new Smurfit Institute of Genetics, opened by the Taoiseach in March. He is also a member of the Irish Council for Science, Technology and Innovation, the first statutory body established to advise the Government on the development of these long-neglected areas.
He has always demonstrated a firmly practical edge. In the absence of any alternative at the time, he set up Family Planning Services in Pembroke Road. Later, he publicly condemned the "sectarian ethics" that dominated the debate about a public medical genetics service. When the Adelaide Hospital and its unique ethos - it had no ethics committee, viewing the relationship between doctor and patient as sacrosanct - seemed about to be lost in the move to Tallaght, he took on the role of chief defender, seeing it not just as a Protestant hospital but as a place that stood for the future of Irish medicine. An ethics committee is one problem Tallaght medical staff don't have to contend with now.
Apart from science and medicine, Dr McConnell has also left his stamp on Dublin Zoo. Prompted by a love of wild animals and nature, he joined the Zoo Council 25 years ago and during his tenure as president, the plan for expansion and a more enlightened approach came into being. He also remains a governor of Fota Wildlife Park.
If all this reads like the CV of a privileged scion of the Protestant middle class, it is only partly true. His family were middle-class Protestants, true, but money was tight. His father travelled selling chocolate for Cadbury's and although secondary school was always on the cards, a scholarship was very much an issue. He earned one and went to Sandford Park, the only non-denominational school in the State at the time.
He and Janet, a medical secretary, enjoy the good but simple life by all accounts. No fans of foreign holidays, they retreat to their cottage near Caherdaniel, Co Kerry, where they keenly cultivate the garden. They have two sons, Andreas (28), a solicitor, and Owen (26), who works in computer software. Back home, Dr McConnell subscribes to Carrickmines golf club - as a five-day member.
