For once, Gay Byrne was not in control. Not since 1988, when Trinity College conferred an honorary doctorate on him, had Ireland's favourite broadcaster found himself in a situation where someone else was playing master of ceremonies.
A huge stage was spread across Dawson Street, in front of the Mansion House, for the ceremony in which Gaybo was conferred with Dublin's greatest honour - the freedom of the city - in recognition of his unique contribution to Irish culture.
Perhaps it was the AA Roadwatch warning of massive traffic congestion or the fact that most people only found out about it yesterday morning, but there was a surprisingly small turnout for all the civic pomp and circumstance.
Ten minutes later than scheduled, Mr Byrne and his wife, Kathleen Watkins, were processed from the Mansion House by the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress and the City Manager, Mr John Fitzgerald, to join berobed councillors on the podium.
Earlier, the crowd of about 300 - far fewer than the thousands initially expected - were entertained by a four-piece jazz band, Minor Swing, before the mc, RTEs Mary Kennedy, told them that among Mr Byrne's new duties would be defence of the city against attack.
The City Council's resolution to make him the 64th Freeman of Dublin was read out by Mr Fitzgerald, and then it was the turn of the Lord Mayor, Senator Joe Doyle, who delivered an oration in which he described a beaming Mr Byrne as "a true Dub . . . one of our own". He rattled off Gay's achievement as host and producer of the longest-running chat show in television history. "You made it all look so easy. You threw in the ball and sat back and let it all happen on air."
Gay had brought into the open things which were hidden, he said. "You had a liberating effect that was astonishing and refreshing - and sometimes shocking. And, as Oliver J. Flanagan had once complained, there was no sex in Ireland before the Late Late Show."
After signing the Roll of Freemen, Mr Byrne recalled that it was in the Round Room of the Mansion House in 1956 that he had first performed on closed-circuit TV. Someone had said to him then: "If this thing, television, ever comes to Ireland, I think you'll have a future in that."
He told his adoring fans that young people had no idea what it was like when television came to Ireland and the effect it had on people. "We were filled with the wonder of it and the uniqueness of it and we attached huge importance to everything that happened on it."
He said that he was accepting the award not only on his own behalf, but on behalf of the people who had managed to pull off that miracle - that is, almost everybody in RTE radio and television.
After paying tribute to everyone else, ending with his wife - the real director-general - he worked the crowd, shaking hands, but declining to sign autographs. Then, before being whisked into the Mansion House, he showed his ecumenism by giving an interview to TV3.
