It may not have been unexpected but, when long threatening came at last and the end of the Haughey era was finally in sight, there was no denying the heavy jolt to the political system. It will take time - a period of reflection - and a firm purpose of amendment for politicians generally and members of Fianna Fail in particular to get over it.
A few general acknowledgments of the damage done to "the body politic" will not be enough; a deeply corrosive influence has been at work on public life for almost 30 years.
Not only will another tribunal be necessary, as political leaders and commentators now seem to agree - the need for serious change in the relationship between business and politics is also clear, even before Mr Justice McCracken produces his report.
Ethical issues, which barely rated a mention during the general election campaign but are now at the heart of public concern, will have to be confronted without delay.
How the political system is funded is only one of these issues. The public needs to have confidence in the regulation of political affairs; needs to know that politicians are serving the community, or the constituency, not themselves.
Fianna Fail has a bigger problem than the other parties, not only because Charles Haughey was its leader for 12 years and the questions raised by his conduct are more complex and profound than those raised, say, by Michael Lowry, but because of the nature of the party itself.
Fianna Fail was for decades - and still is, to some degree - a classic populist organisation: more movement than party, drawing its membership from the salt of the earth and its inspiration from the mythic past.
Populist organisations identify themselves with the nation and their interests with the national interests. They alone hold the key to the country's soul and know that outside their folds there can be no political salvation.
Leadership is important in any party, but populist organisations choose (or are chosen by) charismatic leaders in whom the wisdom or spirit of the party - the spirit of the nation - resides.
Eamon de Valera was a classic populist leader, who believed in keeping his plans for the party in his head. Sean Lemass, who'd devised the scheme for the party in the first place, was a younger member of the same militant generation.
With Jack Lynch, Fianna Fail took a step forward. For all his immense popularity and the steel of a hurling champion, his was a more modern style of leadership. He inspired affection and admiration, in and out of the party.
WHEN Mr Haughey took over, it was not just a change of leaders or style; the new leader changed the party.
Some thought Frank Cluskey of Labour exaggerated when he said during the Dail debate on the new regime that Mr Haughey didn't just want to run the country - his ambition was to own it.
Garret FitzGerald's flawed pedigree speech, on the same occasion, went down badly in many quarters, especially among those who chose to see it as a reflection on Mr Haughey's family, not a reference to his political back ground.
And several commentators, not to mention Mr Haughey's increasingly voluble friends, were prepared to write off as sour grapes the speech in which George Colley, who'd lost the contest for leadership, announced his refusal to pledge loyalty to the man who'd won.
But Mr Haughey's critics were right. The party - and indeed political life - changed radically with the arrival of the Boss.
An air of personal triumph spread from his office to every unit of the organisation and every corner of the country. Every public appearance became part of a personal crusade, every political event a rally.
Sitting at an Fianna Fail ardfheis listening to the leader's speech had always been different from listening to leaders' speeches at Fine Gael ardfheiseanna or Labour Party conferences.
But ardfheiseanna under Mr Haughey's leadership were also different from ardfheiseanna in Mr Lynch's day. (The exception was the famous occasion in the aftermath of the arms crisis when Paddy Hillery let fly at Kevin Boland's supporters.)
Now we were not just invited but compelled to celebrate, not the party, but the great man's successes. And not only his election as leader and Taoiseach but every subsequent triumph over his enemies within the party, some of whom sat beside him and smiled uncertainly.
For Mr Haughey himself, the thunder of an ardfheis drowned all uncertainty as waves of excitement coursed through the main hall of the RDS.
More than most politicians, he liked to be liked, or admired; and, if love and admiration were withheld, there were other emotions to play on, like envy and fear.
In an article in the Irish Independent on Thursday, Des O'Malley revived memories of the early 1980s when he and Mr Colley, with the help of Mary Harney, Martin O'Donoghue and others, took on the brave and honourable task of resisting the changes the party was undergoing.
To praise their courage is no more than they deserve. At the height of the faction-fighting which went on for several years after Mr Haughey's election, party meetings were often held in an atmosphere of barely suppressed violence.
Some of the leader's critics, Charlie McCreevy among them, had to be escorted from Leinster House.
Some Ministers were so over-awed by Mr Haughey and his allies that they began to take ludicrously elaborate precautions before meeting journalists. Others simply chose to keep their heads down and their mouths shut.
On the eve of one crucial meeting, I was with a Munster deputy in a hotel not far from Leinster House while he received call after call from senior colleagues trying to persuade him to change his mind and support Mr Haughey.
Then his wife phoned to say that she was worried about two groups of men sitting in cars outside her house. The TD made some inquiries and felt they were there to make sure he did the right thing.
Journalists too came under pressure. Some time after the night of the long telephone calls, Mr Colley advised me to go to a colleague's house where, he suspected, some unwelcome visitors might be about to arrive.
Since our colleague lived alone, I agreed and found that Mr Colley was right. The journalist was given Garda protection.
It was at this time, 15 years ago, that those of us who reported on politics first heard of funds made available by way of offshore bank accounts - I'd never heard of the Cayman Islands - though neither we nor our political informants thought it possible to secure precise information.
It will take another inquiry and a lot of dedicated searching before the whole truth is uncovered and what Mr O'Malley calls "some of the truly inexplicable policy decisions made when Mr Haughey was Taoiseach" are finally explained.
It will take a significant change in the attitude of the coalition partners to the funding of parties and elections if they are to ensure that political influence can no longer be bought or sold.