The untimely death has taken place this week of Seán Doherty, minister for justice in Charles Haughey's short-lived minority government in 1982. As with any sudden death, sympathies must be offered to his wife, Maura, and his daughters. Mr Doherty left an indelible mark on the politics of the late 1970s, 1980s and the early 1990s which is already recorded in the history books. With the passage of time, he is now seen less malignly as a controversial and colourful figure.
Mr Doherty in Roscommon, like his Mayo counterpart, Padraig Flynn, Albert Reynolds in Longford and Charlie McCreevy in Kildare, was one of a band of ambitious deputies who benefited from Jack Lynch's historic majority of 20 seats in 1977 and associated themselves with the new leadership of Mr Haughey. They became the new generation in the ascendant in Fianna Fáil, inheritors and representatives, as the late Dick Walsh of this newspaper would say, of the mohair-suited generation. Some made an honourable transition from the post-Treaty vision of their elder statesmen to a more progressive party; others, like Mr Doherty and his master, Mr Haughey, used power for their own venal purposes.
Mr Doherty's time at the cabinet table marked some of the darkest and most dangerous days in living memory. He was a clever man. But he saw the power he gained from ministerial office as something to be used exclusively for personal and party advantage. The Garda Síochána, in particular, was used and abused as he saw fit.
It may not be remembered today that following the leadership contest in Fianna Fáil, which Mr Haughey won by beating the party establishment, his main challenger, George Colley, insisted on a veto on appointments to the Departments of Defence and Justice while he was tánaiste. Mr Doherty was Mr Haughey's first freely-chosen minister for justice. The rest, as they say, is history.
There has been much revisionism in recent days. Mr Doherty presided over unprecedented controversies during his nine months as minister for justice: the Dowra case being the most serious of them. The High Court ruled that the telephone tapping was an abuse of power and an invasion of privacy. Those were dark days when democracy itself was threatened. And it is difficult to convey to a younger generation the fearful political climate of that time.
Mr Doherty, in the end, attempted to repair his reputation and remove himself from ignominy. Supported by his wife, he took his courage in his hands in 1992 and confessed that Mr Haughey had known about the telephone tapping. He had a strange concept of political morality.When he put his hands up, he never recognised any wrongdoing.
There were some courageous individuals who stood up to him: and for those concerned citizens, like Derek Nally, Sgt Tully, Jim Kirby and the lock-keeper at Knockvicar, we must be grateful today.