'Accidental journalist' Brian Looney backed reporters and trusted his judgement
Brian He Was Editor Of Examiner' 'the Became 24 Just When Looney
In the old office of the on Academy St, the editor's desk was a kind of eyrie, located at mezzanine level so the incumbent could survey all the noise and drama of the newsroom below.
But Brian Looney, who has died aged just 63, rarely stayed up in the rafters.
According to Conor Keane, a friend and former colleague, Looney's tenure as editor was "management by wandering about".
And much else besides.
Oftentimes it was with a swagger, befitting someone whose career burned bright and burned early and who, while sometimes divisive and often uncompromising, was generally seen as an ebullient and intellectually dynamic personality, someone clearly in love with newspapers and the trade of journalism.
His passing may well mark the end of an era.
Looney, born in December 1959 and from Lee Road in Cork, joined construction firm Mech Con on leaving Presentation Brothers Secondary School — where future BBC foreign correspondent Fergal Keane was a friend — but soon afterwards secured a position with the , with Fergal understood to have put in a kind word on his behalf.
At his funeral service, Conor Keane described Brian as "an accidental journalist" — often the best kind.
The congregation heard of Brian's brass neck, but he was polished enough in Limerick to have been promoted to news editor, before a move to Dublin and the , spending two years at that fabled institution before then decamping to the , where he served as industry correspondent.
The best editors aren't always the best reporters either, and Brian seemed destined for the big chair.
He was still in his 20s when he secured the post of editor of , one of the largest and most influential regional papers.
Much of what would later mark his time as chief was honed there, not least the spotting and hiring of young talent and the shaking up of a publication that may have become too set in its ways.
It became the country's first fully computerised regional title and some of the online tributes this week were from the many people he supported early on in their careers, such as columnists Alison O'Connor and Clodagh Finn, the latter of whom tweeted: "He hired me as a cub reporter on and ran it as if it was ."
Then came the big one.
Appointed as editor of the then- in 1994, taking over from Fergus O'Callaghan, Looney quickly moved to reshape the newspaper, hiring fresh talent and using his famed powers of motivation.
The change of title from the to in March 1996 was a seismic moment in the newspaper's history, pushing 'De Paper' into the national consciousness like never before.
Alongside advances in technology, Brian's sharp sense of design and innate knowledge of what would get the paper talked about powered the content.
He backed his reporters and trusted his judgement.
It is said that Seamus McConville, a former editor of and someone not prone to gushing sentiment, once told Brian: "You have wisdom beyond your years — use it."
Brian was just 34 when he took control of Academy St, and his sometimes abrasive style was not universally popular.
As one former colleague wrote on RIP.ie this week: "You were challenging at times Brian, a fact you relished with gleeful abandon."
Even though contemporary sensibilities and modern practices have pared down the edges, newsrooms can still be robust workplaces, and remain a haven for people who never quite feel like they’ve achieved adulthood, even as the bills and responsibilities pile up.
In Brian Looney’s era, the environment was more combustible again, a time when sinking a pint or three at lunchtime was almost part of the gig.
Brian frowned at outdated practices, but he had his demons — including the drink.
For all the tributes paid to him, others will likely have a different, stickier story to tell, of rancour and fall-outs.
And while the first relaunch of the paper had been a huge success, the second — from to — caused rumblings, and in May 2001, Brian stepped down.
Being the editor of a national paper carries great responsibility.
As Tim Vaughan, Brian's successor, said when he left the post in 2016: "It consumes you."
Maybe it consumed Brian, but he missed it — the electricity when a newsroom is in full swing, the thrill of a big story, the moments of mischief, tangled up in the cleave and clangour of the daily news cycle.
Following his departure from Academy St, Brian worked for a short period as a director of policy communications for Fine Gael and later became managing editor of a regional newspaper group which included the and later would take on other titles, including the .
Outside of that, he was a graduate of the European Journalism Centre in Maastricht and received a certificate in competitive strategy from the INSEAD Management School in France.
Somewhat improbably, in his younger days, he was a keen water skier. He also worked as a media consultant and subsequently returned to Leeside, where his later years were marked by deteriorating health.
In his eulogy, Conor Keane said: "Brian's personal journey in embracing his own sexuality was difficult for a man born in the late 1950s, but he was true to himself and proud out of who he was."
Looking back, it is abundantly clear that journalism was one of the great romances of his life.
There may have been a few broken plates, metaphorically speaking, but he left many places better than he found them, not least the very organ you are reading now.
Then there is the private Brian, known to his family — the fun, gregarious, compassionate Brian. They knew of the high regard in which he was held professionally, and agreed with the singular description of him as flamboyant — a characteristic that was universal across his work and home life.
If he left top-level journalism too early, he also departed this life before his time, spending an extended period in Cork University Hospital and, in the past 18 months, in the care of Farranlea Community Nursing Unit.
He died following a short illness, news of his passing reigniting interest in him and in an era for the Irish media which is now long gone.
And while his physical health was ailing, his intellect remained sharp to the end.
He didn't do regrets, according to those who knew him best.
There was a feeling that he would have loved his funeral, the gathering of old friends, and particularly those he helped nurture early in their careers; it was without the prince.
His legacy is apparent in the professional relationships he forged, but also in the personal friendships, and in standing for journalism and believing in media freedom and high standards — that while journalists have rights, they must be balanced against responsibilities that must be met, on behalf of everyone.
Even now there is a feeling that he had more to give.
The old office on Academy St is now luxury apartments.
There are no stories of the building being haunted by ghosts lingering from the decades when the presses thrummed and the keys clacked, but in some parallel realm, they must live on.
Jim O'Connell, a former colleague of Brian's from the , wrote this week on RIP.ie: "I'm sure you're working on getting an interview with St Peter even as I write this."
Or maybe Brian Looney has gone for higher office again, striding purposefully down some celestial corridor, occasionally surveying everything from the editor's watchtower — a newspaper in his hands, ink coursing through his veins.