Hot Press is deeply saddened to hear of the death of P.J. Mara. The former Fianna Fáil politico had been in the Beacon Hospital for the past seven months, and died after a long illness. He is survived by his son John, and by his partner Sheila, with whom he had one child, just two years ago. He was just 73 years of age. His first wife, Breda Brogan, died in 2003.

Niall Stokes writes:

January has been a cruel month, with the loss of the incomparable David Bowie – and now of the old Fianna Fáil warhorse, P.J. Mara. The connection between the two might seem tenuous, but in a sense what they had in common was their very Hot Press-ness. In covering rock ’n’ roll and politics, the magazine engaged with both men, albeit in very different ways. They were world’s apart, of course. But when you strip it all back, they did have one essential thing in common: they were both great showmen.

P.J. first came to public prominence as press secretary for Fianna Fáil, stepping into the office under Charlie Haughey’s leadership in the early 1980s. For many years he became one of the most important and powerful people in Irish political life, first as Government press secretary in the Haughey-led administration formed in 1987, and ultimately taking on the role of Director of Elections for Fianna Fáil, and guiding the party to a resounding three-in-a-row of election victories, in 1997, 2002 and 2007, during the era when Bertie Ahern was party leader. But it was as Charlie Haughey’s closest aide de camp that he became both revered – and notorious. In Hot Press, we always got on very well with him, because he had what can only be described as a maverick streak that matched our own...

His deeply rooted Fianna Fáil allegiance notwithstanding, there was a huge amount of respect and affection for P.J. across the political spectrum. Even his bitterest opponents in Fine Gael and in Labour held him in high regard and many loved his company. He was never short of a good story and had an infectious sense of fun. The controversies which arose in relation to the Flood Tribunal may have raised difficult questions for him, but he was widely respected still as one of the most engaging and amusing companions in the often dour and uninspiring world of Irish politics.

He was the man who set up the Hot Press interview with Charlie Haughey, which has gone down in political lore here in Ireland. I had been pestering P.J. for ages and he was always courteous and helpful while saying a polite not at the moment. There was a possibility that this political dance might go on forever and that we would never have a run at what was undoubtedly the most sought-after political interview of the era. But we remained undaunted.

I renewed the appeal towards the end of 1984. At the time, a Fine Gael-Labour government was in power and Charlie was leading a somewhat divided party. With things going badly in the economy and a job scarcity that didn’t look like it was going to go away any time soon, there was clearly a potential advantage to be gained by Fianna Fáil if the party leader could connect with the growing feeling of youth discontent. It might just help to consolidate his position in Fianna Fáil too.

That was the sell, and it gradually became clear that P.J. understood it better than we had any right to expect him to. All he had to do was convince the great man, which unfortunately was not by any means the easiest task. Charlie could be cantankerous and was inclined to give short shrift to any media engagement, which whiffed even vaguely of risk. An interview with Hot Press slotted neatly into that category.

Endless calls ensued and – whether I had simply worn him down by my persistence or he really saw it as a good thing to do – I got a feeling that it was going to happen. The only question was when. Eventually P.J. came up with a strategy. John Waters was handling most of the big political interviews for Hot Press at the time and P.J. insisted that I should bring John into the Dáil to meet Charlie, in his Leinster House office. It was a smart piece of thinking. On the one hand, meeting us would convince Charlie that we were not a bunch of loonies out to hang, draw and quarter him. But equally, it would allow us to see the human side of the man in advance of the interview itself, and potentially predispose us more favourably.

We trooped in together and shot the breeze with Charlie and P.J. for fifteen minutes or so. There was no doubt, at any stage, that P.J. wanted us to pass the audition and apparently we did. A time and a place were agreed for the interview. We went about the customary prep for the interrogation, honing and shaping questions and trying to follow the logic of potential answers, to figure out what the follow-ups might be. On the day, John packed his trusty tape recorder and headed off like a gunslinger on the way to a showdown – and the rest is history.

There was one final piece of the jigsaw to be negotiated. I spoke to P.J. and arranged a photo session for the Saturday morning five days before we were due to hit the streets. Somehow, I convinced him to allow us to do it in Kinsealy, and John and I accompanied photographer Colm Henry on the pilgrimage to North Co. Dublin, where the pictures were taken, in the opulent surroundings of the Haughey family residence. Throughout, Charlie himself was courteous and friendly. While Colm went about his work, John and I shot the breeze with P.J. He may well have felt that we were a right pair of eejits, but he was, as ever, good company.

It was a great interview. I remember reading the draft and knowing that it would explode. But I also felt that Charlie emerged from it in a different and far more appealing light than any interview I had ever read with him. The line about a few fuckers whose throats he’d like to slit and push them over the nearest cliff – or words to that effect – were taken as a reference to Dessie O’Malley and George Colley and grabbed the headlines. But I was equally struck by the fact that he confessed that he understood why a young fella would nick a BMW to do a bit of joyriding. An old school sense of tolerance and decency came across, which we all felt would appeal to the Hot Press readership. And in many ways it did.

I remember being concerned about the impact that the interview might have on P.J.’s position, but there was no way that we could water it down. And besides, it gave a truer picture of Charlie than any interview he’d ever done before. If people didn’t like what they read, then that was hardly our fault. The man had to stand or fall on who he was, and not on any sanitised version.

When the interview was published, it was plastered all of the front pages of the national newspapers and stirred up a huge controversy. The story has been told many times that P.J. roped Charlie’s old political ally, Brian Lenihan, in to present the magazine to Charlie and congratulate him on a brilliant interview, which was a sure fire winner with the Hot Press audience and which presented him and the party in an altogether flattering and beneficial light. It didn’t wash – or not fully at any rate – and Charlie held P.J. responsible for inveigling him into doing something the ultimate repercussions of which were at best unpredictable and might well be hugely damaging. But in the long run, the interview did play well, and Charlie eventually came around to the view that it had probably done more good than harm. Or so I was told by P.J, at any rate.

Either way, P.J. Mara never held it against Hot Press. On the contrary, when Hot Press Books were publishing Declan Lynch’s first tome, the hilarious They Are of Ireland, I asked P.J. to do the launch for us. He said yes straight away and made a great speech on the night, alluding to how we had nearly cost him his job, but generally praising the magazine and Declan Lynch in particular. P.J., of course, featured in the book – which reflected his unique status in Irish political and social life.

He did a Mad Hatter’s Box for us later that was smart, intelligent and funny and gave a real insight into the man, amid the quick-fire wit. Given his own streak of showbiz camp, it made complete sense when he announced that his most desirable date was Bette Midler.

It was always a pleasure to meet, and shoot the breeze with, him. He was one of the great raconteurs and was always good for a laugh. Like many of the Fianna Fáil crew of that generation, he had a mastery of the use of expletives which was utterly exemplary and he was frequently marvellously foul-mouthed in the yarns he told.

However you evaluate the legacy of the Fianna Fáil regimes of which he was an essential part, and the way in which they used and sometimes abused power, in my dealings with him, P.J. was one of the most colourful and likeable characters to have worked in Irish politics over the past forty years. It was a pleasure to have known him. He will be greatly missed.