AT THE final accounting, Sean Treacy took off his official mask and exposed the real Tipperary South politician.
Overblown tributes on his long awaited decision to retire, from John Bruton, Bertie Ahern, Dick Spring, Mary Harney and Proinsias De Rossa caused him to observe dryly: "I have had to kick myself just to ascertain that I am still alive."
Cutting the custard further, he went on: "I know full well there are some members of the House who are damn glad to see the back of me." The comment brought a great guffaw of acceptance from the assembled TDs and provided one of the high lights of the day's television news.
It was rare for the Ceann Comhairle to step outside the cloying protocol of his office. Another unscripted sally came during the 1995 visit of President Bill Clinton to the Dail. Then, he contrasted his role with that of Mr Clinton's political opponent, Newt Gingrich, in the US House of Representatives, and said while he (Mr Treacy) did not have power to control the budget or to direct matters on health and welfare, he was learning fast and hope sprang eternal.
Mr Treacy revels in the position and powers of the Ceann Comhairle, to such an extent that the man is frequently indistinguishable from the office. The "dignity and decorum" he demands from TDs during Dail business leaks into his own performances. He is frequently, to put it crudely, on the unctuous side of pompous.
His high ceilinged, Georgian office at Leinster House is a long way from Tipperary and from his first shop floor job in a Clonmel shoe factory. The job carries a salary of £82,980 and a State car. And the Ceann Comhairle has more flying miles on his clock, through official foreign visits, than most ministers.
Mr Treacy is a deeply conservative, self made politician. As such, he has been resented and disparaged by social snobs and, particularly, by supporters of the "liberal agenda" within the Labour Party.
His background was fairly typical of rural Labour TDs: a trade union official whose effectiveness as a constituency worker allowed him to build a personal fiefdom, with a semi detached connection to Labour Party policy.
Elected to the Dail in 1961 as one of 16 Labour TDs, he was party spokesman on education, on industry and commerce and on local government before becoming a surprise Ceann Comhairle during the lifetime of the 1973-1977 coalition government. But he was passed over by Michael O'Leary when the plums of the 1981 coalition were distributed. In compensation, he was given Eileen Desmond's seat in the European Parliament. And while the coalition government crumbled within eight months, he held that European seat for three years.
But the political message couldn't have been plainer. After 20 years in the Dail, the road to ministerial office had been closed off. And Michael Ferris had emerged as a party challenger. Iron entered the soul. Mr Treacy grew even closer to his constituency base.
Tipperary South is renowned for its conservatism. The wording of the first abortion referendum in 1983 was carried by 76 per cent of the vote. And the divorce referendum of 1986 produced a 74 per cent No vote. Before that, however, Mr Treacy had bound himself to "my people" and to Catholic values.
When Barry Desmond introduced a family planning Bill in 1985, Mr Treacy voted against it and was automatically expelled from the Labour Party. Within the party, he was regarded as an opportunist who had rejected established policy and was settling an old score. The truth as he saw it, was different.
Every fibre of his being told him the legislation was wrong Mr Treacy said. The Bill was "alien to all that we in this country, as a Christian society, stand for ... It will do untold harm to the moral fabric of the people and will be followed by more legislation of an anti Irish antiChristian kind..."
Standing as an Independent TD between the electorate and the threatening flood gates he appealed for support, "so that you and I may work together to build an Ireland worthy of our Christian civilisation, so near and dear to all our hearts' desire". He skated home in the 1987 election.
And when Charlie Haughey needed numbers to form a minority Fianna Fail government, he graciously accepted the position of Ceann Comhairle. The undercurrents of rancour involving his former party were palpable. As he left the Dail one evening, (patrician white hair and cream suede shoes) a future minister remarked acidly: "There he goes, floating on a cloud of sanctifying grace.
Labour TDs might resent and even despise him; but if they did, the feeling was mutual. And a particular antipathy was reserved for Mr Ferris, his constituency colleague. But such feelings were submerged in his conduct as Ceann Comhairle.
Mr Treacy conducted Dail business with distinction and he has been fiercely defensive of the Ceann Comhairle's constitutional position. An attempt by Fianna Fail to appoint him as an interim" chairman in 1992 was rejected with anger. And last year he successfully resisted a move by this Government to change standing orders so that she office he held became a political "gift".
Invariably, he is accused of being biased against the opposition parties. But this reflects the nature of the Dail's standing orders, designed to protect whatever governments or ministers are in power. Mr Treacy simply applies the rules.
As the oldest Dail member he is said to see his role as "putting manners" on TDs and of "keeping them in their place". "The chair is on its feet," he thunders at recalcitrant deputies, demanding silence. Depending on the occasion, his vowels develop a syrupy texture. An aberrant South Tipperary prion that reacts with the Dublin atmosphere may be at fault. For Mr Treacy is amongst distinguished company from both the political and media world, where marbles have grown in South Tipperary mouths.
Speculation intensified over the past four years about whether Mr Treacy would retire. Inquiries, from whatever quarter, were always brushed aside by the statement that he felt "perfectly well". And a belief grew that he was staying on to ensure that Mr Ferris lost his seat in the new Tipperary South threeseater. Last week, he surprised observers by announcing his retirement and by handing a possible advantage to the Government in the election.
But nothing is ever simple in Tipperary South. Seamus Healy is a strong, independent, left wing candidate in Clonmel. He poses a real threat to Mr Ferris. Should he win, Mr Treacy would smile. The mask might slip again.