Now the soul of sense, it is not easy to imagine Derek Nally quitting school three months before his Leaving Certificate and absconding to Scotland with a wild companion. "I ran away. I removed myself. I never liked school. I never liked studying. It was only later in life I appreciated the value of education . . ."
In Scotland, at 17, he worked as a clerk with a gravel company near Dunbarton. "I always deserved everything I got. I was very wayward. Anybody in Holycross would tell you I stayed out late . . . When I came in I'd get the swish of a stick," he says.
He was born in Thurles in early December 1936 and was christened Michael Derek Nally; his mother, Hilda Thompson, dropped the "Michael". He has a brother, Harry, and two sisters, Denise and Rosemary.
A member of the Church of Ireland from Bagenalstown, Co Carlow, who converted to Catholicism to marry his father, she is central to one shocking image from his childhood that is indelibly engraved on his memory.
It's a picture of her, a member of the Church of Rome, standing outside a Protestant church during the funeral service for her father. As a Catholic, she was forbidden by her adopted church from attending the obsequies in a Protestant church; neither could her husband or children.
A practising Catholic, he does not see himself as overly religious; he is a weekly communicant.
His father, Michael, a garda, was transferred to the village of Holycross, Co Tipperary, close to the acclaimed Abbey. He was a strict man, who never beat him but sometimes gave him "a clip across the legs".
Here the young Nally attended national school in "a very primitive building where they exercised a fair amount of corporal punishment at the time". The tough physical treatment, he says, never gave him any kind of "hang-up", never did him any harm and he has never resented it. But he feels angry about psychological punishment, about the "hurt" inflicted on a child's self-esteem by a teacher's cynical remarks.
Times were innocent back then and the worst caper the kids got up to was to fill the lock on the school with small stones so the teacher could not get in. "We got great glee out of that. I was only a very moderate pupil by any standard, very middle of the road," he recalls.
At secondary school at Thurles CBS, he never witnessed "any of the sadism from the psychologically disturbed Christian Brothers that they speak about today". They could "fairly use the leather" and he recalls getting 12 slaps on the hand for something he had not done. He did not resent the beating per se; he only objected on the grounds that he was innocent.
Does he accept that corporal punishment is appropriate if a crime has been committed?
"In those days that was the culture of the day. Corporal punishment was something of the day. Years ago, before my time, you had capital punishment. It would be abhorred now, and I would abhor it myself and have always said I would not support it for any reason. I am a greater believer that violence begets violence."
He always wanted to join his father's profession and it was during his time in Scotland that his mother told him the Garda was advertising for recruits. He returned to Ireland and sat the relevant exam. He finished 45th out of 1,000 applicants, one place ahead of Paddy Culligan, who later became Garda Commissioner. Twenty-two weeks later he passed out and was stationed in Enniscorthy.
It was 1957 and the Garda was "all male". There was no attitude to women in the force because there were no women. He liked being a garda and was "never severe, but strict on serious crime".
The entire criminal code should be re-examined, he says. As it stands, it fails to strike a balance. Ireland has only very recently begun to tackle white-collar crime with the Criminal Assets Bureau and a beefing-up of the Fraud Squad.
He has watched crime escalate hugely over the past 20 years as strict social controls fell away. "Crime was controlled to a great extent by social sanctions. It was a bit similar to people being put in the stocks way back. Your sins were printed on your forehead", he adds.
Crime worsened further with the breakdown of traditional values and diminishing respect for institutions like "the church, the Government, the political system, the Garda Siochana". These institutions brought a lot of their troubles on their own heads.
For example, there were hundreds of families, he says, who knew their children were being sexually exploited by religious and teachers but were afraid to complain. He recalls an allegation made to him by a person claiming his two daughters were being abused by a male teacher.
Nally reported the matter to the local priest who, in turn, attempted to bully him into turning a blind eye. "That was probably the first real stand I had to take. The parish priest in a small rural community was all-powerful."
A man who sees himself as unafraid to take a stand, he says that various positions he has taken over the years reflect the kind of courage needed by the holder of the highest constitutional post in the land. "You can rest assured that if you give me this post your Constitution is extremely safe, even in the face of any crisis that should occur," he adds.
He does not like to place the term "heavy gang" on his list of stands taken. That phrase was coined by journalists covering the story in The Irish Times. It concerned "a handful of unrepresentative members of the Garda Siochana who, at a time when very serious crime was being committed in the country by subversive elements, attempted to bring these people to justice and in so doing used methods outside the rule of law to secure convictions," he says.
This "handful" of "misguided people" more or less decided to take the law into their own hands. The action he took at that time to expose their methods was done "in the best interests of the force".
While the Garda had a duty to obtain as many confessions as possible, violence or abuse should never be used during interrogation, he says. Deeply disturbed by something he saw as undermining the Garda, he went, as general secretary of the Association of Garda Sergeants and Inspectors, to the then minister for justice, Paddy Cooney.
What happened?
"Very little, if anything, happened . . . I cannot say what the minister did; certainly what was going on did not stop for some time afterwards. It was media pressure that stopped it in the end," Nally says. With nothing happening, he and some colleagues exposed the issue through the media.
All the other candidates in the presidential election have "excellent attributes in their own way", but, he declares, he is the only one who has been "tried and tested in the cauldron of senior political decisions when injustices were taking place, when the law was being broken and when people in senior positions in the country were engaged in wrongdoing".
As general secretary of the association, he became aware of the phone-tapping of the journalists Geraldine Kennedy and Bruce Arnold. At the time, the only legal criterion for phone-tapping was in the investigation of subversion or serious criminal matters. It was quite clear that, in these cases, the phone-tapping was because leaks were coming from Cabinet and Charles Haughey wanted to detect the source of those disclosures.
Confronted with "a major dilemma", he was satisfied that the taps had been authorised at the highest level in the force. He had nowhere to go in the Garda. He also knew the request for the taps came from the then justice minister, Mr Sean Doherty. The minister, in turn, was working on the instructions of Mr Haughey.
"I was left with no option within the force or politically. I revealed this fact to one of the journalists concerned," he says.
The other issue which brought him into conflict with his political authority involved his public call at the 1982 annual conference in Bantry for changes in extradition law. If an offence committed in the North was deemed to be politically motivated, the accused could successfully avoid extradition.
Nally was promptly called in to be "admonished" by the Commissioner and, he assumes, this was also done on the instruction of Mr Haughey. He was told he was usurping the function of government. He is pleased that he played "no small part" in bringing about the ultimate change in the legislation.
He cites another instance, his resistance to the transfer of a garda from Boyle, as further evidence of his courage. Mr Doherty, he says, attempted to have the garda transferred but the Garda Appeals Tribunal unanimously decreed that he should not be moved. "The minister was absolutely livid", declares Nally. It broke the culture of "A pint or a transfer, Garda?" in the force.
Nally will be 61 around the day of the presidential inauguration, and he believes that if every voter could only hear his message, he would be installed in the Aras.
If elected, what would he do differently from Mary Robinson?
The role of President has altered since 1990, he says. Many of the social issues debated back then have been addressed, partly because of her indirect influence. "The President's role is not to DO, it is to BE. To be a symbol for people to empower themselves. You must lead by example."
Example, he believes, is frequently in short supply at the top in this State. It is difficult for a petty criminal to take a lecture or penalty for breaking into a car if, at the same time, "people in a golden circle are engaged in sweetheart land deals, sweetheart property deals, tax evasion".
Rather than emulate anyone, he would bring his own "particular style and integrity" to the Presidency. Moral courage is what is required in every walk of life and he would "symbolise" this in Aras an Uachtarain.
"The Aras should be an anchor, weighed up in the Phoenix Park, for decency, democracy and moral courage and integrity."
However, he has no great desire - nor would it be his duty - to expand the Presidency. That role is for the government of the day. If there is a need, it is up to the government to institute a referendum to that effect.
Whether he would exercise the absolute power of the Presidency - to refuse to dissolve the Dail - would depend on the circumstances. Perhaps one could envisage a situation where the President might refuse a dissolution if it were immediately after a costly general election and, rather than inflict another, the Taoiseach should be asked to go back and attempt to form a government.
He would always abide by the government's advice, though "I may protest loudly about it internally".
As a non-lawyer, he would not refuse the unanimous advice of the Council of State. If there was a division of views, however, he would refer to other legal advice.
As the President can nominate up to seven member of the council, he would like to appoint representatives of the State's youth - "who are very dear to my heart" - and the elderly. "Victims" would also be represented, whether from the Victim Support group that he helped to found, or the Rape Crisis Centre or Women's Aid . . . "those who help the suffering".
County councils, some of whom nominated him on what he calls "Super Monday", would also find themselves represented.
Asked would he re-light the candle in the window of the Aras, he says, frankly, no. Meanwhile, on the way to polling day this day fortnight, he has seen some nasty scenes.
"I would not have voted for Albert Reynolds but what happened to him was very, very sad. I am not patronising him; I do not know him at all but he was dealt with very, very harshly by his own. If I was the leader of the party, I would have called in Albert and told him, "Listen here, I am sorry to say this, I respect you in many ways but it is important to the party that we win this . . . I am asking you, man to man, to step down", he says.
He saw "the look" in Albert Reynolds's face and says, "you don't do that to anybody, anybody".
Now, with exactly two weeks to go to polling, Derek Nally finds himself explaining, not a good position to be in when one is just 7 per cent in the polls. Last night, following remarks in a Hot Press interview, he had to issue a statement emphasising that he favoured "the regulation of prostitution as opposed to the legalisation of prostitution".
The issue had never been raised in the campaign and followed hot on the heels of his attack on the Fianna Fail/PD candidate, Prof Mary McAleese, over her attitude towards Sinn Fein.
It has left him attempting to explain the difference between "regulation" and "legalisation". The difficulty is that by dancing on the head of a pin he could find himself impaled upon it.