We are born in a lottery, and we perish in one. Richard Teevan's lottery saw him begin life in Dublin, the son of Gertie and Tom Teevan, who was to become Fianna Fβil attorney general and later a High Court judge. But Richard the city man in time was turned into a true countryman, a hearty vet in his trenchcoat amid the bucketing rain, or with his arm immersed in a cow, or attentively feeling a horse's withers. He loved the hunting field, the mart and the bloodstock arena, could read a horse in a glance, and knew a cheat in half of one.
Dick Teevan's life was governed by an unbroken, unbreakable integrity. Yet few good men are good men alone; in Patricia he had the love of his life, the friend of his life, the mate of his life, as sure and true and straight as he himself. Theirs was a match not then easily made, for he was Catholic, and she Church of Ireland, yet whatever resistance emerged when they first planned to wed soon folded before their determination to be together.
Chief Steward of Turf Club
They rode to hounds, Patricia evented, and both loved racing; together, his passion for horses and his veterinary skills came together as he turned to the racetrack as a career. In time, he became the chief steward of the Turf Club, his scrupulous honesty unassailed and unassailable in a world where integrity can be as uncertain as the going.
But alongside his rock-hard honesty co-existed an extraordinary capacity for self-mockery. This helped make his judgements on a racetrack so unimpeachable, for they issued not from a dour autocrat but a man who revelled in telling a joke against himself.
His fund of such jokes was inexhaustible, as was his ability to break into song as the Scotch whisky flowed, and he unleashed his own jubilant masterpiece of self-mockery from The Desert Song, - the pseudo-drunken form of Goodbye - "Noodbye".
Most of all, he was happy. Happy in work, happy in his marriage, happy in his family.
Happiness filled his life, and laughter filled his days; and people were drawn to him by his boundless cheer, his restless affability, his fund of jokes. He was a true star, irreplaceable in the lives of those who knew him, a man who loathed pretension and social affectation, and who rewarded honesty and decency with a firm, unwavering friendship. He was loyal and true, and not a molecule of him deviated from the norms he held to be important in life.
Chain of discovery
Two-and-a-half years ago, sensing a minor problem, he had a prostate check, from which followed an abominable chain of discovery. That scan cleared the prostate, but by chance revealed that he was suffering from an aortic aneurism, a potentially fatal weakness of the wall of the main artery from his heart. While he was being prepared for surgery for this, cancer was diagnosed in his right lung. So, no sooner had he recovered from the massive operation for the aneurism than he had to be operated on again for the lung cancer. These were colossal assaults on his system, but in their mission to save his life they were unsuccessful: six months after the removal of his right lung, a secondary tumour was diagnosed on his rib-cage.
Slowly but surely, the fates were gathering around Dick in a lethal, purposeful circle.
We do not choose how we part from this world, and the greatest test of our lives is how we face our end. To be sure, Dick was often scared, sometimes seeing only darkness and terror ahead; but he banished the lightlessness with hope and conquered his fears with courage, until, as the circle closed, he finally he knew only one fate lay ahead; and facing that fate, he acquired a curious and at times sublime serenity.
Some weeks ago he told me that his mind was now able to grasp what was happening to him - that he had stepped off the world, and that it was proceeding without him; and from his aloof and powerless station, he could see the folly of greed for material success. With the wisdom of mortality, he hoped to fill the final period of his life with enjoyment, and was even planning a holiday in Renvyle House before death could claim him.
Family all around
No peace even then; for now came the final turn of the lottery. A couple of weeks ago, his bowel, perhaps weakened by the long chemotherapy he had endured in his vain fight with cancer, ruptured. In agony, he was rushed off to the Mater Hospital, where he was to spend the final days of his life, his family in unbroken vigil beside him through the coma which followed - Patricia, his daughter Kate, his sons Mark and Simon, and their wives Rita and Carole-Anne.
Not a moment passed during that last ordeal when one or more of that devoted band was not beside him, to speak to the depths to which his life's energies had fallen, and to calm his spirit whenever it briefly rose from those depths.
Two weeks ago, Richard Teevan surrendered to the inevitable, passing peacefully from this world with his family all around him. His life was a credit to the land which raised him, and which he loved with an unflinching, unostentatious devotion. He was my fine friend, a wonderful companion and a dear cousin. He was, moreover, a true Irish gentleman; than which no more needs to be said.