FEWER than two-thirds of the electorate turned out in the presidential election of 1990, and of those who voted fewer than 40 per cent supported Mary Robinson.
It's a measure of her success that, if we are to judge by political commentaries and public opinion polls, more than twice as many now find it hard to imagine life after her presidency.
She was chosen in a campaign during which it sometimes seemed that only she and her promoters on the left, led by Dick Spring, recognised what a potent resource the presidency could be. Now, given the tributes paid to her since she announced that she wouldn't be seeking re-election, outsiders could be forgiven for assuming that almost everyone had fully supported all she stood for.
But Mrs Robinson herself is both modest and wise enough to realise that the popular support expressed in the media or in the polls (where her ratings were unbeatable) is best taken with a grain of salt.
She has been, as John Bruton said, the best president we ever had. She has both inspired and reflected change. She has made a difference to the style and the substance of public life.
None of this happened by chance. It could not have been done by someone who'd arrived in office without an understanding of our history or myths, or the risk of being imprisoned by either.
She has a sense of the past as well as a vision of the new Ireland and knows both the value of continuity and the damage done by boundaries raised on fear - not only of change but of difference, the otherness of others.
She has never confused pomposity with dignity or taken refuge in the rhetoric with which many in public life attempt to cover their timidity, ambivalence or confusion.
Her language is deliberately plain, intended to encourage or convince listeners, rarely to confound them.
Everyone, or nearly everyone, appreciates now that the excitement caused by the election of a young and vigorously intellectual woman was due in part to the contrast with most of those who had gone before. (Commentators who also insist on the contrast with those engaged in active politics often ignore the difference between their roles and that of a head of state.)
Even among the people who didn't vote for Mrs Robinson there were many who later allowed themselves the luxury of modest self-congratulation at having chosen the future rather than the past.
And then there are those who still profess to admire the stands taken by the President on travellers, the poor, the Third World, reconciliation at home and engagement abroad - but who would never dream of allowing that to influence how they cast their votes.
Mrs Robinson is credited - with persuading the Republic to take an emphatic step in the direction of modernisation. Not just by voting for her but by stepping out from the faded banners of the Civil War and the politics they invoke.
Politicians - who've been singing her praises this week can prove they mean what they say by following her lead of plain speaking and cool reasoning. They can refuse to retreat into the comfortable world of cute hoors and village idiots where being thick and shifty is preferable to accountability of any kind.
If you think this world no longer exists, watch for signs of it as the election approaches and the stalls of bargain-basement politics are set out. Unpriced, but with the promise - wink and nod - that the party will see you right.
The term modernisation is sometimes linked with attitudes and policies which are far from those held by President Robinson; indeed, it's taken to mean the opposite to what she stands for.
It suits some commentators - and confuses others - to associate modernisation with a series of unattractive -isms: consumerism, individualism, economic liberalism and antistatism, to start with.
This is not what I understand the modernisation represented by Mrs Robinson and actively pursued by her supporters to mean. (Since she does not engage in active politics, I'm referring here to views expressed before she became President and to her supporters in the broadest sense.)
They certainly favour a more liberal approach to social issues. But, far from advocating consumerism or economic liberalism, they value a strong sense of community and advocate a fairer distribution of resources, at home and
They are generally in favour of increasing openness and accountability in public life and a greater recognition of the roles played by voluntary organisations assisting developments in Ireland and elsewhere.
One of the most significant features of Mrs Robinson's Presidency has been her willingness to meet and listen to people, in this State, in Northern Ireland and elsewhere, with whom she was generally assumed to have nothing in common.
It was one more example of her ability to ambush conventional wisdom and surprise the loudmouths who shape it. It was also an example of the President, simply - though, to some, surprisingly - living up to her principles.
It's not for Mrs Robinson to promote the project of modernisation in Leinster House, where it's being advanced at present by Niamh Bhreathnach's Education Bill, the first attempt for well over a century to legislate for education.
The bishops don't like it. Indeed, an unholy alliance of clergy of different persuasions came together this week to ensure that their patronage of schools will not be diminished. The threat, as they see it, is posed by the democratic institution of management boards on which parents and teachers - as well as the churches - are represented. They detect an encroaching State which, for the most part, foots the bill. And they demand the protection of an ethos which they seem to have difficulty defining.
This reminds me of the landladies in London who didn't much care for the Irish but needed the money. If they'd had their way, we'd have booked our digs but stayed at home and sent on the funds.
Fianna Fail supports the clergy. So do the Progressive Democrats, though for different reasons - they want to roll back the State.
And Fianna Fail's reason? As the Taoiseach said in the Dail on Wednesday, "You're still tipping the forelock over there.
PAT Kenny doesn't tip his forelock. Not to ministers, anyway. The interviewer who mollycoddled Danny Morrison through a long discussion of this and that - but not IRA-Sinn Fein policy - a fortnight ago took on Brendan Howlin this week.
The Minister had dared to disobey a summons (or arrangement) to appear on The Show (that cross between Hello! magazine and the Sun) to answer questions about the Finlay report.
Pat Kenny sounded like several others who commented on the report. They demanded the truth: they got it. They demanded names: there they were. They wanted vengeance: the Government sent the report to the Director of Public Prosecutions.
That still wasn't enough, though what would have been found satisfactory was not - and is not - clear. Pat Kenny might have asked - but didn't - why successive governments, fearing the wrath of the taxpayers' friends, like himself, didn't find the funds to oversee the transfusion services, as they should have done.