THE thing about civil servants is that they do not generally top the league in the icon stakes.

Today's heroes are more likely to be footballers, pop stars or celebrity chefs, enjoying (thankfully) a transitory time-span in the iconic spotlight. We are lucky to have produced an exception to that rule, and I am even luckier still to know him as a friend.

Ireland did produce an iconic civil servant, who not only broke the mould, but to whose legacy the post-war and Celtic Tiger generations owe so much. As we bask in our present-day status as the world's fastest growing economy, the framework for what we have achieved was prudently planned 50 years ago by a true hero, Dr TK Whitaker. And as the icons of present-day Ireland tumble from their pedestals, as tribunals and enquiries reveal the shortcomings of those we entrusted with the care of the country, his integrity and service shines even more brightly. No wonder the people of Ireland voted him "man of the century".

I first met Dr TK Whitaker when I was a junior executive in the Central Bank of Ireland and he was the governor. He had come with quite a reputation to the bank, and cast a giant shadow both physically and in what he had already achieved. His Programme for Economic Expansion, ending decades of stagnation, poverty and isolation, had set Ireland on a course of unparalleled economic growth. We knew his reputation was already established abroad at such august bodies as the IMF and World Bank, and we had heard that it was he who had initiated the historic meeting between Sean Lemass and Terence O'Neill in 1965, which had paved the way for Ireland's entry to the then EEC.

It was even whispered that he was on speaking terms (in French! ) with President Charles de Gaulle.

Little by little TK made his presence felt to the staff in ways that he perhaps was not even aware. We noted that he drove a mini, looking incongruous beside the chauffeurdriven limousines of the emerging captains of industry who then frequented FitzWilton House. He carried a battered briefcase and wore an anorak, before it became a taoiseach's accessory! We heard that he had declined a rise in salary as governor while he preached economic restraint in the Central Bank bulletins. He smiled a lot . . . for a governor . . . and he came to the Christmas party and even drank a whiskey.

His arrival transformed the bank. He quietly emphasised its independence and did not shirk from criticism of government economic policy. On a raft of new legislation, the bank shed the musty old Currency Commission image and emerged into the bright lights as custodian and regulator of the Irish banking system. It was a great time to be a central banker. TK's status reflected in a way on all of us. I often had to arrange the press conference for the annual report, and such was the interest in what he said from reporters and economic commentators that it was usually standing room only.

One day with some consternation, I watched him approach my desk. He heard I was from Mayo and having a particular gra for that part of the country, wondered if I could spare him a few moments in his office.

He wished to ascertain my opinion on a matter in hand. Me? I dutifully followed him into his office, under the disbelieving gaze of my colleagues. The matter in question was a drawing of a piece of sculpture that he was thinking of having commissioned for the new Dame Street building. The conversation soon turned to Mayo, and to my then particular interest, Granuaile, whose biography I was contemplating. With TK's words of encouragement ringing in my ears, I set to on the research. He subsequently launched the book, as he has, happily for me, my subsequent books, the latest just this month, the venue . . . the TCentral Bank! But TK did not merely encourage my writing by words. It was he who first launched me into print when my article, with its irresistible title 'Land Price Trends in Ireland and the EEC', was published in the Central Bank Bulletin.

We missed him when he left the bank, but our loss was the country's gain as his talents found a range of new outlets. He became chancellor of the National University, a senator and a member of the Council of State. His wise counsel as chairman steered a range of national enquiries from reform of our prison system to review of the constitution. Papers and books on a mindboggling range of subjects followed, from salmon conservation, the Irish language, to the North of Ireland, the latest, Protection or Free Trade . . . The Final Battle, launched just this month.

TK's attributes rest lightly on his shoulders. To be in his company is to be both entertained and informed. He has that knack of seeing the humorous even in the most serious moments. Like the snowy morning in 1967, as he and Jack Lynch approached Stormont for the LemassO'Neill meeting, a black-garbed figure threw snowballs at them as they emerged from the car. The distinctive voice of Dr Paisley could be heard shouting in their direction: 'No pope here'. Jack Lynch turned to TK and asked, "Which one of us does he think is the pope?"

TK's 80th birthday seems just like a beat away and now, as his 90th approaches, I know that there are many more twists and turns in the extraordinary journey he set out on all those years ago. Lucky for us his steps led our way because, like a real hero, we won't see his like again. Slainte 'gus saol dhuit, Ken, a chara