‘Dad and Tony O’Reilly were life-long friends — they shared a passion for progress’

It was to do with the capacity to trailblaze, whether that be a mark on canvas or an imprint on the world. Theirs was a life-long friendship.

Tony had a great capacity for friendship. Many of his friends and those who worked for him from the early days remained with him all their lives. He inspired loyalty, not only because he dispensed starlight with his charm and charisma, but simply because he was good to people.

My father, Vincent Ferguson, and Tony first met in the late 1960s around the time I was born, and my earliest memory of Tony is of the energy and excitement he generated around him. That was it, really — back then, and for ever after, the sense that around these guys anything could happen. It was exhilarating and sometimes nerve-racking.

It was the 1970s when things took off. It was as if Tony could see through the darkness of Ireland at the time to where the light was brighter and that vision inspired others including my dad.

Our own family fortunes changed when Tony and Dad, along with Nicholas Leonard, formed the investment company Fitzwilton and we moved to a bigger house and could afford butter instead of margarine. Either that or we succumbed to the ads. Which said it all really.

Dad began to collect art and encouraged Tony to do the same. There were a lot of parties. Life was exciting.

Tony was gregarious and confident, capable of seeing and boldly seizing opportunity. He had imagination and drive.

Dad was more introverted and self-deprecating, with a clear head that could cut through the detritus to the heart (and the numbers) of the matter. They were both fearless, expansive in their thinking and they shared a pioneering and patriotic passion for progress. This was always accompanied by a compassionate eye and for ever spiced with a dash of irreverent humour. They trusted the other’s judgment.

The oil proved to be elusive and we did end up losing our house

After Fitzwilton came Atlantic Resources. The idea of Ireland striking oil was like a dream to Dad.

“Just imagine,’’ he said, eyes alight when he called us into the room one day to dutifully inform us he was investing everything, and that we might lose. The oil proved to be elusive and we did end up losing our house. Non-attachment was a good lesson for future endeavours.

At the auction, Dad and I sat in the window and drank champagne in defiance. It would all be all right. And eventually it was all right. He began collecting art again with a renewed enthusiasm, but this time with a view to supporting living Irish artists. Onwards, or in Beckett’s words: “Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”

​Their paths had diverged when Tony went to Heinz and ascended quickly to the stratosphere of corp­orate America. Their friendship and the entrepreneurial adventures in Ireland continued through many more ups than downs.

Today’s News in 90 seconds – 27th May 2024

There was a painting we owned for a while that enchanted me as a child. It was a small watercolour by Jack Yeats, depicting an unfortunate fairground attraction in which people paid to hurl sticks at a man in a barrel. The man’s face shines in triumph because he has managed to catch one of the sticks. The image and the sentiment stayed with me.

I saw the painting again in Castlemartin years later. I was there many times over the years, not in my own right, but at the bequest of my father. The O’Reillys were always very welcoming and gracious.

I was lucky enough to meet Nelson Mandela and shake hands with Bill Clinton. There are so many stories, so many great memories.

When Dad died suddenly of a heart attack in May 2007, Tony was on a plane bound for South Africa.

I am sure it would have been easier to keep going, but instead he made his way to Sligo and said of Dad at the funeral: “Kipling’s lines about ‘meeting Triumph with Disaster and treating those two imposters the same’ occurred to us both, but through it all our friendship, and the friendship of our families, never faltered — and there were very few moments in my life when, faced with various choices, I did not seek his advice”. It went both ways.

The year after that, as already well documented, things began to unravel. I often wonder what Dad, with his cool head, would have made of it. I think he, like Tony, would have been stoical.

Tony and Dad were men who looked outwards and onwards with optimism. They saw the bigger picture and thought well of people, the thing that makes humanity better than our lesser impulses. They were not men to harbour grudges.

He lived an inspirational life and leaves a greater legacy

Tony was a complex man. He was also one who was truly beloved by his many friends and his adored family.

He lived an inspirational life and leaves a greater legacy. The impact of his philanthropy cannot be underestimated, especially in setting up The Ireland Funds at a dark time to div­ert Irish-American money towards peace-promoting Irish causes. To date, over $650m (€600m) has been raised.

​Last year on a cold wintry day, I drove my mother from Sligo across the frosted planes of Co Kildare past the Curragh where we had so many good times as guests of Tony at the races. My mother brought old photographs of happier times. I brought a stone because the stones of Ireland carry so much of our history, memories and dreams. And because it came from Rosses Point near where my father is buried and where Tony spent happy summers with his cousin, I thought it might help to ground him. Thankfully, despite the quizz­ical look, he didn’t question it.

When I was leaving, he held it up with a twinkle in his eye that made us both smile, as if to say onwards.

I thought of that Yeats painting and life and Triumph and Disaster. But mostly I thought how the human spirit can shine so brilliantly that it dazzles with a light that comes from the inside out and can never be dimmed. Shine on, Sir.

“Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.” WB Yeats