Ultimate professional who was born to be a journalist

ALL who knew Mike Shaw will not be surprised that he wrote his own obituary. He gave me a hand-written copy a year ago, as he avoided computers with the passion of a Luddite, so I could key in his words and produce a printed copy which he then checked for inaccuracies. Mine, not his.

He was a journalist whose contribution was more than the written word. He helped train younger reporters and instilled in them, as well as everyone with whom he worked, his belief in accuracy, fairness, integrity and truth.

I knew him almost 50 years and at The Examiner we shared a desk. He was a tenacious and skilled journalist. He could never be bullied or intimidated by politicians, powerful organisations or the editor. He taught me a lot, too. He was the ultimate professional.

He always wanted to be a journalist and started reading The Examiner when he was eight years old. His mother bought him a toy telephone. He would sit with the phone, paper and a pencil and pretend to make his calls.

Journalism was a genuine vocation. “I never regretted a moment,” he said.

Mike had a fund of great stories of the past, as well as strong opinions about the present and future. He was an activist, in whatever he did, all his life. We talked often on the phone during the pandemic. He was proud of his family but missed his wife Shirley. He would often say he thought he was on his way out, but then add: “I’ve got a story for you. Have you got a pen?” He was a major contributor and adviser to my column output.

He knew he was in failing health but had made his peace and planned his funeral. He could cope with his body becoming frail but his greatest fear was that his mind might lapse. It didn’t. It was sharp as ever until what was a peaceful end. He was probably working on another story in his mind when he went. Maybe he’ll run this one past Shirley first.