Humble reporter was true go-to guy

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This article was published 15/02/2021 (2036 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

If you were looking around the Free Press newsroom in the mid-1970s to the mid-1980s, your eyes would eventually come to rest on a wavy-haired, bespectacled reporter, sitting at his desk with his arms folded across his chest and a faraway look in his eyes.

Mischievous colleagues, like this columnist, would sometimes gaze back at Paul Moloney, dressed in his trademark white dress shirt, a cigarette dangling from his lips, as he stared into the middle distance with laser-like intensity.

Eventually, realizing a colleague was staring back, Moloney would suddenly snap out of his reverie, an impish grin would spread across his face and he’d offer the onlooker the faintest of nods as if to say: “You caught me!”

But make no mistake — the tall, slender reporter with a razor-sharp sense of humour wasn’t given to daydreaming in the office; he simply had the unique trait of shutting out the world around him when his brain was sorting out the details of yet another complex story that would find its way onto the front page of the Free Press.

If a story involved a paper trail a mile long, it was handed to Moloney. If it involved enough numbers to overheat a computer, it landed on Moloney’s desk.

During his 10 years at the Free Press — 1976 to 1986 — he became one of the most respected print journalists in the country, renowned for his ability to wade through mounds of confusing, often-tedious documents and surface with nuggets of news that delighted editors and readers alike.

Born in Peterborough, Ont., in 1953, Moloney returned to Toronto in the fall of 1986 and spent 27 years in his dream job as a reporter with the Toronto Star, where he rose to prominence for his ability to find front-page stories buried in city hall documents no one else bothered to read.

His Toronto colleagues — along with friends and former colleagues in Winnipeg — were shocked on Jan. 27 when his wife of 42 years, Alison, found him collapsed in their Toronto yard. Moloney, who had retired from the Star’s city hall bureau in 2014, died from a heart attack. He was 67.

“I thought he was in perfect shape,” Alison told The Star the following day. “I thought we’d be living into our 80s together.”

For Free Press publisher Bob Cox, Moloney’s humble demeanour and rare ability to pull gripping stories out of a sea of random facts was an example of the way journalism was meant to be done.

“Paul was a veteran reporter by the time that I arrived at the Winnipeg Free Press in 1984,” Cox recalled last week. “You’d call him a go-to guy, who was always on the big stories, the complicated ones and the ones that took time to unearth. When you needed to know who someone was, or get the background on an issue, you’d find yourself reading a Paul Moloney story in the library, or consulting the man himself, sitting at his desk.

“He was the unflappable type, always calm, never seemingly busy, though you knew his mind was always buzzing. And he was always helpful – an inspiration to young reporters, showing by example the importance of doing your homework, knowing the facts, taking the time to dig in when others moved on. His wife (Alison) was among the world’s nicest people, teaching at an inner-city school, remaining as upbeat as her husband despite the challenges she saw amongst her kids every day.”

Winnipeg’s loss was a big win for Toronto readers when Moloney’s encyclopedic mind and enigmatic grin left the close-knit newsroom at the Free Press. When he left, then-Free Press city editor David Lee wrote arguably the most glowing letter of reference in history.

“If you have an opening for a reporter, hire Paul Moloney. If you don’t have an opening, I would strongly suggest you do your best to create one,” is how Lee’s letter began.

Former Free Press feature writer Andy Blicq, now an independent TV producer and author living in Gimli, laughed when reminded of Moloney’s cheeky grin when caught in a work-related reverie in the 1980s.

“He had that dry, quiet sense of humour,” Blicq recalled of the man who mentored many young reporters. “Looking back, I can see how much I learned from Paul and others. It (the Free Press) was an amazing place to be. There was an amazing cast of characters.

“Paul was quiet and deliberate and a really good reporter. He quietly went about his business and was a real star. Under that quiet exterior, was a lovely person. It was an exciting time to be at the Free Press, and it was humbling being around a reporter like that.”

Gordon Sinclair Jr., who retired in 2018 after almost 37 years as an award-winning Free Press columnist, recalled Moloney as a slightly rumpled but always dignified reporter and a thoughtful friend and colleague.

“I remember he was a consummate professional in a newsroom filled with characters,” Sinclair said when reached by phone last week. “He was very focused when he came to work. He was dogged and determined. I’ll tell you, this (news) business is tough on people and I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t consume him and quietly do a number on him.

“For Paul, because he was so dedicated and so focused, it would have taken a lot out of him.”

His colleagues at The Star described him in an obituary as a gentle, unassuming writer who was the master at decoding complex civic reports. “He was hard-working, very funny, coming out with the best zingers — and always fair,” Vanessa Lu, Moloney’s bureau chief for several years, recalled. “No ego.”

For this columnist, whose reporting career began in 1982, Moloney was the rarest of creatures — a veteran journalist who was never too busy to teach a green-around-gills colleague the tricks of the trade.

And unlike most people, when caught in an embarrassing situation, he never failed to smile.

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca