When the video was done, Mr. Murdoch was handed the microphone. "Your whole career defies description," Mr. Murdoch said. "You were not always the most reliable person. I once wrote you a check for $30,000 as a surprise bonus. You were so surprised you spent the whole night in Costello's. The next morning you had to come to me to confess that you'd lost the check. So I wrote a second check. But I didn't give it to you. I gave it to Gloria, who used it to make a down payment on your house, the one you are still living in."

He was also toasted by firemen and the police chief and a priest along with his press baron patron. Lots of drinking was involved. All in all, appropriate. Adios, Dunleavy. Enjoy the Obama administration in peace. [NYO; pic via Tabloid Baby]

[The story] goes like this: As a young copyboy in Australia 55 years ago, Mr. Dunleavy was so hungry for a story that he popped the tires of his father’s car at a murder scene. His father, a photographer at a rival paper, could not get to the post office to transmit photos, and Mr. Dunleavy, then about 15 years old, earned his paper a big scoop.

That is how Mr. Murdoch remembers it.

Mr. Dunleavy tells a different version. Yes, he punctured the tires of a car, but it was owned by his father’s newspaper and he did not know his dad was there. And it was not a murder but the story of a group of missing hikers.

“That story gets told and told, and each time it gets a little bit more whiskers on it,” Mr. Dunleavy said.

Missing hikers, murder, accident, whatever: The point is Dunleavy pushed past his own dad to get a story. Those are some great competitive instincts.

As a bonus, the story helps alleviate any lingering guilt among those of us who, say, woke up early to snatch a tape recorder out of our girlfriend's car for similar purposes.

(Our prior Dunleavy retirement coverage is here, here and here.)

• From Paul Malmont: "I was in a car with him on the way to Amityville, hearing great stories about his career. For example, he had once slit the tires on his own father's (also a reporter) car to keep him from beating Steve to a story. Another thing he was quite proud of was he claimed to have written the book that killed Elvis. Apparently it was rumored that a book Steve had written, Elvis - What Happened? had been pried from The King's cold dead fingers - he had been reading it on the toilet when he'd had a heart attack.
  After A Current Affair I went to work on the rookie season of Good Day New York - Fox's local morning show. My job was to get in early, get the coffee going and pull gossip stories from the wire. When I say early, I mean like 4AM early. On more than one occasion I would come in to find Steve and several author Aussie reporters and producers crashed out on office desks they had pushed together. Apparently they would drink hard at the Racing Club across the street and not bother going home."
• "When ever Steve was covering a mob trial that was being heard in Brooklyn, he would stop into my local watering hole which was a Thai restaurant with a bar in front that seated about ten. The crowd was always mixed, middle age Gays and Brooklyn Heights locals . Steve would come in and after two visits knew and remembered everybodys name. Over the course of an evening he would consume about 10 to 15 drinks and still appear coherent . He would then use the pay phone to phone his story in and uaually a drive came in to scoop him up and drive him home.
  The first time he came in I was wary of speaking to him knowing his politics and the Post’s. But the funny thing is he never pushed his politics at the bar Instead he would talk of mob trials old time Hollywood , New York , movies and whatnot. He was actually fun to talk, never condescending. He had a great memory. Never saw him drop dead drunk but I heard the stories and seeing him in action I can believe them."
• "A favorite Steve story told by reporters covering the Michael Jackson child molestation trial is how he would turn up in the middle of the day or later, already trademark soused. One day he was so drunk he came out of the courthouse men's room having forgotten to tuck himself back in, let alone do his fly up, and walked unsteadily away down the corridor, to the gapes of onlookers."

• "The Star's rival, the National Enquirer, had "paid a ransom for the exclusive serial rights to the hottest book of the decade — Judith Exner's revelations about her affair with President Kennedy".
  Kerrison says: "The book was under lock and key, guarded tighter than Fort Knox. One day, I told Steve, 'We've got to get a copy of the book and beat the Enquirer to the punch'. Steve said, 'Boss, gimme some time and I'll get it'.
  "He disappeared. A few days later he turned up in my office, clutching a copy of the Exner book. I couldn't believe my eyes. 'My God,' I said to him, 'Where the hell did you get that?' Steve looked a bit sheepish and said, 'Boss, don't ask. You wouldn't want to know.'
• "It is said Dunleavy would f..k anyone or anything for a story, and that is true.
  He got a scoop for the News of the World when he wined, dined, seduced and ignobly reported the pillow-talk and tears of one of Teddy Kennedy's "boiler room" girls after the Chappaquiddick scandal. I visited him one evening in his New York apartment. He opened the door and greeted me, naked, before introducing me to a star witness in a police corruption investigation, also naked. They were engaged in an in-depth, probing interview of sorts — another scoop."
• And one from Gawker commenter Baroness: "My favorite Dunleavy moment was on TV. He was covering the Palm Beach Kennedy-Smith rape trial for A Current Affair I think. Some bigmouth girl who went to school with the victim was looking for her 15 min., blabbing personal details with any tabloid who'd listen, and presumably pay.
  Dunleavy took this chick for a long, very liquid lunch at a posh place, plied her with drinks and she sang like a canary. When she was well and truly sloshed and giddy, Dunleavy pulled out some dirty Polaroids of Blabbermouth with a big dick in her mouth, close-ups he had bought off one of her treacherous friends.
  The hilarity of her drunkenly trying to grab those pictures out of his hand, as he held them high in the air making her jump for them, was unforgettable, wicked, and very funny. He was gleeful as a kid on Christmas morning, loving life and his job at that moment."

How did he get that book? Theories? Have more Dunleavy stories to share? Email us.

[Mark Day via Tabloid Baby]

Dunleavy was born in Sydney, Australia in 1938. He moved to New York as a stringer in the mid-1960s, and made his way to the Post after Rupert Murdoch bought it in the late 1970s. In 1977 he found time to publish a book called "Elvis- What happened?", a behind-the-scenes look at the life of The King that came out just weeks before Elvis died. Hm. In the 80s Dunleavy was a lead reporter on A Current Affair, the Post of television.

He was famous for being a rabid right-winger—the type of man who figured that if you got your head cracked by the cops, you probably deserved it—and for being a lush. Some of the typical Dunleavy stories:

• "There was the night a blizzard buried Manhattan and Dunleavy, "reclining" with a young woman in a snowdrift outside Elaine's, and had his foot run over by a snowplow. Snarled Pete Hamill of the Daily News, 'I hope it was his writing foot.'"
• "Celebrated for first-punch fights at Costello's now defunct saloon and for sleeping overnight in a straight-backed wooden chair in the Post's city room when the paper was on South Street, in recent years Dunleavy has been favoring a booth at Langan's, a pub near the Post's current midtown HQ, for his recuperative overnight naps."
• Dunleavy hated Bill Clinton, and during his presidency loudly advocated for the release of Wayne DuMond, an Arkansas man in prison for raping Clinton's third cousin in 1984. DuMond was almost certainly guilty. But "Dunleavy also referred to the young woman, a minor at the time of the assault, on the record as the 'so-called victim,' and asserted 'That rape never happened.'"
• And a classic Dunleavy Gawker Stalker: "I was at Langan's on 47th at 5 p.m. on Wednesday, and Mr. Dunleavy was there. We only noticed him after he fell into some chairs and onto the ground. The hostess rushed over and immediately started saying loudly that the chairs were in his way (despite the fact that he was obviously sauced). He got up and then propped himself by the doorway, until a bartender came over with a glass of water for him. Dunleavy took it and left the bar."

He inspired a lot of outrage, but at least he was a character. Now that he's retiring for good, fellow rabid Post columnist Andrea Peyser is truly the Last Man Standing.

We'll see you all at the party.