Dermot Gleeson Age: 53 Appearance: Wiry, bald man in a three-piece suit, perhaps an extra in a Gerard Depardieu film. Newsworthiness: The 'best lawyer in the country', he has just been appointed to the board of the Gate Theatre

If in trouble, call Dermot Gleeson. That seems to be the emerging motto of Corporate Ireland. For the super-rich, from Larry Goodman to Tony O'Reilly to Margaret (Dunnes Stores) Heffernan, the prodigious skills of the 53-year-old barrister are fast becoming the first port of call when trouble looms in an increasingly litigious society. It is hard to blame them, for Gleeson is definitely a man you would want on your team, rather than playing for the opposition.

The structure of the Irish Bar is such that, effectively, barristers are all guns for hire; their services are for sale to anyone prepared to pay. And Gleeson is the biggest gun of them all. Now in his 30th year of practice, he is a man at the height of his powers, almost universally regarded by his peers as the best lawyer and advocate in the country.

Recently Gleeson was appointed to the board of the Gate Theatre, a nod to his rare leisure activities. According to Gate sources, he was known as a supporter of the theatre and was a frequent attendee at shows there.

"We're thrilled to get him," said Michael Colgan, director of the Dublin theatre. "He's extremely helpful and has a brilliant mind."

It is not Gleeson's first directorship. Last year, he was appointed to the board of Allied Irish Bank, which he represented professionally during the Dirt tax hearings before the Oireachtas public accounts committee two years ago.

He accepted an appointment to the board of Independent News and Media last year having previously advised Tony O'Reilly when it emerged that Fitzwilton had paid £30,000 to former minister Ray Burke.

The directorships are not Gleeson's only foray into the world of business; earlier this year he was named a member of the Nollaig Partnership which financed the Four Seasons Hotel in Ballsbridge, Dublin.

Unusually, in the ultra-competitive gossip cauldron that is the Law Library, it is impossible to find any of Gleeson's colleagues who will say a bad word about him.

Younger members of the Bar tend to be in awe of his reputation and skills (and, just as importantly, the size of his fees). Among older, more established silks he is a feared opponent. One barrister suggested that he had to work 10 per cent harder on a case when Gleeson was involved on the other side.

"He's extremely friendly and helpful," said one barrister of a relatively recent vintage, "as well as being a very gracious kind of guy. And he's definitely the best barrister there -- by a country mile."

"He's always concerned about people, always asking how you are getting on," said another, more established, member of the Bar. "For a very successful man, he's extremely well-liked."

In a world where envy and bad-mouthing are not uncommon, Gleeson's uniform popularity is remarkable. He is the very antithesis of the braying Dublin 4 barrister.

His lilting Cork tones offer a welcome counterpoint to some of the more preposterous (pronounced `pre-POS-trous') accents affected by some in court. Nevertheless, his swanky Shrewsbury Road address, at the very heart of that much-abused postal code, is testament to his material success.

Gleeson first came to public prominence during the Beef Tribunal, when he represented the Goodman Group during the marathon Dublin Castle hearings.

Given the level of malfeasance in the Goodman Group revealed by the Beef Tribunal, its eventual report was seen in many quarters as the best outcome that the company could have dared hope for.

The tribunal also earned Gleeson £650,000. Not surprisingly, he is representing Goodman in the mammoth High Court case taken against the group by Pascal Phelan. It is his level of personal commitment to the case that marks out Gleeson among his peers.

Gleeson's bruising joust with Pat Rabbitte at the time was to have an ironic postscript. When Gleeson again emerged into the public eye on being appointed Attorney General to John Bruton's 1995 cabinet, Rabbitte was among his most avid supporters for the post. The two subsequently got along famously in cabinet.

The appointment as Attorney General was hardly unexpected. Close personally and politically to Bruton, Gleeson allowed his house to be used as an unofficial headquarters by the Fine Gael leader in discussions with the coalition partners before the deal that formed the rainbow government.

At cabinet, by all accounts, his contributions commanded the respect and attention of his colleagues, although his advice on the use of state funds during the divorce referendum was spectacularly off the mark in the light of the subsequent Supreme Court decision in the McKenna case. (Then again, so was everyone else's.)

Members of the political opposition regard Gleeson as having been an excellent AG, even if he was precluded from giving the government advice on matters affecting former clients such as Goodman and Matt Russell.

But Fine Gael sources say his involvement greatly diminished after their departure from government in 1997.

His connection was a personal one through Bruton -- although he served on the Commission for the Renewal of Fine Gael, which issued a report including criticism of his friend's leadership. Gleeson is even further from the political action now that Bruton has departed as party leader. Gleeson's place at the party leader's side has been taken by his Law Library colleague John McMenamin.

Perhaps Gleeson's greatest task during his period as AG was the reorganisation of the office, which had been devastated by the Brendan Smyth and Duggan sex abuse controversies. He introduced comprehensive reforms, including the application of information technology to the almost medieval procedures then in use.

Gleeson was one of the first lawyers to realise the potential of emerging technologies in the early 1990s, and he used them from a very early stage. One colleague tells of visiting his office in 1994 and being amazed at Gleeson's system of information management, storage and retrieval. This was at a time when most lawyers did not own PCs.

Gleeson's early mastery of the application of IT to law was a distinct advantage in the sort of cases in which he revels. In these huge, complex affairs with masses of documentation and teams of barristers, Gleeson is at his best when summarising for a judge, crystalising the points of law at issue amid the mass of information.

Gleeson is at the stage of his career when he can pick and choose what he wants to do. He tends to go for a mix of big commercial, personal injuries and judicial review cases with a smattering of constitutional cases, avoiding only crime. "He's a rock star," said one hungry and not a little envious young barrister. "He does everything. Guys say `Get me Gleeson'. When you're at his level of operations, you can do it, no matter what kind of case."

That kind of reputation allows him to charge fees of anything up to £5,000 a day. Refreshers and brief fees may differ from case to case, but are in most cases several multiples of an average salary. However, Gleeson also takes on pro bono cases, and -- unlike some of his colleagues -- keeps quiet about it.

He represented Tipperary farmer John Hanrahan in his action against Merck Sharpe and Dohme, losing in the High Court but eventually winning £2.3 million in the Supreme Court. He has a record of taking cases like these against opposition with greatly superior resources.

He also took on the Wellcome Foundation on behalf of Margaret Best and her son Kenneth, who allegedly suffered brain damage as a result of being given whooping cough vaccine. Again, he lost in the High Court and won in the Supreme Court.

Gleeson's keen intelligence is allied to a ferocious appetite for work, and colleagues say he is among the hardest workers at the Bar. Not only has he an analytical mind, he is quick-witted when using it on his feet.

"He has an extraordinarily quick mind," said one friend. "Talking to him is a pleasure. The speed at which he goes is incredible. He has an ability to understand something that should be completely foreign to him amazingly quickly."

Gleeson was born in Cork in 1948 and attended Blackrock College in Dublin, going on to study at University College Dublin. He was auditor (chairman) of the Literary and Historical Society, the college's debating society and traditional training ground for aspiring lawyers, politicians and journalists. While at UCD he won the Irish Times universities debating competition.

Going straight from UCD to the King's Inns, he was called to the Bar in 1970 at 22. Such was his immediate impact that he became the country's youngest-ever senior counsel, taking silk in 1979 at the previously unheard-of age of 30.

Gleeson is popular with his colleagues, but is emphatically not part of the social life at the Law Library. He also avoids the cocktail parties, opening nights and receptions of the Dublin social scene. Friends say he enjoys spending his free time at home, and has a small circle of close friends with whom he shares a love of fine wines and storytelling. He has a reputation as a deadly mimic.

He is married to Darina, a daughter of Dr Con McCluskey of Dungannon, in whose sitting room, it is said, the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association was formed in 1967. She formerly worked as a journalist and in the Department of Foreign Affairs.

The couple have four children, but have also provided a foster home to a succession of children over the years. Friends say the foster children are treated as members of the family, and go on holidays with them to Ballinskelligs.

Should he want it, a judgeship would be there for the asking, although he has so far shown no inclination to take the reduction in freedom, not to mention the huge income drop.

"He likes to do too many different things," said one colleague.

"Dermot would get bored too quickly as a judge."