GREG Kelton loved a cracking yarn and a thumping shiraz.And he only went into journalism because he lacked the talent to be the lead guitarist in a rock band.
Greg was a consummate professional; a journalist who could pump out a front page splash or an opinion piece in minutes; who had no time for stupidity and all the time in the world to go through budgets and government reports, line by line.
He was old school; he had converted reams of shorthand into elegant and precise articles while the rest of us were just hitting stop on our tape recorders.
He could do a dozen stories a day and still have time for a long lunch.
Greg Kelton cheerfully preparing for another eventful story at The Advertiser. Picture: Dean Martin
He was The Advertiser's silver fox, taciturn when you first met him.
A bit scary, to be honest, at least until you shared your first bottle (or two) of Parliament House red with him.
He was an institution, a besotted husband, a quietly delighted father and grandfather, an utterly adored colleague and a fearless investigator. And he was bloody funny. He died at 65; too young.
Former premier Mike Rann talks to Greg Kelton at a State Budget lockup. Picture: Mark Brake
His prodigious brain, which had a better search function than Google, is an enormous loss.
He remembered dates and gossip, ancient factional deals and electorate boundaries, a lifetime's hoard of non-trivial trivia.
Prime Minister Julia Gillard described him as a political journalist "without peer" and "a mainstay of SA political reporting for so many decades".
Former South Australian premier Mike Rann during and interview with Greg Kelton.
Premier Jay Weatherill called him "a thorough gentleman, consummate professional and great company over a glass of red". "I will miss him and I share the sadness of his family and friends," he said.
Former prime minister John Howard said he "always sought balance and accuracy".
Former Liberal premier Steele Hall called him a friend who'd be "greatly missed", and former Labor premier John Bannon said he "could always dampen the political rhetoric or expose the humbug".
Greg Kelton with former political journalist Rex Jory.
Former premier Mike Rann said he knew more about rock music than anyone he'd met and that when he criticised "you knew it was honest criticism".
His close friend and colleague, Canberra journalist Mark Kenny, said he was "the finest, fastest, and fairest I've ever worked with". "I'll miss his counsel enormously," he said.
People called Greg, repeatedly, "honourable", "honest", "outstanding".
Greg Kelton greeting current Premier of South Australia Jay Weatherill.
We called him Kelts, and occasionally described him as a grumpy bugger.
He had zero tolerance for fools and his legendary catchcry (too blue to write here) often echoed through the dank, windowless office at Parliament House. We loved him.
Across Australia yesterday the diaspora of Kelton proteges wept at the news of his death.
Greg Kelton looking every bit the rocker in 1981.
There are dozens of men and women who learnt the craft of journalism under Greg, people now scattered far and wide who will always remember him.
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When you hear the warm wit of the ABC's Annabel Crabb or read a razor sharp column by David Penberthy, when you hear Press Gallery journos such as Phil Coorey dissecting a Canberra drama, you're listening to people who absorbed Greg's wise words.
Greg Kelton as an editorial copy boy back in 1967.
Kelts cranked out 47 years in journalism. He started as a proofreader's assistant straight out of school at 17 and retired in September.
Many wouldn't have guessed that the guy whose desk was always tidy and whose shirt and tie were always impeccable was a rock'n'roll guy underneath.
The veteran reporter, who covered the State Bank collapse and the standing down of Don Dunstan, rated interviewing Paul McCartney in 1975 as a career highlight.
Greg Kelton in the photographic studio. Picture: Naomi Jellicoe
His desk, with neatly pinned contact lists, has been empty since he left. We're hoping to convert it into a wine bar with The Who on repeat; it would be a fitting tribute.
Kelts did not go gently. He was full of vim and passion. At his retirement speech, he railed against the perceived demise of newsprint.
He wanted all of us here in the office to fight to keep it going, to treasure papers, to keep writing good yarns. He loved journalism. He loved newspapers.
What really made him glow, though, was talking about his wife Margaret, who died of breast cancer in 2009. He never stopped missing her, or talking about her, or remembering trips they'd taken and meals they'd eaten, that cruise, that incredible little restaurant down an Italian lane.
Greg did fine, amazing and important things. He mixed it up with politicians from Dunstan (his favourite) to Bob Hawke. But he would have thought, even if he might not have said it, that the greatest thing he did was bring his sons Matt, Nick and Sam into the world.
His three granddaughters - Georgia, Ashlee and Charli - will have a Kelton-sized hole in their lives and I hope they always remember how great their grandad was.
His mum, Mary, will miss him. Sam, his youngest son, followed Greg into journalism, and shares his mad love for music. "Baby Kelts" always made Kelton Sr ridiculously proud.
Vale, Kelts. We'll remember you with every guitar riff, every perfect "lede", every cracking yarn, every Barossa shiraz and every single long lunch. Vale.
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