It's impossible to overestimate Ian's role in my own professional life – without his friendship and help (and that of several others) I'd never have managed to hold on to a job in the BBC at all. From the pre-board (BBC lingo for an interview) coaching over pints of Guinness at the corner of the Abbotsford to a full-on mock interview for which he insisted I wear the actual tie I intended to wear on the day, he had me in great fighting shape by the time – to use one of his favorite borrowings – 'the game was afoot'. I got the job the day after my father died – my father who had been in decline for several months, and who I visited a few weeks before thanks to a generous loan from Ian, which was offered on condition that I bring him back a bottle of poteen – which I did. We drank it one afternoon in Room 212 of Queen Street, passing capfuls across the computer monitors between us, laughing about the general idiocy of everything in the world, including ourselves, and conjuring up thousands of fabulous ideas for radio documentaries, quiz shows, dramas and sports programs, none of which ever made it past the tail end of that afternoon.

Ian was many things besides a generous and infuriating mentor (he'd regularly bound into the office when I was in the middle of something important (like reading the paper) with a 'Mr Black, get me a number for Boutros Boutros Ghali, Secretary General of the U-N-I-T-E-D N-A-T-I-O-N-S'.) He was the only person I've ever heard use the word 'calumny' in the flow of everyday conversation, in reference to some of the many BBC managerial machinations which caused him such frustration (amongst them the commissioning process which Ian often characterised as being like the movie The Culpepper Cattle Company – 'A man trying to get his cows from Point A to Point B in the face of seemingly endless obstacles'). He was someone who believed in the importance of what radio was about and who had a real gift for bringing the best out of you. He was a great generous, kind, pain in-the-arse spirit; a laugher, a huffer, a two fingered typer and – as he signed the copy of Grassic Gibbons' works which he gave me on his leaving the BBC – 'because I know you'll never read it' – a friend. I will always be grateful to him.

It's impossible to overestimate Ian's role in my own professional life – without his friendship and help (and that of several others) I'd never have managed to hold on to a job in the BBC at all. From the pre-board (BBC lingo for an interview) coaching over pints of Guinness at the corner of the Abbotsford to a full-on mock interview for which he insisted I wear the actual tie I intended to wear on the day, he had me in great fighting shape by the time – to use one of his favorite borrowings – 'the game was afoot'. I got the job the day after my father died – my father who had been in decline for several months, and who I visited a few weeks before thanks to a generous loan from Ian, which was offered on condition that I bring him back a bottle of poteen – which I did. We drank it one afternoon in Room 212 of Queen Street, passing capfuls across the computer monitors between us, laughing about the general idiocy of everything in the world, including ourselves, and conjuring up thousands of fabulous ideas for radio documentaries, quiz shows, dramas and sports programs, none of which ever made it past the tail end of that afternoon.

Ian was many things besides a generous and infuriating mentor (he'd regularly bound into the office when I was in the middle of something important (like reading the paper) with a 'Mr Black, get me a number for Boutros Boutros Ghali, Secretary General of the U-N-I-T-E-D N-A-T-I-O-N-S'.) He was the only person I've ever heard use the word 'calumny' in the flow of everyday conversation, in reference to some of the many BBC managerial machinations which caused him such frustration (amongst them the commissioning process which Ian often characterised as being like the movie The Culpepper Cattle Company – 'A man trying to get his cows from Point A to Point B in the face of seemingly endless obstacles'). He was someone who believed in the importance of what radio was about and who had a real gift for bringing the best out of you. He was a great generous, kind, pain in-the-arse spirit; a laugher, a huffer, a two fingered typer and – as he signed the copy of Grassic Gibbons' works which he gave me on his leaving the BBC – 'because I know you'll never read it' – a friend. I will always be grateful to him.

More recently, in my work with Radio Scotland's archive Zones, I was keen to revisit those fabulous feature series such as Kane Over America and Dollar Signs but had trouble tracking some of them down. One call to Ian and they were delivered to the BBC, along with many, many more of his programmes which he had stashed away in his Edinburgh attic. Thank goodness they're all safely archived now and being heard again.

We lost contact soon after he joined the BBC but I will always remember him.

I worked with Ian at BBC Scotland in the nineties, at the Usual Suspects and on series we did about the US – Kane Over America, the Bostonians and more. I would bring him reams of tape and he was brilliant at working on it. He had a finely tuned ear for what mattered in the material and he was magic at mixing it with verve and originality. He also loved to talk about how good it all was. In an industry where we tend to say how much better we could be “If only………”, his joy and pride in our work together was a real treat.

When I moved to the US from Scotland and needed to find a producer that could make a mark here in the US, Ian was my first choice. The very fact that he was ready to up sticks and move here indicated a brave spirit with a wide-ranging intellectual curiosity. He’d rather burn his boats than get stuck in a rut. Once he was here he gained the nickname Commander Docherty. It wasn’t just because of the heavy military greens and blacks he wore – even in the sultry heat of the Boston summers – it was his infectious confidence. Start a new national program over a weekend, challenge the status quo about what could be produced in radio – if Ian thought it worth doing, he would lead the charge.

Ian was wonderfully loyal. My heart sinks at the thought of what I didn’t do when he went through difficult times. It sinks even further at the thought that Commander Docherty is not going to call again with a magnificent story.

I am truly saddened to read about Ian's death. A friend who worked with Ian on 'Movies and Shakers' sent me his obituary from today's Scotsman.

http://news.scotsman.com/obituaries/Ian-Dochert...

He was one of the finest people I ever met, witty, a razor sharp intellect a deep understanding of the world and an eye for qualities in people that most of us miss..

I remember him and David Sillars coming down to stay with us in Galloway during the Wigtown book festival. The loose plan was for them to take Alastair Reid back up to St Andrews to do a radio piece on Alastair's life and travels. The assignment was done, but only after we drank in every pub that Wigtown had to offer. He even cooked a great meal for us, as recompense for draining my supply of Bladnoch whisky…. Our youngest son, a baby at the time, took a shine to him, and proceeded to crawl all over him, an abiding memory is of the awkward Ian, handing Arran back to me at arms length mumbling something, in wicked rp tones about a full nappy!

Farewell friend. Much cantucci e vin santo is to be consumed in your memory.

The serious radio man has been celebrated but he was also someone who loved mischief particularly in the pursuit of a serious purpose.

Though he sounded as if he came from the heart of the home counties he was a committed if a little ironic nationalist. In the weeks following the result of the devolution referendum he took great delight in answering phone calls from his BBC masters in London by singing them a few bars of 'flo'or o' Sco'lan' as a live ringtone before replying in his fruitiest Received Pronounciation.

He was also instrumental in forming Radio Scotland In Exile, a response to BBC Scotland's failure to appoint a head of Radio Scotland, leaving the station to the tender and occasional mercies of television. RSIE had the greater part of it's existence in the pub, a place which Ian regarded as having a vital role in creative radio.

Walk straight ahead through the door of the Abbotsford pub in Edinburgh's Rose street, past the first corner of the bar, pause at the second and you stand where Ian held court and where an extraordinary number of good radio programme ideas were generated. Order a pint of Deuchers IPA and drink to an old fashioned programme maker – no higher praise.

All power to Google for bringing me to this blog. I just attended a characteristically disputatious and bibulous wake in Edinburgh's The Oxford Bar for Ian. I worked with Ian for about four years in the mid-nineties, as a presenter both on the regular (and briliant) arts-and-ideas series, the Usual Suspects, and on two major series on America, Kane Over America and Dollar Signs (the former winning a Sony Award for Radio Journalism). It's not understatement to say that all of these projects were centrally driven by Ian – his super-sharp intellect and anti-establishment sensibilities; his extremely high standards for, and belief in, the power of serious radio; and his combination of infuriating irascibility and strong personal loyalty to those who shared his vision for the medium. Like everyone else here, the news of his loss induces a particular jab of pain. We call his type in Scotland a “makar” – someone who makes great cultural opportunities possible.

Your story about Ian's prescience in August 2001 about terror threats from Afghanistan I can echo. When we did our show Kane Over America in late 1994, Ian was very keen for us to push hard on an NRA representative in Oklahoma – “try and find out their militia ambitions, what their attitude to the Federal government is”. I duly did a particularly chilling interview – and a few months later… Partly through background and through interest, Ian had one of the best geopolitical sensibilities I've ever known – many people confirmed that at the Oxford Bar wake.

And one last, lovely synchronicity. I was bemoaning the poor quality of post-Docherty Scottish radio at the wake, and praising a show that I have on twice daily pod-cast from WBUR, with a brilliant presented called Tom Ashcroft, called … On Point. A chorus replied: Ian founded that show! Which you now confirm here. We'd all want our legacy to demonstrate that kind of persistent quality of approach, inspiring others to do the same or better. Rest in Process, Mr Docherty.

The stories are legion ( Karyn and Alex just shared that when he first
arrived from London there was a mix up on his hotel room so when they came in for the morning edition shift they discovered him sleeping on ths station stoop. No doubt, in his black suit. It probably also was that he just wanted to get in and get going)

To his family, we're so sorry for your loss.

Robin Young, WBUR

'til we meet again,

missing you loads.

your younger brother,

Gordon