Editor Told Gerald Boyd He’d Be Jackie Robinson
Following are selected edited tributes to Gerald M. Boyd, former New York Times managing editor, who died on Thanksgiving at age 56. His Times colleague Bernard Weinraub, who flew from Los Angeles to Boyd’s bedside, was one who spoke at the Nov. 30 memorial service at New York’s Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture:
Gerald and I covered the White House for The Times and we were an unlikely team. In contrast to most White House teams for The Times, we liked each other a lot. We never argued and we never competed with each other. There was a chemistry between us. We had a really good time. We covered the last few years of the Reagan White House and the first two years or so of the Bush White House.
I know it’s common now for reporters to complain about the hardships of covering the White House. And lack of access, and restrictions. Gerald and I didn’t so much complain about the Reagan and Bush White House but laugh at some of the more outrageous and silly comments and cast of characters that we confronted.
We were also seen, I think, as a kind of odd couple by the White House. Gerald was, I think, the first black reporter to cover the White House for The New York Times.
Gerald and I always said we could have been a funny movie. Me and Gerald covering the Reagans and the Bushes. He said he’d be played by Denzel Washington. And I said who else could play me but Dustin Hoffman? You get the point.
I was impatient, easily annoyed, and frankly, quick to see racial and ethnic conspiracies against us. I was outraged at every perceived slight. If we didn’t get the right seats on the White House plane, if we didn’t get an interview that the Washington Post got.
I’d tell Gerald that those blankety blank bigots and crackers in the White House travel office were playing their games. Gerald, being Gerald, would just say I was out of my mind, which made me even angrier. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who should be paranoid, not me?
Although I was older and I suppose more experienced in having been overseas, we were genuine equals. Howell Raines had teamed us together and it was implicit that we were grownups — a favorite word of Gerald’s — and we would define who we were as a team.
He was relentlessly hard-working, extremely competitive with the Washington Post, and never knew how to relax. Gerald could never relax.
He was probably the only reporter covering the White House who loathed going to Santa Barbara. Reagan would go to Santa Barbara for weeks at a time and disappeared. Reporters loved it. Gerald loathed it. He hated to relax. He had no idea how to relax. He hated not wearing a suit and tie. Gerald needed to work.
Dignity mattered to Gerald. It was his credo. It was how he believed others should behave. And it was how he wanted to be treated.
Dignity came out in odd ways. He would sometimes rush home and return to work in 15 minutes with a different suit and a shirt and tie. No one noticed except me. I asked Gerald, why are you doing this?
And he laughed, a little embarrassed, and said it made him feel more dignified to look the best he could.
We all know that he grew up in far more poverty than most of us. He and his brother were raised by his grandmother, who raised four other boys. He was obviously really gifted. He attended schools on scholarships and anti-poverty programs. He joined the St. Louis Post-Dispatch and caught the attention of editors there and rose quickly within the ranks and could have climbed to the top. But he began reading the New York Times. He read “The Kingdom and the Power.” And he was hooked. His dream was to join The New York Times.
And once he joined The Times, the paper became far more important to him than it should have been.
It was the home he never had as a kid. It was the family he never had as a kid — until Robin and Zachary came along, and thank God they did. The New York Times was everything. It filled so many needs in his life. At the same time he was a black man on a white paper. And he was anointed to rise at the paper.
There’s a chilling comment in the Times obituary of Gerald. The top editor told Gerald that he was going to be Jackie Robinson. Well, that’s one hell of a burden. Gerald stood alone.
The job of every single editor on the New York Times is to publish a good newspaper.
But Gerald’s job was not only to publish a good newspaper but to carry the weight of his race and to represent his race every single moment he walked into the paper. That’s a brutal weight to carry. Are you ultimately set up and doomed to fail? I don’t know.
I have no doubt that Gerald felt a mixture of pride, anger, resentment and confusion. How does a sane man represent his race at an institution like The Times while doing his job like everyone else? I have no idea.
And I think this may have caused some of Gerald’s short temper and abruptness and impatience — things that we never saw when he was simply a colleague and a reporter in Washington. And not Jackie Robinson. . . .
We’ve got to be honest. This is a sad story. The last few years of Gerald’s life were difficult. Thank God, he had Robin and Zach. But the fulcrum of his working life had been pulled away from him. Through no fault of his own. Through no fault of his own.
Working at The Times — which was everything to Gerald — was abruptly and brutally severed. And Gerald was lost. He felt, incorrectly, that he had lost his dignity. And he felt, correctly, he had been treated without dignity. It’s a measure of Gerald that on the evening that he left the newspaper, with Robin, as he walked along 43rd Street, he stopped and said, “Oh my God, I forgot to say goodbye to the people who work in the cafeteria.” Gerald never forgot where he came from.
After he left The Times, Gerald did not want to see people from the paper, not out of bitterness. But really out of pain. He couldn’t bear listening to the gossip. He couldn’t bear the pity. He had dignity. He worked. He began writing his book. He spent time with Zach, on whom he lavished the kind of love and attention that Gerald missed as a child.
And then he got sick. He didn’t want most people to know about his illness because, I guess, he didn’t want people to see him vulnerable.
Gerald alluded to an illness with me over the phone, but didn’t want to be specific.
I saw Gerald only a few months ago and he was thinner but in good spirits. I told him I’d be in New York for a while in the new year. And we agreed we’d see each other a lot.
The last time I saw Gerald was last Thursday when I few in from Los Angeles the day after Robin called me and told [me] it was only a matter of days.
I got to the house from JFK in the late afternoon. Robin was at the door and told me he had just died a few minutes earlier.
And I came in and saw Gerald, so peaceful, and I thought, oh my God, why couldn’t I have just told him how much all of us loved him and how much all of us will miss him and that he had traveled so much farther than any of us had traveled and his life had been too brief and how he had lived his life with such dignity.
Gregory L. Moore: “From a Distance, I Watched You”
Greg Moore, editor of the Denver Post, read this letter he had written to Boyd two days before his friend’s death:
November 21, 2006
Dear Gerald:
I hate that I missed you when I was in New York last Thursday and Friday. I had called Robin, but did not get her message back until I had already arrived in Denver. It was a screw-up on my part thinking I had checked all of my back messages and I missed a couple.
It would have been good to be able to sit and talk for a few minutes or just hold your hand.
Mainly, I want you to know how sorry I am that you and your family are going through this terrible time. Hard as this all is, I also know you have worked hard to come to terms with whatever happens and to try to fortify your family and friends.
I never got to tell you this, but you are an inspiration to me. I remember being shocked when I first found out that a black man was covering the White House. I just didn’t think back then that was something to which I might one day aspire. I knew Lou Cannon was covering Reagan, but then someone told me a brother was doing it for The Times. Later I saw you on television at a press conference and thought, “Wow, he doesn’t look like Max Robinson or anything. He looks like me.”
A lot of things changed then. I started to think that maybe I needed to step up my game and dream bigger. And to do that meant I would have to leave Cleveland. And then the Boston Globe came calling. Part of the reason for leaving was to take a shot at practicing a higher brand of journalism, to play on a level like that brother at The Times.
From a distance, I watched you. I had friends who had friends at The Times and I would ask about what was going on there and I would hear about you as the Metro Editor. I met Milton Coleman in 1984, but aside from him, most of the practicing black heavyweights sort of congregated among themselves, wary of letting the smaller fish into the circle.
You have made a huge difference for me. I am grateful for your friendship, guidance and support. People were always impressed that we spent time together during those New York Times Co. retreats.
Your example taught me the importance of being available and accessible. I also learned about patience and perseverance. I handled my disappointment near the end of my career at The Globe because I had been able to watch you up close after Gene Roberts took over and later Bill Keller as managing editors. You showed me, and a lot of other people, how to bounce back.
I don’t want to go on too long. But we were all impressed with the Pulitzer for “How Race is Lived in America” because it demonstrated your ability to inspire and direct compelling conceptual journalism.
Then came 9-1-1 where you performed brilliantly on the biggest stage, on the biggest story of our lifetime and all of us who understood the pressures applauded that six Pulitzer performance. I don’t believe it will ever be matched.
Just as importantly, I appreciate the fact you have been available to me. I remember calling you for advice when the Pentagon was urging newspapers not to publish photographs of Americans mutilated and killed in Iraq. It really doesnâ??t get much better than to be able to pick up the telephone and speak directly to the managing editor of The New York Times. Thanks for giving me that.
I wished we had more time. I wished we had time to really put this [Jayson] Blair thing behind us all. I know how painful that whole episode has been for you. But anyone who knows you must know that Times blood flows through your veins and you would have done anything to prevent the pain Blair inflicted on the paper and this industry. People like Blair and [Stephen] Glass and [Ruth] Shalit and all the others are viruses who probe our organizations for weaknesses to exploit. It is impossible to stop them before they strike. And increasingly, the damage is catastrophic.
But I believe in time this could have receded for you. For me, that incident never did and never will define you as a man and a journalist. Thank you for all you have given to American journalism and for mentoring a hell of a lot of people with straight talk and high expectations. That’s quite a legacy. Not bad for a boy from the streets of St. Louis. Not bad at all.
Rest easy my friend,
Greg Moore
Robin D. Stone: We “Watched You Fight the Un-fightable”
Robin D. Stone, Boyd’s wife of 10 years, wrote this in the program for the funeral, held Nov. 29 at Memorial Baptist Church in Harlem:
My Heart,
Yours was not an easy life, but you lived it oh so well. I will forever remember our adventures of a lifetime: misread maps, Zack’s first base-hit, riding horses on the sands of Aruba, the Vineyard ferry, and mussels on the grill. You taught me what it means to be loved. Truly, wholly, unconditionally loved. And to stand up, speak up, and never give up. Zack and I watched you fight the un-fightable with unflinching courage and grace. And with each passing day, we were strengthened by your resolve. You are incomparable. And I was — no, I still am — honored to be your wife.
All my love,
Robin
George E. Curry: Here to “Reclaim Gerald’s Good Name”
George E. Curry, editor of the National Newspaper Publishers Association News Service, read this declaration at the memorial service. The text also appears on Curry’s blog.
Listen to George Curry’s eulogy. (.wma file, 6.2 MB)
I am here tonight to re-claim a friend. I am here to restore his good name. I am here to set the record straight. Some of the things I am about to say may not be politically correct. But I donâ??t care about being politically correct. When it comes to discussing Gerald, I just want to be correct. We all owe him that.
If you detect anger in my voice, itâ??s because I am angry. Very angry. I am not angry at God for taking Gerald away from us at such an early age; I do not question the Lordâ??s judgment or His wisdom. Instead, I thank Him for the time He allowed us to share Gerald on this earth. But I am angry over the way Geraldâ??s career is being framed by many of our colleagues.
For those of you who donâ??t know me, I was a reporter for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch when Gerald joined the staff after graduating from the University of Missouri. He and I started the first NABJ-chapter workshop for high school students in 1977 â?? next year will mark 30 years. I lived across the street from Gerald and Sheila [Rule, his first wife] in St. Louis. On weekends, he and I played touch football by day and cards â?? notably Dirty Hearts â?? by night. Not only did we train young Black students in St. Louis, we taught every summer in a workshop at the University of Missouri under the direction of Dr. Robert Knight, one of Geraldâ??s former professors. Gerald presented me with NABJâ??s â??Journalist of the Yearâ?? award in 2003 and just before he resigned from The New York Times, I came up to have breakfast with my friend and weâ??ve remained in touch since then. Iâ??ve known him before and after the New York Times. In fact, Iâ??ve known him his entire professional career. Not only have I known him as a journalist, I have known him as a friend. And if you were his friend, there was nothing he would not do for you.
As one of his friends, I watched with pride as he returned to his hometown paper and covered City Hall. We were all happy for him when was assigned to the Post-Dispatchâ??s Washington Bureau. His friends celebrated his winning a Neiman Fellowship. We applauded and sent him notes of congratulation when he covered the White House for the New York Times. We teased him when Ronald Reagan would recognize him at press conferences, calling him â??Gerry.â?? We were ecstatic when he was named managing editor of The Times.
By any measurement, Gerald had an extremely successful career. And we, as his friends, should not allow those in our field to sully his reputation now that he can no longer speak for himself.
In case some of you rode the short bus to school, let me be more direct. It is irresponsible, in writing about Geraldâ??s career, to mention that he lost his job at The Times because of Jayson Blair before you mention that he is dead or what he accomplished as a journalist. It is unfair to act like Blair, that serial liar, was an appendage of Gerald Boyd. Gerald was not his direct supervisor and Gerald certainly did not fabricate any stories. But youâ??d never know that from some of the coverage of his death, including that of the New York Times.
In one account, the Associated Press even substituted Blairâ??s name for Geraldâ??s. It seems that my friend cannot even go to his grave peacefully without his own colleagues besmirching his reputation.
I stand here tonight to reclaim Geraldâ??s good name. The only reason I am mentioning Jayson Blair is because journalists are trying to join Gerald and Jayson at the hip and I, for one, will not allow it. And nor should you. Sure, any major story about Gerald Boyd should mention the Blair incident, but that shouldnâ??t supersede or overshadow Geraldâ??s accomplishments as a first-rate journalist. Gerald was a victim of Jayson Blair, not his protector. Why should Gerald be forever linked to Jayson Blair? Blair joins a long list of discredited journalists: Stephen Glass, Patricia Smith, Mike Barnicle, Bob Greene and Jack Kelley among them. Yet, you canâ??t name any of their editors. If those editors are not linked to their respective culprits, then Gerald should not be perpetually linked to Jayson Blair. And even if he is associated with Blair, it should not be so prominently mentioned.
When the Blair scandal first broke, there were reports that Gerald may have extended Jayson special favors because both were African-Americans. Anyone thinking that certainly doesnâ??t know Gerald Boyd.
If anything, Gerald was harder on young Black reporters because he wanted to prepare them for the slings and arrows they would later face in their career. When Gerald and I started the workshop in 1977, he was rough on Black high school students. If he didnâ??t cuddle teenagers, there was no chance that he was going to baby an adult. If you donâ??t believe he was tough on teenagers, I can give you some references.
Ask Marcia Davis, an editor at the Washington Post. Ask Ann Scales, an editor and former White House correspondent for the Boston Globe. Both of them are here tonight. Ask Bennie Currie, a former reporter for the Associated Press. Ask Russ Mitchell of CBS News. Ask Andre Jackson, business editor of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. Ask any of those he mentored.
Gerald cared deeply for them and all young people. In fact, I would argue that Geraldâ??s greatest contribution to journalism was not becoming managing editor of the New York Times; he recognized that others, especially Paul Delaney, should have had that job before him. Geraldâ??s greatest contribution to journalism was that he introduced hundreds of young people to our profession and because he was hard on them, they have excelled as journalists.
Let me share just a couple of notes I received this week. They were not sent to me so that I could read them in public, but I donâ??t think the students will mind my sharing them with you.
Ben Holden participated in our workshops in St. Louis and followed Gerald to Mizzou. Ben is now vice president and executive editor of the Ledger-Enquirer in Columbus, Ga. He said, â??Gerald was one of the first people (along with you, of course) to teach me about journalistic objectivity. I asked him what he thought of Reagan and he simply would not say, no matter how many different ways I asked. I never forgot that.â??
Mark Russell, another workshop and Mizzou graduate, is managing editor of the Orlando Sentinel. His first job out of college was with the Wall Street Journal. Mark wrote: â??As a snot-nose teen growing up in north St. Louis in the late 1970s, I dared to dream that I could one day become a journalist. And Gerald, George, Chris Moore, Ken Cooper and others were there to guide me, challenge me, cut me down when necessary and then just as quickly, build me back up. When I became managing editor two years ago â?? in 2004 â?? I knew that Iâ??d have to uphold a powerful tradition of being an excellent journalist and a good man. After all, I had the best role model: Gerald Boyd.â??
Those are just a couple of examples of the impact that Gerald has had on a generation of journalists. Thatâ??s his true legacy. If Gerald were joined at the hip with anyone outside of his wife, Robin, and son, Zachary, it has been these former students. Thatâ??s what we should be celebrating.
Finally, the angriest I ever saw Gerald Boyd in the 33 years that Iâ??ve known him was when the Janet Cooke scandal broke at the Washington Post. He was angry that we had put all this time and effort into opening doors for young people, and this imposter had made it more difficult for young Black journalists to advance their careers.
Well, I am not going to let another imposter â?? or our industry â?? tarnish Geraldâ??s reputation. We know of his personal accomplishments and even more important, we know what he has done for others. Thatâ??s the real Gerald Boyd. Thatâ??s the Gerald Boyd weâ??re here to re-claim. And thatâ??s the Gerald Michael Boyd weâ??ll always remember.
Anahad O’Connor: “Gerald Was One of My Times Dads”
Anahad O’Connor, a Times scholarship winner who now covers Westchester County and upstate New York for the paper, delivered these remarks at the memorial service:
I’m here to speak on behalf of the large and growing family of New York Times scholars, a family that I know Gerald took great pride in. We are 180 current and, like myself, recently graduated college students, who all owe Gerald a debt for his generosity and his devotion to a program that changed our lives.
To us, he wasn’t an editor, he wasn’t a boss. Gerald was someone who opened doors for us, someone who helped send us to college.
About seven or eight years ago, Gerald was part of a team that founded the scholarship program, a program for high school students who have the grades, who have the drive, and who have the will to go to college, but do not have the money. To Gerald, this program was about finding in high school students the same will, and the same determination, that got him up the mountain that he climbed in his lifetime, and saying, “you know what, there’s room up here for you too.”
It’s a program that I know was particularly important to Gerald because of his own story, a story that we all know so well — the son of a delivery-truck driver, raised by his grandmother, who dared to defy the odds, who succeeded in the face of low expectations. Shattered them, even.
I remember when I first walked into the Times building for my interview with the scholarship committee seven years ago. When I got upstairs, I stepped inside a conference room, and there before me, seated around a vast table, were the biggest names at the paper, people like Arthur Gelb and Joe Lelyveld, to name a couple. I can’t begin to describe how daunting that experience was for me. But after sitting down, I answered the barrage of questions from the panelists as best as I could, one after another after another.
And soon it was Gerald”s turn to fire. But instead of asking about my grades, how many AP classes I had taken, or what I wanted out of life, he asked me something that took me aback. In a complimentary tone, Gerald inquired about my wardrobe, my crisp suit and my sleek tie.
I smiled, proudly, but conceded that I couldn’t take too much credit for it. Sheepishly, I admitted that although I wore it proudly, it was really my uncle’s tie. The room laughed, and I remember walking out of there thinking, “Wow my chances can’t be that bad if I got a laugh or two out of the crowd.”
But in retrospect, as I’ve thought about that moment, I’ve realized what it said about Gerald. He saw, reflected in me, and in every other eager student who sat before him that day, a bit of himself. Someone who came from humble beginnings, but aspired to greatness, yearned for success, and carried themselves with aplomb. Or at least thatâ??s what I like to tell myself, because I know when I looked at Gerald that day, those are the things I saw in him, and I saw what I wanted to be.
As the years went on, and as I worked at the paper as an intern, then graduated from Yale, and decided that journalism was my calling, I remember that Gerald played no small role in that decision.
As a young reporter, I developed faith in the possibilities of the future. It was a faith born out of the moments when I would find myself walking by the Page One room as it was emptying after that all important Page One meeting, and would see that at the crest of this wave of important and brilliant editors pouring out of the room, there was Gerald Boyd, this cool, graceful, and dignified Black man. That image alone could inspire dreams â?? and for me it did.
Gerald carried pride. He commanded respect. And he earned admiration.
But what I respected about him the most was his strong desire to give back. He never forgot where he came from.
One of my favorite quotes of all times, which I repeat often because of what it means to me, is one by Ron Brown, the former secretary of commerce under Bill Clinton.
Mr. Brown said:
â??Politics, life and business are not spectator sports. You have to get involved to get ahead. But most importantly, when you reach that level of success, keep the door open and the ladder down so that others may follow.
Gerald absolutely epitomized that statement. But since I am one of only 180 young men and women who benefited from his involvement in the program, Iâ??d like to quickly share just a few of the many notes from other scholars who wrote to me about Gerald after he passed away.
“Gerald was one of my Times Dads: he welcomed me home during my visits from college with a smile and a hug, always made time to sit down to see how I was doing, and always made sure that I knew he believed in me.
Those moments meant a lot to me then, and they are still felt and remembered warmly even now, years later”
That was Kristina Chan, Wellesley, Class of 2004
Jane Yee, Johns Hopkins, Class of 2010, wrote:
â??My family and I, and I’m sure as well every single other NY Times scholar, are enormously grateful to Gerald for getting this program off the ground. Without it, I probably wouldn’t be where I am now, probably wouldn’t have forged the many friendships that I did this past summer, and maybe wouldn’t even have this laptop to write this note. But I believe what he started will make a difference for many years to come and I wish I had said thank you and given him a big hug in person.”
Cathleen Miles, Columbia, Class of 2004, said:
â??Mr. Boyd made it clear that he cared not only about the scholarship program but also about every last one of the scholars. At receptions and even when I passed by him at the Times, he would always ask for updates about how my time at Columbia was going. I felt his support and it made me even more determined to succeed, because I knew I was supported by Mr. Boyd, someone whose determination and skill go beyond measure.”
And finally, I would like to add one last thing.
Gerald may have passed on. But I know that on this night, he looks down with great pride on all those NY Times scholars and all those other young men and women who continue along the path he paved for us. And as we journey down that path, we will always look back and remember you, Gerald, and more than anything, we will continue to honor you, and to say thanks. God bless you Gerald!
David Gonzalez: “He Knew. He Had Been There”
David Gonzalez, a metro reporter at the New York Times, delivered this tribute at the memorial service:
| David Gonzalez |
He was one of us.
In the seconds after reading the e-mail announcing Gerald’s death, those words moved me. Of all the emotions buffeting me at the moment, those words seemed so right. Comforting, almost.
We are, of course, bound by our work, our calling at this paper. Together, we tell the daily story of our city, our world. Gerald, of course, was a part of that crazy common effort of daily journalism.
He led us. He pushed us. He praised us. And yes, he was one of us.
But for those of us at the paper who are Black, Latino or Asian, that sentiment was doubly felt. For those of who us who came from hard-luck neighborhoods. For those of us who had only talent and the audacity to dream. For those of us who were the first in our families to see places and accomplish feats our parents never imagined. He was one of us, and then some.
He was someone we looked up to. Someone whose advice — sometimes offered quietly or obliquely — always mattered. You listed to Gerald. You might not always agree, but you listened.
Why? He knew what we had gone through to get to where we were. He knew the work, the sacrifices and the choices that were demanded of us in order to ply our trade at the world’s greatest newspaper. He knew what it was like to travel between two worlds, two cultures and stand proudly astride both.
I remember once when a certain public official was boycotting our reporters. I set up a meeting with him and Gerald at Flash Inn, just over the Macomb’s Dam Bridge. A few minutes into the meeting, the public official must have had the impression that Gerald not only worked at the Times, but was raised there. He tried to intimidate him by “going street” on him.
The official got all indignant and blustered, “Well, I’m from the projects and . . .”
Gerald cut him off with, “So was I. So what?” (OK, I paraphrased that one.)
For a minute, I thought we were about to throw down Michael Corleone style. Instead, the official realized his bluff was called and quickly backed off.
But moments like that made me and others realize you could be your true self around him. You didn’t have to explain yourself to him. He knew. He had been there.
Which I guess made it impossible for me to refuse him when he came to me in the early stages of the paper’s Metro Expansion. We were finally going to cover this city with the same dedication and talent as we did the rest of the world. He asked me if I wanted to be the Bronx bureau chief. Now you have to understand, I was of a generation of Latinos who came of age in the 1960s South Bronx. We were told to get a good education, get a good job and get out of the Bronx.
And here was Gerald Boyd sending me right back to the Bronx. Now mind you, people said this man was gruff. But he was smooth as silk when he wanted to persuade you.
He was right. I had a glorious time covering the place. I got stories into the paper about people and places that had long been overlooked or written about before as only caricatures. Stories that gave historical context and nuance. Stories that gave the Rodney Dangerfield of boroughs its rightful due.
That is the other thing about Gerald. Yes, he played the game at its highest levels in Washington. And as an editor he brought about groundbreaking stories like the “Children of the Shadows” or the race project. But he brought just as much dedication and heart to the stories that he knew could vanish unwritten and unnoticed.
During a time when homicides of young black teens were insanely commonplace in this city, he urged me to write several long stories about the deaths of some of them. He wanted those stories told. He knew they must be told, not just relegated to a few inches of wire copy. Call him gruff. Call him determined. Call him whatever you want. But he knew there were much higher things at stake.
Which is why his loss is so keenly felt. With so few people like him editing and leading papers, his absence is all the more devastating, especially at a time when this city and country are changing so rapidly and dramatically.
Yet for all of this — and it is much — what I remember most about Gerald has nothing to do with journalism. Think back to May 2003, a time I remember as hectic, uncertain and a little scary. I am not talking about the upheaval on 43rd Street. I was in Miami, about to become a father at the age of 46.
When my wife and I got home from the hospital, what did we find at our front door? Flowers and a note from Gerald. (They might have been the first flowers we got, in keeping with the brother’s long list of firsts.) All holy hell is breaking loose at the New York Times, and Gerald still found the time to share in my family’s joy.
Come to think of it, that gesture had everything to do with journalism.
Gerald had heart. Like the musician says, you got to feel it to play it.
Gerald felt it.
