Two former colleagues of mine died recently, one well-known in the community, the second known more in the hearts of those who worked with her.
Simon Crouch, a renaissance man in the local media scene, died at the too-young age of 67.
A man of acerbic wit (a more colloquial term would be he didn’t put up with stuff), Simon worked in local radio when ownership provided more resources for radio news departments, in television with CKCO in the heyday of John and Jean-Marc Haslip, and in local newspapers.
There wasn’t a topic on which Simon didn’t have an opinion, but he didn’t let his personal feelings get in the way of any story. He was a consummate professional.
He was also another person who helped me along the way.
I had left a former London Free Press-affiliated company over their penchant for treating news like it was filler between advertisements, and had taken the summer off.
Simon (who was in radio at the time) called me at home and said he’d heard a rumor that I was going back to the Chatham Daily News.
I called managing editor Steve Zak and said, “I hear you’re hiring me.”
He replied, “Sure, if you’re willing to come back as a reporter. It’s all we’ve got right now.”
I had left as an editor, so it put me in a position of working for the people who had been working for me.
I took the job (having two kids and needing to eat were great motivations) and later was able to return the favour as Simon covered some stories for the Daily News.
Simon had an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the Marx Brothers, comedy greats of the 1930s, and, it seemed, knew something about practically everything. It was impossible not to have an interesting conversation with him.
The passing of Kathy King deserves more space than I have here.
Every organization has someone who holds the whole mess together. Kathy was that person for the Chatham Daily News editorial department for some 20 years.
Her official title was “editorial assistant,” but she kept the crew of what was once 20 reporters, editors, and photographers on an even keel.
She had a smile and a nickname for everyone she met. Mine was “Chief” since I was managing editor.
Her banter was legendary. Those getting out of line with “K.O.” would end up with a stern “AYE, AYE, AYE” and a finger wagging.
In the days of manual data entry, Kathy typed letters to the editor. On one occasion, a local realtor who lived in an apartment along the river was upset that someone had driven a snowmobile through a flock of birds resting on the ice.
“I was awakened by bees at two in the morning,” he wrote in anger. When he called to complain that the letter made no sense, it was discovered he had actually been awakened by Bess, his wife.
It took a while for us to live that one down.
Kathy loved her Toronto Blue Jays and was distraught one morning when she came in to find out that their catcher (and her favourite player Pat Borders) was out for the season with a pulled sphincter muscle.
Somehow, a fake news story had been placed on Kathy’s desk by a newsroom prankster.
She approached me with a sincere look of concern and asked, “Chief, what’s a sphincter muscle?”
“I think it has something to do with squatting” was all I could get out while suppressing a laugh.
There was hell to pay when she found out, but all was forgiven eventually.
Godspeed to Simon and Kathy. Wherever their souls land will be better for it.
