A View From The Press Box

Tom Maher, my friend of 35 years, was amused and irritated once upon a time at the antics of our then top editor, who apparently had too much time on his hands.

This gentleman (let’s call him Captain Queeg) was complaining loudly and apoplectically one day over a piece of lettuce unforgivably left floating in the office kitchen sink. Tom listened to as much of this tirade as he could bear, then quipped: “He’s not the Editor-In-Chief, he’s the Janitor-In-a-Drum.”

Much has been said and written about Tom’s wit, especially in the past few, sad days. Easy enough to say he was a funny man who squinted at life with jaundiced eyes, and leave it at that. But he was so much more. His gift for dark humor, sarcasm, and for wielding a biting cartoonist’ pen, masked a warm, gentle and giving spirit. For those of us privileged to have shared his life, he will be missed, terribly. Godspeed, Tom.

I'm really sorry to hear about Tom.

I think he spoke most effectively with his cartooning pen, breaking up the NU editorial staff with his hilarious
caricatures--sometimes entire comic strips--of senior management.

I also recall how he regaled many of us with colorful tales of his days writing for an Air Force newspaper during the Korean War.

He was a funny man.

Tom enjoyed life. He appreciated everything he had--from his family and friends to his writing talents (in his words, "my God-given ability") and gift of gab.

Tom was always willing to talk when I called. In my first go-round with my own business--in the late '80s--I called him and started venting about how tough it was to work for myself.

An hour later, we were having lunch at a restaurant by the Long Island Sound, near his home in New Rochelle, N.Y. I sure felt better after being with Tom, and was a lot more productive that afternoon.

Throughout my career--especially as an insurance communication specialist--Tom was one of the first people I turned to when I needed leads, resources or advice. And he always responded quickly with a lot more information and insights than I could've expected.

On several occasions, I would call him for a quick question, and two days later I'd receive a three- or four-page letter (yes snail mail, pre-e-mail) with lists or valuable resources and Tom's well-thought-out advice, all with his unique perspective on the world.

Tom genuinely enjoyed helping people and got so much pleasure from the success of others.

I'll miss him a lot.

At IMMS we worked with Tom every chance we got over the past 35 years or so.

He was one of the only freelancers we ever used because we knew we could always count on him for accuracy...and timeliness.

He left a lasting imprint on our industry.

I was proud to know him.

Ian Mackenzie, former reporter for National Underwriter:

I arrived at NU just after Sam Friedman and also benefited from Tom Maher's incredible generosity as a mentor and a friend. I was 25 and had never worked a day in a white collar job and had no idea what an editorial assistant actually did. Without Tom's guidance it would have been a disaster.

I have never again worked with someone who could make me laugh so much, or critique so gently. My wife and I still have our Mets jackets that Tom gave us as wedding gifts. (Only Tom!)

After 10 moves and many jobs, I'm sorry to say that I lost touch with my Best Man, but he has always been in my heart. Every young man deserves to find someone like Tom to help them take the next steps in life and career.

I, too, was very sad to hear the news of Tom's passing. He was such a great judge of character and had little tolerance for people who couldn't see the big picture.

I remember all too well the "lettuce incident" and many others just like it that left us rolling on the floor with laughter and the object of his rapier wit rolling their eyes in confusion.

Dispite his sometimes biting sense of humor, Tom was a gentle, caring man with a kind heart and a sweet spirit. He will be sorely missed by the hundreds of people he touched throughout his career. I count myself lucky to be amongst the ones to have known and worked with Tom.

SAM RESPONDS:
Well said, Rick. I just have to note, however, for the record, that it was scallions, not lettuce, that caused all the rage. As journalists, we strive for accuracy at all times....LOL!

On March 17, 2001, Tom and I and others were at an East-side bar, Mad River, barely mid-day. Tossing down the beers, having laughs, the place increasingly crowded. Filling up with many who'd been marching in the Paddy's Day parade. Among them, firemen, in their uniforms. A couple with bagpipes. So many were so very, very young. Having themselves a grand old time.

Six months later, almost to the day--9/11.

Later that year, in November, Tom and I were having a few--no, far more than a few beers; who knows what bar we were at.

9/11, of course, was a major topic. At some point, I brought up all those healthy vital young firemen who had been at Mad River on March 17, and wondered how many had died at the World Trade Center.

After expressing the horror of the day, the sheer tragedy, Tom said that what made it bearable for him was his certainty that those firemen had gone to a better place.

And now, those young vital firemen in that better place have a new comrade. They've been joined by Tom Maher, a genuinely good man.

God speed, Tom.

If you really sum it up, there are two kinds of people: Those who give energy and those who can take it right out of you.

Tom was a guy who provided positive energy in spades. He could brighten any day for anyone with his downright contagious laugh. I loved him as a friend and mentor and he'll be missed big time.

It has been quite an experience to read the above commentary. While I have not met all of the writers, I had certainly heard of most, and learned of others as I worked on my father's office this week.

I mentioned to John Mulholland today that I wish my father had been really famous, so that some school would want all of his papers and save me the task. However, having now written that, I think that I've gotten to know my Dad even better this past week and am thankful to have had this opportunity.

One thing that has particularly impressed me in looking through countless notes and letters is that he never knocked anyone. He was certainly cynically sarcastic about selected topics--especially corporate phoniness and anything having to do with Hoboken--but I detected nothing mean-spirited in his writing, and I was not surprised.

I should like to share one quick story with all of you.

My Dad watched Game 6 of the '86 Series in a hotel bar in Chicago. Throughout the evening, as the Red Sox continued to lead, the anti-New York comments from his fellow Chicagoans became louder and more profane, reaching a fever pitch (Did I really just use that term? He'd be ashamed!) in the ninth inning.

Things naturally became quieter as the inning progressed, and when the ball went between Buckner's legs, he pumped his fist, and turned around to the crowd--only to find that they all had disappeared. He always said that it was at that moment that he realized that he was a New Yorker and a Mets' fan.

Thanks so much to all of you. I look forward to sharing your kind thoughts and memories with my Mom.

Take Care, God Bless, and let's hope that Santana and Pedro remain healthy.

Let me join the chorus of those singing the praises of Tom Maher, a gifted writer and a gentle man of whom it can be said--he had a life well-lived.

He always had a kind word and and keen insights. When we met over lunch when I was in New York, or just over the phone, he put a smile on my face. It was a privilege to have known him. God Speed, Tom.l

I was saddened to read the Ode to Tom Maher a moment ago.

I met Tom when I was just starting my insurance management career. At the time, the Insurance Marketing Communications Association was a strong organization where everyone from the industry came together to share ideas. As a newcomer, I took more than I gave and Tom gave more than most.

I looked forward to seeing him at the semi-annual meetings and worked with him on the Executive Committee. Those were good times. I'm lucky to have been one of those who benefited from his advise. My prayers to his family and friends.

Losing Tom from this world is a tough one. Seeing him in the next will be a highlight.

I was drawn to Tom by his humor. His sarcasm was a drug in our Hoboken office. He'd lean into me in that theatrical way and say something that left me howling. At a company meeting, he was the only entertainment.

I saw him only occasionally after he left NU, but I did see him and kept in touch with him because he made a two-hour lunch feel like fifteen minutes of pure joy.

My career has taken many turns in the last several years. Tom was there to cheer me on at every corner. He always had some encouragement, a better idea or a name I could use to move me ahead.

He was and will always be a friend, and I am so sorry to know we won't have another lunch at Dudley's.

God Bless You, Tom.

I was shocked to hear about Tom's death. I'm pretty late in getting the news. We corresponded regularly for 21 years after I left NU. The last I heard from him was when he said not to write to his e-mail address any more. I dropped him a few notes to his home address, but had no reply.

This saddens me more than I can say. A light has gone out of my life.

If any of the old gang would like to correspond, my e mail address is halanow@aol.com.

It was nice to see comments from people I remember at NU.

Tom introduced me to the news media back in the early 1960s when I left the Air Force. He was a copy desk editior at the old Reporter Dispatch in White Plains, N.Y.

We'd kept in touch over the years, until his e-mails stopped about last fall. He was a good man, with as warped a sense of humor as my own. I'm sure he's doing well in that big city room in the sky. . .

Here is my own tribute to Tom Maher, as published in this week's editions.

This and That
Tom Maher
By THOMAS MICHALSKI

I learned recently that a good friend and fellow journalist died. Tom Maher was 77 years old when pancreatic cancer took his life. He lived in the same New Rochelle, N.Y., apartment since the early 1960s when we first met. That in itself is unusual in our mobile society.

Tom was from the old school. We worked together in the business before electronic pagination, digital cameras and cell phones. We frequented dingy bars where reporters, cops and political hacks hung out, and police precinct press rooms, government offices and smoke-filled newsrooms that were alive with the sound of manual typewriters, ringing telephones and the smell of ink.

Tom’s sense of humor made me look withdrawn and reserved. He, like I, despised phonies and corporate types who often became the target of his quick humor and freestyle cartoon renderings. He taught me to never take life or myself or anyone or anything serious. He also showed me how to drink beer and booze and smoke like a chimney in those bad old unhealthy days of journalism. It’s been many years since I committed either of those sins.

Tom could never understand the changes that took place in his beloved world of newspapering. He hated computers and ironically became the subject of a Web site in death. It was just a few years before his death when he finally got an e-mail address for his hand-me-down computer. He still wrote his stories on a manual typewriter well into the 2000s. He never owned a cell phone. He was among the last of the newsroom rebels.

Somewhere along the line we went our separate ways, remaining in touch through occasional letters. I stayed in the mainstream media and he went into reporting on the insurance industry for trade publications. Our offices at one time were in Hoboken, N.J., when that city was still a seedy river town. Today it’s a yuppie conclave with million-dollar condos that were carved out of crumbling tenements.

Back then it was a horrible place. The odor from the old Maxwell House Coffee factory at the end of Washington Street made the place stink like day-old brew. While I covered Hoboken and Jersey City police, Tom toiled away writing about the insurance business. He loved taking pot shots at what he called “corporate pukes” and thrilled at exposing their shenanigans. He gave his own bosses heartburn and lived life by his own rules.

All the good guys of my professional life are slowly passing on to the great beyond, or below. One day it will be my turn. I hope some reporter or editor who knew me will write a complimentary column about my contributions to life. Tim Caddell, Pinellas Park’s government affairs administrator, already promised to name a dumpster after me.

As for my friend Tom Maher, I’m sure he’s in that big newsroom in the sky doing rewrites on the Bible and making people laugh with that wicked sense of humor of his.

Until next time . . .

(Thomas Michalski is the editor of the Pinellas Park Beacon.)

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