A prayer for Van McKenzie

Doria came to work with us at The National because Van wouldn't let him NOT work with us. When Van put a full-court on you, you had no escape.

I learned it when he seduced first his editors and then me into the deal that took me from The Washington Post to the Atlanta Constitution.

Van is the only editor I ever met who could be counted on to tell you the dead-honest truth in every situation. He was real. No pretense, no facade.

Because he presented that same face to everyone, people have come to this thread with their stories. It is priceless.

 

Felt compelled to share this memory of Van...

A month ago or maybe less, I went by Van's house for a visit because I'd missed a couple dogtrack Wednesdays and just needed to see if he was doing OK. His wife, Sandy, says jokingly to me, "Get Van out of here! He's driving me crazy!"

So, I ask the big guy: Where do you wanna go?

"Wings and beer," he said.

So he took me to a little dive wing and beer joint, where over the next hour, he schooled me on chicken wings. That man knew more about chicken wings than any person I've ever met. He was so serious about it. And anyone who knows Van knows this is the kind of thing he takes very seriously. I never laughed so hard in my life and I was thinking the whole time how I wish I could freeze-frame that moment. Sure, Van taught me a lot about journalism and column writing. But it's when I remember the little things that I get a little choked up -- him breaking down chicken wings, teaching me the finer points of betting at the dog track, how he'd mix together this crazy sauce concotion at the local Chinese place we all went to for lunch, and how he stuck up for his staff no matter what. They just do not make them like Van McKenzie.

And certainly after reading all this, I wish I could have knocked down a few Bloody Brains with him, too.

 

I didn't know the man and I missed a page or so of this, but I have an idea for Moddy or someone.

Why not take some of these tributes posted here - with permission of the writers and maybe editing out some of the curse words because it would be something which could be passed on to his family - and package them and send it to his family to let them know how much people thought about him.

 

I'll put a package together. Sandy would love to have it. Anyone who wants left out, let me know. Otherwise, you're in.

 

Edit out the curse words?
I can hear him now, "Aw, goddam it... What if we were to..."

 

I think I know that chicken wing place. Is it Froggers,on or near John Young Pkwy?
That's where I met Van.
I had no idea who this guy was. When we were introduced, it took me a minute to realize, it was THE Van McKenzie. I felt like I was amongst royalty.
I asked him about The National, told him I kept every copy I ever bought (about a year's worth).
BTW, the wings were great and the beer was damn cold.
You do wish you could freeze time.

 

Along the same line as some previous posters, I never met the man, but can admire the legend.

RIP.

 

I worked several years in Florida without meeting Van. Every one of these posts makes me reget that more. RIP Van.

 

The most important thing I learned from Van was to focus on what would really be on that piece of newsprint in the morning. Once the budget reading, brainstorming sessions, meetings and huddles were behind you, what impact would the images and words have on the reader? For Van, it was easy to envision what he wanted. He was a dreamer. The hard part, of course, was making his vision become reality. He would scribble madly on a piece of paper, then hand it to you. "Here - I'm counting on you to make this happen." The next day, you would know, without even talking to him, whether or not you had pulled it off. Even better were the days after when you had surprised him - in a good way - with a layout that topped his sketch or a piece of display type that popped. The best of all was if you wrote or created something that made him laugh; of course, Mike Bianchi and Jerry Greene had that down to a science at the Sentinel, but there were chuckle opportunities every now and then for desk people. He really supported copy editors and design folks, and helped create an atmosphere in which they could re-define their craft by writing niche columns and doing specialty pages. My final, final memory (I promise): We did a going-away page for sportswriter Juliet Macur, who was heading to Dallas. At the party, he was sitting there chuckling as he read a fake Larry Guest column I had written for the page. It was so over-the-top, tongue-in-cheek and sophomoric. but Van really liked it. He looked at me - I swear - and said: "Have you ever heard of Lewis Grizzard?" I said, "Well ... yeah (duh)." And then he said, "You could be the next Lewis Grizzard." Van was obviously drunk or under heavy sedation, but it was so like him to appreciate even a hacked-out faux column written by a copy editor and layout person who was, in his words, "really crazy." A lot of people in the business have liked and appreciated me (I think), but Van truly understood me. I was not afraid to be different or to even fail under him. The only thing he didn't want to hear was "we've never done it that way in the past." I know other people who worked with him can basically tell this same story. I will certainly have a beer or two in his memory tonight after work. It has touched me to read all of the memories and tributes by others, and God bless you all for making me feel better about this tremendous loss.

Mario Orlikoff/Daily Press

 

RIP Van

 

In a snooty hotel bar tonight, I asked the psuedo-snooty bartender if he could make a Bloody Brain. Stared at me like I had three heads (I don't).

I told him: 'peach schnapps, irish cream, dripped grenadine...'

'Oh,' he shrieks, 'a Valentine!'

A VALENTINE?? Are you kidding me? Everyone, raise your hand if you can picture Van McKenzie ordering a freakin Valentine. I am never coming to this city again.

And I didn't leave a tip.

So I'm sorry, Van...raised a Grey Goose in your honor instead.