If you are old enough, you know exactly where you were when JFK was shot or when Neil Armstrong took his first step on the moon. Who can forget that Sept. 11, 2001, morning, when those evil hijackers dropped America to its knees?
And
then there are the milestone moments in our personal histories. I will never
forget that June evening in 1982, sitting on a seaside bench on Jekyll Island.
I was talking with a Georgia giant of journalism, the editor of The Atlanta
Journal-Constitution.
Jim
Minter had an idea.
He
saw possibilities.
In
the background, I could hear the Atlantic’s waves lapping. But I concentrated
on Jim’s low, almost grumbling voice. Within 15 minutes of back-and-forth
exchanges, my soon-to-be treasured confidant charted a career path that I’ve
been following for 44 years.
Jim’s
idea was that I should talk with his boss, Tom Wood, president of Atlanta
Newspapers Inc. Tom was looking to make a change. Tom and I had met through our
serving on the boards of the Georgia Press Association and UGA’s Henry W. Grady
College of Journalism and Mass Communication. Our mutual friend, Jim, thought
Tom and I would be a good fit as business partners.
The
hardest ship to keep afloat is a partnership, but Tom and I have been perfect partners.
We brought different—but complementing—disciplines into Community Newspapers
Inc. If you asked us to paint a room, I’d tackle the task with a roller and a sprayer.
Tom—with his CPA acumen—would handle the windows and trim.
Jim
was right.
But
now, there’s a new challenge.
Jim
Minter, 95, died on May 27.
Tom
and I have lost one of our dearest friends and most ardent cheerleaders. I
can’t imagine my life without the benefit of Jim’s wise counsel and
never-ending encouragement.
Jim
Minter was the only child of a Fayette County farmer/postmaster and a beloved
teacher for whom a school is named. He grew up in tiny Inman during the Great
Depression. He was no stranger to mules or blisters on his feet from tight
brogans. In retirement, Jim purchased and restored the community’s train depot
and post office, across from his boyhood home. It was a classic venue for his
fellowship with family and friends. I treasure my happy times there.
Jim
rose to the upper tiers of our profession, mentoring a legion of journalists.
Perhaps the most famous of his mentees was Lewis Grizzard. No one understood
the say-it-like-he-sees-it humorist and nationally syndicated columnist more
than Jim.
Jim
got his start as a sports reporter. Listening to him talk about Wally Butts,
Bear Bryant, Bobby Dodd, Ty Cobb and a host of other athletic immortals put you
right there on the front row of history reporting. It was the same for
politics. He knew who did what and when—the good, the bad and the ugly. With
his Google-like recall, I urged him to write a book. With his signature
self-effacing chuckle, he’d just say, “Nahhhh.”
For
months, Jim had been telling me that he was fading. My friend was miserable. He’d
lost his mobility, even giving up riding to the mailbox on his lawn mower. He
could say the most in a few words as anyone I know. For his wisdom-sharing
savvy, Jim was my Star Wars Yoda.
Three
weeks ago, without calling, I drove to McBride Road in Fayette County and
knocked on the door. Jim’s caregiver greeted me. Downstairs, Jim was in his
library with his loyal Labrador, Sam. Anne, his wife of 70 years, joined us.
Something
told me to call Tom and patch him in on the speaker phone. The three of us
bantered back and forth, scrolling through old stories. We laughed and laughed
some more. And when I hung up, it hit me. Why didn’t I record our 30-minute
conversation? Oh, the memories.
They
say in the South, “If you see a box turtle on a fence post, you can know
that it didn’t get there by itself.”
From
a seaside bench on Jekyll Island in 1982, Jim Minter lifted this box turtle up
onto a fence post. I’ll never forget that.
Thank
you, my friend, my Yoda.
dnesmith@cninewspapers.com