Greg Kuhl, a great friend and reporter who has been loyal to me despite the fact our paths diverged 30 or 40 years ago, is dead.
He was 65. He was running a 5K on Good Friday. He collapsed. Dead.
I have been shaken all day since I learned this.
We’d been in touch, via Facebook and email, on a regular basis, talking politics, journalism, friendship … and he never stopped scouting out job opportunities for me. One of the few who actually did try to help me and my family ever since I was “voluntarily” bought out by the morning newspaper here 12 years ago.
If you’ve ever been 55, almost 56, and all you had ever wanted to be was a newspaperman, then you may have some idea of the pain, psychological and physical, caused by that even.
Greg was among the first to reach out when he heard. He had moved from his own newspaper career, retired early, gone to Calgary, Alberta, Canada, where he became a full-time member of the mammoth running community there.
I was trying to write something fancy about Greg here, but it’s hard. Maybe some other day.
Here’s where I started: He ran … well, kinda loped … across Clarksville, usually down Memorial Drive … or wherever he could find a more-or-less flat roadway or trail back when we worked together.
I was, as he joked, The Ayatollah Ghianni, or just Tim. The former, because back then, when we worked together, or 30 or 40 years ago, the Ayatollah Khomeini had caused the political demise of a nicely ineffective president with lust in his heart and fear of attacking rabbits.
Nobody will know what the hell I’m talking about unless you are at least my age. Suffice it to say that the Ayatollah killed the political career of a president who wore sweaters (like Mr. Rogers) and the Iraniann despot at the same time launched another one to power. He raised all flavors of Iranian hell as the despot who forced the corrupt and ruthless Shah of Iran – a pal of the USA – from power before undoing our nation’s political picture.
Greg, by the way, always referred to the new American president as “Ronald Ray-Gun” and make a shooting motion with his fingers. Fingers, by the way, that had him just shy of earning his cup of coffee in the majors during his baseball career. I’m sure he was bitter when he turned in his jock, but he carried on.
Enough of that, but when he called me Ayatollah, I called him “Captain Kuhl.” Just sounded good. Like a cartoon character. And Greg would admit that he had kind of a cartoonish appearance, something that would make a nice caricature.
Anyway, Captain Kuhl, or “Cappy,” was not mocking me or anything. It was newsroom humor, the kinda stuff that, like newsrooms, really doesn’t exist anymore in this politically correct society. Nobody approves of plastic vomit or exploding cigarette jokes anymore. Doesn’t work on Twitter or Instagram….
Yeah, at work, I was pretty much the “second-in-command” of the old Leaf-Chronicle newsroom back then – no matter what my official title. I wasn’t a despot, though. I probably was too nice for my own good. And I sure liked to drink and otherwise enjoy when the workday was done….
So did Greg.
I’ll just say that back then, we were young, generally worked seven-day weeks. We lived hard and worked hard and I always had the backs of my comrades in ink. Always. Right up until some of my comrades participated by turning their backs in my professional execution back in 2007.
Anyway, Greg was the basically gentle reporter with perennial nervous acne who fought with the publisher for the right to cover, with photos, an ongoing and fiery Klan rally just on the other side of Boot Hill, in the New Providence section of Clarksville.
I can’t remember who the publisher was back then, either Jim Charlet, Gene Washer or Luther Thigpen, and I really can’t remember how much of the Klan rally got printed. But whatever he did, Greg did it with passion and a sense of righteous indignation. He would have spat on the imperial dragon or whatever those hateful fuckers call their leader, I’m sure, if he’d gotten close enough. I did once. Or maybe that was just spittle from my mouth while I was talking.
But this is about Greg Kuhl. He was a reporter with soul.
Anyway, I was going to go on and do a long essay on him, but it hurts too much. I did write something for my fellow “News Brothers” that appeared on our Facebook Page today.
Forgive some of the language, but Greg would approve. Well, he didn’t use much foul language, but he’d expect it from the guy he also occasionally addressed as “Dad.” There is a long and traumatic story behind that, but I’ve survived, so I’ll let it go.
Here’s what I wrote earlier:
Greg Kuhl….He died. He was a true newsman.
He left the L-C before our News Brothers era happened, but he stood for all we stood for: Ethics, the truth, fairness, friends and the importance of loyalty.
I communicated with him regularly and we would laugh about what has happened to the world. But he remembered, especially, loyalty to old friends who actually may need a friend or the help of a friend or just a kind word. He tried to get me connected with a publisher in New York. He and I spoke about his beloved dog, Blue. We spoke about the news and the weakness of the media today.
Some of you are still members of the media -- I was cast out and there are those of you who never offered even a consoling word or a note of encouragement.
But Greg, who I hadn't worked with in more than 35 years or longer, he remembered who I was and how I had helped him in his career. To those of you who have forgotten me or forgotten Rob Dollar or Jerry Manley … fellows who you worked with sometime in your lives, shame on you.
Take that Selfie and stare yourself in your eyes and see how you've measured up in the friendship category.
Thanks to Greg, who by now surely has hooked up with Tony Durr and The Stranger and Scott "Badger" Shelton. This world sucks and it is hard to be out here battling when "friends" seemingly don't give half a shit. Greg gave a shit and a half.
With love, Flapjacks … aka, “The Ayatollah.”
Where's everybody else been?
He was 65. He was running a 5K on Good Friday. He collapsed. Dead.
I have been shaken all day since I learned this.
We’d been in touch, via Facebook and email, on a regular basis, talking politics, journalism, friendship … and he never stopped scouting out job opportunities for me. One of the few who actually did try to help me and my family ever since I was “voluntarily” bought out by the morning newspaper here 12 years ago.
If you’ve ever been 55, almost 56, and all you had ever wanted to be was a newspaperman, then you may have some idea of the pain, psychological and physical, caused by that even.
Greg was among the first to reach out when he heard. He had moved from his own newspaper career, retired early, gone to Calgary, Alberta, Canada, where he became a full-time member of the mammoth running community there.
I was trying to write something fancy about Greg here, but it’s hard. Maybe some other day.
Here’s where I started: He ran … well, kinda loped … across Clarksville, usually down Memorial Drive … or wherever he could find a more-or-less flat roadway or trail back when we worked together.
I was, as he joked, The Ayatollah Ghianni, or just Tim. The former, because back then, when we worked together, or 30 or 40 years ago, the Ayatollah Khomeini had caused the political demise of a nicely ineffective president with lust in his heart and fear of attacking rabbits.
Nobody will know what the hell I’m talking about unless you are at least my age. Suffice it to say that the Ayatollah killed the political career of a president who wore sweaters (like Mr. Rogers) and the Iraniann despot at the same time launched another one to power. He raised all flavors of Iranian hell as the despot who forced the corrupt and ruthless Shah of Iran – a pal of the USA – from power before undoing our nation’s political picture.
Greg, by the way, always referred to the new American president as “Ronald Ray-Gun” and make a shooting motion with his fingers. Fingers, by the way, that had him just shy of earning his cup of coffee in the majors during his baseball career. I’m sure he was bitter when he turned in his jock, but he carried on.
Enough of that, but when he called me Ayatollah, I called him “Captain Kuhl.” Just sounded good. Like a cartoon character. And Greg would admit that he had kind of a cartoonish appearance, something that would make a nice caricature.
Anyway, Captain Kuhl, or “Cappy,” was not mocking me or anything. It was newsroom humor, the kinda stuff that, like newsrooms, really doesn’t exist anymore in this politically correct society. Nobody approves of plastic vomit or exploding cigarette jokes anymore. Doesn’t work on Twitter or Instagram….
Yeah, at work, I was pretty much the “second-in-command” of the old Leaf-Chronicle newsroom back then – no matter what my official title. I wasn’t a despot, though. I probably was too nice for my own good. And I sure liked to drink and otherwise enjoy when the workday was done….
So did Greg.
I’ll just say that back then, we were young, generally worked seven-day weeks. We lived hard and worked hard and I always had the backs of my comrades in ink. Always. Right up until some of my comrades participated by turning their backs in my professional execution back in 2007.
Anyway, Greg was the basically gentle reporter with perennial nervous acne who fought with the publisher for the right to cover, with photos, an ongoing and fiery Klan rally just on the other side of Boot Hill, in the New Providence section of Clarksville.
I can’t remember who the publisher was back then, either Jim Charlet, Gene Washer or Luther Thigpen, and I really can’t remember how much of the Klan rally got printed. But whatever he did, Greg did it with passion and a sense of righteous indignation. He would have spat on the imperial dragon or whatever those hateful fuckers call their leader, I’m sure, if he’d gotten close enough. I did once. Or maybe that was just spittle from my mouth while I was talking.
But this is about Greg Kuhl. He was a reporter with soul.
Anyway, I was going to go on and do a long essay on him, but it hurts too much. I did write something for my fellow “News Brothers” that appeared on our Facebook Page today.
Forgive some of the language, but Greg would approve. Well, he didn’t use much foul language, but he’d expect it from the guy he also occasionally addressed as “Dad.” There is a long and traumatic story behind that, but I’ve survived, so I’ll let it go.
Here’s what I wrote earlier:
Greg Kuhl….He died. He was a true newsman.
He left the L-C before our News Brothers era happened, but he stood for all we stood for: Ethics, the truth, fairness, friends and the importance of loyalty.
I communicated with him regularly and we would laugh about what has happened to the world. But he remembered, especially, loyalty to old friends who actually may need a friend or the help of a friend or just a kind word. He tried to get me connected with a publisher in New York. He and I spoke about his beloved dog, Blue. We spoke about the news and the weakness of the media today.
Some of you are still members of the media -- I was cast out and there are those of you who never offered even a consoling word or a note of encouragement.
But Greg, who I hadn't worked with in more than 35 years or longer, he remembered who I was and how I had helped him in his career. To those of you who have forgotten me or forgotten Rob Dollar or Jerry Manley … fellows who you worked with sometime in your lives, shame on you.
Take that Selfie and stare yourself in your eyes and see how you've measured up in the friendship category.
Thanks to Greg, who by now surely has hooked up with Tony Durr and The Stranger and Scott "Badger" Shelton. This world sucks and it is hard to be out here battling when "friends" seemingly don't give half a shit. Greg gave a shit and a half.
With love, Flapjacks … aka, “The Ayatollah.”
Where's everybody else been?
