OBITUARIES TO DIE FOR.(Entertainment/Weekend/Spotlight)(Review)

Byline: John C. Ensslin

52 McGs: The Best Obituaries from Legendary New York Times Reporter Robert McG. Thomas Jr.

By Robert McGill Thomas Jr. Scribner, 192 pages, $20.

Grade: A

One fall afternoon a few decades ago, when I was in the habit of organizing literary events at unusual locations, I came home to find a message on my family's answering machine.

``This is Robert Thomas from The New York Times,'' the man with the Tennessee accent drawled. ``I have this press release on the Kerouac reading on the 23rd Street Pier. I just wanted to let you know what a pleasure it is to get something well written. I get an awful lot of crap.''

Back then, Thomas was re-writing press releases for a daily happenings column in The New York Times, a relatively mundane task, to which he consistently brought some verve and style.

I floated on his compliment for weeks.

The recent (and sadly, posthumous) publication of 52 McGs, a collection of obituaries that Thomas wrote between 1995 and his death in January 2000, dredged up the memory of that long ago phone message.

Thomas was a gifted craftsman who valued good, concise writing, whether it came in the form of a press release, an event listing or an obituary. There was something almost heroic in the way Thomas applied his craft during his final assignment at the Times, where he began as a copyboy in 1959.

At most American newspapers, obits are scut work. Frequently, they are assigned to interns or at random to whoever happens to be near the city desk when an editor clutching the just-faxed notice of the dearly departed scans the newsroom.

Thomas took this often-undervalued wretch of an assignment, grabbed it by the shoulders and shook the gold coins out of its pockets. He did it so well that the Times nominated him as a Pulitzer candidate for deadline reporting in 1995.

Fans took to calling them McGs. In this collection, we get 52 of these sharply minted pieces along with Thomas' own obituary, written in true McG fashion by a colleague.

The Times had a practice of assigning someone (often the very able Alden Whitman, a descendant of Walt Whitman) to write obits of famous figures in advance of their demise. Thus, a visit by Whitman became something akin to a preliminary house call by the grim reaper.

Thomas, on the other hand, mined a more obscure vein of obituaries and did most of his work in a day, usually within a few hours. Something in his subject's less-than-famous lives often gave the McGs their considerable charm. For what they lacked in notoriety, they often made up for with singular obsessions or strange twists of fate.

Thus, we have irresistible accounts of such faux-luminaries as ``Toots Barger, the Queen of the Duckpins Wobbly World'' or ``Charles McCartney, Known for Travels with Goats.''

Common obituaries often overlook the dark side of a person's life and instead present an overly rosy (and mostly unreadable) account. Not so with McGs, where Thomas was unafraid to do the math in summing up a life.

Take for example, this summary of ``Anton Rosenberg, A Hipster Ideal, Dies at 71.''

``Anton Rosenberg, a storied sometime artist and occasional musician who embodied the Greenwich Village hipster ideal of 1950s cool to such a laid-back degree that he never amounted to much of anything, died on Feb. 14 at a hospital near his home in Woodstock, N.Y.''

His subjects were people whose eccentricities or passions had been the subjects of stories written before their death. So McGs often are derivative of earlier accounts.

But there is something so abidingly decent in the way he treats his subjects, never dipping into parody or scorn. They are colorful, but not derisive.

Listen to his take on McCartney, the man who loved goats.

``You take a fellow who looks like a goat, travels around with goats, lies down among goats and smells like a goat and it won't be long before people will be calling him the Goat Man.''

There is another hallmark of the McG: his distinctive habit of cramming so much life into the opening paragraph that the obit practically burst open upon the reader.

Journalists are taught to write short, concise opening paragraphs, ordinarily no more than 30 words or less. But there was nothing ordinary about Thomas' leads, composed as they were, of energetic sentences that did not so much run on as they ran up to their subject.

Here, for example is an average-sized McG lead:

``Francine Katzenbogen, a Brooklyn-born lottery millionaire who loved cats so much she worked tirelessly for animal adoption agencies, donated generously to their support and housed 20 beloved strays in luxury at her own suburban Los Angeles mansion, died on Oct. 30 at her home in Studio City. She was 51 and may have loved cats more than was good for her.''

At this point, breathless readers know all they probably needed to know about the late Ms. Katzenbogen. But it would be difficult, if not irresistible, not to read further.

At various points in his career, Thomas clashed with his editors at the Times, who tried to rein in his sentences when they seemed to be out-racing the facts.

``Of course I go too far,'' he is quoted as saying in his obituary. ``But unless you go too far, how are you ever going to find out how far you can go?''

Be glad his editors let him go on. Be sad he will not be going further. Be smart and pick up this volume of 52MGs.

CAPTION(S):

Photo

Book Cover / 52 McGs: THE BEST OBITUARIES FROM LEGENDARY NEW YORK TIMES REPORTER ROBERT McG. THOMAS JR.

OBITUARIES TO DIE FOR.(Entertainment/Weekend/Spotlight)(Review)

Byline: John C. Ensslin

52 McGs: The Best Obituaries from Legendary New York Times Reporter Robert McG. Thomas Jr.

By Robert McGill Thomas Jr. Scribner, 192 pages, $20.

Grade: A

One fall afternoon a few decades ago, when I was in the habit of organizing literary events at unusual locations, I came home to find a message on my family's answering machine.

``This is Robert Thomas from The New York Times,'' the man with the Tennessee accent drawled. ``I have this press release on the Kerouac reading on the 23rd Street Pier. I just wanted to let you know what a pleasure it is to get something well written. I get an awful lot of crap.''

Back then, Thomas was re-writing press releases for a daily happenings column in The New York Times, a relatively mundane task, to which he consistently brought some verve and style.

I floated on his compliment for weeks.

The recent (and sadly, posthumous) publication of 52 McGs, a collection of obituaries that Thomas wrote between 1995 and his death in January 2000, dredged up the memory of that long ago phone message.

Thomas was a gifted craftsman who valued good, concise writing, whether it came in the form of a press release, an event listing or an obituary. There was something almost heroic in the way Thomas applied his craft during his final assignment at the Times, where he began as a copyboy in 1959.

At most American newspapers, obits are scut work. Frequently, they are assigned to interns or at random to whoever happens to be near the city desk when an editor clutching the just-faxed notice of the dearly departed scans the newsroom.

Thomas took this often-undervalued wretch of an assignment, grabbed it by the shoulders and shook the gold coins out of its pockets. He did it so well that the Times nominated him as a Pulitzer candidate for deadline reporting in 1995.

Fans took to calling them McGs. In this collection, we get 52 of these sharply minted pieces along with Thomas' own obituary, written in true McG fashion by a colleague.

The Times had a practice of assigning someone (often the very able Alden Whitman, a descendant of Walt Whitman) to write obits of famous figures in advance of their demise. Thus, a visit by Whitman became something akin to a preliminary house call by the grim reaper.

Thomas, on the other hand, mined a more obscure vein of obituaries and did most of his work in a day, usually within a few hours. Something in his subject's less-than-famous lives often gave the McGs their considerable charm. For what they lacked in notoriety, they often made up for with singular obsessions or strange twists of fate.

Thus, we have irresistible accounts of such faux-luminaries as ``Toots Barger, the Queen of the Duckpins Wobbly World'' or ``Charles McCartney, Known for Travels with Goats.''

Common obituaries often overlook the dark side of a person's life and instead present an overly rosy (and mostly unreadable) account. Not so with McGs, where Thomas was unafraid to do the math in summing up a life.

Take for example, this summary of ``Anton Rosenberg, A Hipster Ideal, Dies at 71.''

``Anton Rosenberg, a storied sometime artist and occasional musician who embodied the Greenwich Village hipster ideal of 1950s cool to such a laid-back degree that he never amounted to much of anything, died on Feb. 14 at a hospital near his home in Woodstock, N.Y.''

His subjects were people whose eccentricities or passions had been the subjects of stories written before their death. So McGs often are derivative of earlier accounts.

But there is something so abidingly decent in the way he treats his subjects, never dipping into parody or scorn. They are colorful, but not derisive.

Listen to his take on McCartney, the man who loved goats.

``You take a fellow who looks like a goat, travels around with goats, lies down among goats and smells like a goat and it won't be long before people will be calling him the Goat Man.''

There is another hallmark of the McG: his distinctive habit of cramming so much life into the opening paragraph that the obit practically burst open upon the reader.

Journalists are taught to write short, concise opening paragraphs, ordinarily no more than 30 words or less. But there was nothing ordinary about Thomas' leads, composed as they were, of energetic sentences that did not so much run on as they ran up to their subject.

Here, for example is an average-sized McG lead:

``Francine Katzenbogen, a Brooklyn-born lottery millionaire who loved cats so much she worked tirelessly for animal adoption agencies, donated generously to their support and housed 20 beloved strays in luxury at her own suburban Los Angeles mansion, died on Oct. 30 at her home in Studio City. She was 51 and may have loved cats more than was good for her.''

At this point, breathless readers know all they probably needed to know about the late Ms. Katzenbogen. But it would be difficult, if not irresistible, not to read further.

At various points in his career, Thomas clashed with his editors at the Times, who tried to rein in his sentences when they seemed to be out-racing the facts.

``Of course I go too far,'' he is quoted as saying in his obituary. ``But unless you go too far, how are you ever going to find out how far you can go?''

Be glad his editors let him go on. Be sad he will not be going further. Be smart and pick up this volume of 52MGs.

CAPTION(S):

Photo

Book Cover / 52 McGs: THE BEST OBITUARIES FROM LEGENDARY NEW YORK TIMES REPORTER ROBERT McG. THOMAS JR.

OBITUARIES TO DIE FOR.(Entertainment/Weekend/Spotlight)(Review)

Byline: John C. Ensslin

52 McGs: The Best Obituaries from Legendary New York Times Reporter Robert McG. Thomas Jr.

By Robert McGill Thomas Jr. Scribner, 192 pages, $20.

Grade: A

One fall afternoon a few decades ago, when I was in the habit of organizing literary events at unusual locations, I came home to find a message on my family's answering machine.

``This is Robert Thomas from The New York Times,'' the man with the Tennessee accent drawled. ``I have this press release on the Kerouac reading on the 23rd Street Pier. I just wanted to let you know what a pleasure it is to get something well written. I get an awful lot of crap.''

Back then, Thomas was re-writing press releases for a daily happenings column in The New York Times, a relatively mundane task, to which he consistently brought some verve and style.

I floated on his compliment for weeks.

The recent (and sadly, posthumous) publication of 52 McGs, a collection of obituaries that Thomas wrote between 1995 and his death in January 2000, dredged up the memory of that long ago phone message.

Thomas was a gifted craftsman who valued good, concise writing, whether it came in the form of a press release, an event listing or an obituary. There was something almost heroic in the way Thomas applied his craft during his final assignment at the Times, where he began as a copyboy in 1959.

At most American newspapers, obits are scut work. Frequently, they are assigned to interns or at random to whoever happens to be near the city desk when an editor clutching the just-faxed notice of the dearly departed scans the newsroom.

Thomas took this often-undervalued wretch of an assignment, grabbed it by the shoulders and shook the gold coins out of its pockets. He did it so well that the Times nominated him as a Pulitzer candidate for deadline reporting in 1995.

Fans took to calling them McGs. In this collection, we get 52 of these sharply minted pieces along with Thomas' own obituary, written in true McG fashion by a colleague.

The Times had a practice of assigning someone (often the very able Alden Whitman, a descendant of Walt Whitman) to write obits of famous figures in advance of their demise. Thus, a visit by Whitman became something akin to a preliminary house call by the grim reaper.

Thomas, on the other hand, mined a more obscure vein of obituaries and did most of his work in a day, usually within a few hours. Something in his subject's less-than-famous lives often gave the McGs their considerable charm. For what they lacked in notoriety, they often made up for with singular obsessions or strange twists of fate.

Thus, we have irresistible accounts of such faux-luminaries as ``Toots Barger, the Queen of the Duckpins Wobbly World'' or ``Charles McCartney, Known for Travels with Goats.''

Common obituaries often overlook the dark side of a person's life and instead present an overly rosy (and mostly unreadable) account. Not so with McGs, where Thomas was unafraid to do the math in summing up a life.

Take for example, this summary of ``Anton Rosenberg, A Hipster Ideal, Dies at 71.''

``Anton Rosenberg, a storied sometime artist and occasional musician who embodied the Greenwich Village hipster ideal of 1950s cool to such a laid-back degree that he never amounted to much of anything, died on Feb. 14 at a hospital near his home in Woodstock, N.Y.''

His subjects were people whose eccentricities or passions had been the subjects of stories written before their death. So McGs often are derivative of earlier accounts.

But there is something so abidingly decent in the way he treats his subjects, never dipping into parody or scorn. They are colorful, but not derisive.

Listen to his take on McCartney, the man who loved goats.

``You take a fellow who looks like a goat, travels around with goats, lies down among goats and smells like a goat and it won't be long before people will be calling him the Goat Man.''

There is another hallmark of the McG: his distinctive habit of cramming so much life into the opening paragraph that the obit practically burst open upon the reader.

Journalists are taught to write short, concise opening paragraphs, ordinarily no more than 30 words or less. But there was nothing ordinary about Thomas' leads, composed as they were, of energetic sentences that did not so much run on as they ran up to their subject.

Here, for example is an average-sized McG lead:

``Francine Katzenbogen, a Brooklyn-born lottery millionaire who loved cats so much she worked tirelessly for animal adoption agencies, donated generously to their support and housed 20 beloved strays in luxury at her own suburban Los Angeles mansion, died on Oct. 30 at her home in Studio City. She was 51 and may have loved cats more than was good for her.''

At this point, breathless readers know all they probably needed to know about the late Ms. Katzenbogen. But it would be difficult, if not irresistible, not to read further.

At various points in his career, Thomas clashed with his editors at the Times, who tried to rein in his sentences when they seemed to be out-racing the facts.

``Of course I go too far,'' he is quoted as saying in his obituary. ``But unless you go too far, how are you ever going to find out how far you can go?''

Be glad his editors let him go on. Be sad he will not be going further. Be smart and pick up this volume of 52MGs.

CAPTION(S):

Photo

Book Cover / 52 McGs: THE BEST OBITUARIES FROM LEGENDARY NEW YORK TIMES REPORTER ROBERT McG. THOMAS JR.

OBITUARIES TO DIE FOR.(Entertainment/Weekend/Spotlight)(Review)

Byline: John C. Ensslin

52 McGs: The Best Obituaries from Legendary New York Times Reporter Robert McG. Thomas Jr.

By Robert McGill Thomas Jr. Scribner, 192 pages, $20.

Grade: A

One fall afternoon a few decades ago, when I was in the habit of organizing literary events at unusual locations, I came home to find a message on my family's answering machine.

``This is Robert Thomas from The New York Times,'' the man with the Tennessee accent drawled. ``I have this press release on the Kerouac reading on the 23rd Street Pier. I just wanted to let you know what a pleasure it is to get something well written. I get an awful lot of crap.''

Back then, Thomas was re-writing press releases for a daily happenings column in The New York Times, a relatively mundane task, to which he consistently brought some verve and style.

I floated on his compliment for weeks.

The recent (and sadly, posthumous) publication of 52 McGs, a collection of obituaries that Thomas wrote between 1995 and his death in January 2000, dredged up the memory of that long ago phone message.

Thomas was a gifted craftsman who valued good, concise writing, whether it came in the form of a press release, an event listing or an obituary. There was something almost heroic in the way Thomas applied his craft during his final assignment at the Times, where he began as a copyboy in 1959.

At most American newspapers, obits are scut work. Frequently, they are assigned to interns or at random to whoever happens to be near the city desk when an editor clutching the just-faxed notice of the dearly departed scans the newsroom.

Thomas took this often-undervalued wretch of an assignment, grabbed it by the shoulders and shook the gold coins out of its pockets. He did it so well that the Times nominated him as a Pulitzer candidate for deadline reporting in 1995.

Fans took to calling them McGs. In this collection, we get 52 of these sharply minted pieces along with Thomas' own obituary, written in true McG fashion by a colleague.

The Times had a practice of assigning someone (often the very able Alden Whitman, a descendant of Walt Whitman) to write obits of famous figures in advance of their demise. Thus, a visit by Whitman became something akin to a preliminary house call by the grim reaper.

Thomas, on the other hand, mined a more obscure vein of obituaries and did most of his work in a day, usually within a few hours. Something in his subject's less-than-famous lives often gave the McGs their considerable charm. For what they lacked in notoriety, they often made up for with singular obsessions or strange twists of fate.

Thus, we have irresistible accounts of such faux-luminaries as ``Toots Barger, the Queen of the Duckpins Wobbly World'' or ``Charles McCartney, Known for Travels with Goats.''

Common obituaries often overlook the dark side of a person's life and instead present an overly rosy (and mostly unreadable) account. Not so with McGs, where Thomas was unafraid to do the math in summing up a life.

Take for example, this summary of ``Anton Rosenberg, A Hipster Ideal, Dies at 71.''

``Anton Rosenberg, a storied sometime artist and occasional musician who embodied the Greenwich Village hipster ideal of 1950s cool to such a laid-back degree that he never amounted to much of anything, died on Feb. 14 at a hospital near his home in Woodstock, N.Y.''

His subjects were people whose eccentricities or passions had been the subjects of stories written before their death. So McGs often are derivative of earlier accounts.

But there is something so abidingly decent in the way he treats his subjects, never dipping into parody or scorn. They are colorful, but not derisive.

Listen to his take on McCartney, the man who loved goats.

``You take a fellow who looks like a goat, travels around with goats, lies down among goats and smells like a goat and it won't be long before people will be calling him the Goat Man.''

There is another hallmark of the McG: his distinctive habit of cramming so much life into the opening paragraph that the obit practically burst open upon the reader.

Journalists are taught to write short, concise opening paragraphs, ordinarily no more than 30 words or less. But there was nothing ordinary about Thomas' leads, composed as they were, of energetic sentences that did not so much run on as they ran up to their subject.

Here, for example is an average-sized McG lead:

``Francine Katzenbogen, a Brooklyn-born lottery millionaire who loved cats so much she worked tirelessly for animal adoption agencies, donated generously to their support and housed 20 beloved strays in luxury at her own suburban Los Angeles mansion, died on Oct. 30 at her home in Studio City. She was 51 and may have loved cats more than was good for her.''

At this point, breathless readers know all they probably needed to know about the late Ms. Katzenbogen. But it would be difficult, if not irresistible, not to read further.

At various points in his career, Thomas clashed with his editors at the Times, who tried to rein in his sentences when they seemed to be out-racing the facts.

``Of course I go too far,'' he is quoted as saying in his obituary. ``But unless you go too far, how are you ever going to find out how far you can go?''

Be glad his editors let him go on. Be sad he will not be going further. Be smart and pick up this volume of 52MGs.

CAPTION(S):

Photo

Book Cover / 52 McGs: THE BEST OBITUARIES FROM LEGENDARY NEW YORK TIMES REPORTER ROBERT McG. THOMAS JR.