It is possible that people who are hard-line, milestone traditionalists might frown on my decision to write and publish this post here and now, but I decided to do so anyway.
Last month marked the 24th anniversary of the passing of a good work colleague and friend of mine, Lynn Ford, shown in the picture leading off this post. The photo graced the cover of a program for a memorial service held for Lynn after his death in February 2002. It was when I recently came across the program while going through a box of mementoes that I got the idea to toast Lynn here.
A shared, enthusiastic interest in pop music served as a bonding tool for Lynn and me in The Indianapolis Star newsroom in the 1980s. We particularly enjoyed reminiscing about Motown artists of the 1960s, 1970s and early 1980s — the Temptations, Four Tops, Jackson Five, Supremes, etc. And during the Motown discussions, one of us would almost always pause to utter a “yeow” lyric from Rick James’ 1981 hit Super Freak, which was released on the Motown subsidiary label Gordy.
Over time, our discussions gravitated to other subjects, such as politics and current events in the world, country, Indiana and, of course, the workplace.
Some might call the latter gossip, but neither of us started such conversations with gossipy intent. At some point in these chats, one of us would usually break a serious tone with an aside conjuring a guffaw or snicker, helping to ease the transition to exchanging biting wit, sarcasm and, yes, occasional newsroom gossip.
Before joining The Star in 1984, Lynn had worked for six years at The Indianapolis Recorder, a news publication that served the city’s black community and today is the third-oldest black newspaper in the U.S.
Lynn reached his apex at The Star when he was invited to write a column that ran every other Saturday on the cover of the local and suburban news section. In the newsroom, we called this part of the newspaper “the split page.” (I think early on in my tenure I once asked why it got that nickname, and I’m sure someone explained it to me, but I’ve since long forgotten it.)
Suffice it to say that in house, the split page was regarded as a prestigious spot for any staffer to have a bylined story displayed. And Lynn’s column — accompanied by a photo of him — ran the length of the left side of the split page, the same spot where noted scribe Tom Keating’s daily columns had appeared for 14 years until early 1985.
Lynn used the column to write about issues or events important to the African-American community. He occasionally wrote people profiles and delved into lighter yet important topics such as the fine arts, which remained a key interest of his to the very end.
He always had a smile and good cheer to share when we crossed paths. But doing that became difficult for him in the first few months after he returned to work following hospitalization and extended time off to recover from a serious stabbing outside his apartment in February 2001. He was assaulted by a man police identified as the former husband of a woman Lynn had been dating.
Lynn and I had a lengthy talk about the experience not long after he returned to work. I recall the conversation vividly because this usually upbeat individual was speaking from a dark place, and he admitted that he was having trouble getting past lingering post-trauma fears in the aftermath.
I’m happy to say I saw the Lynn of old by late summer of 2001, and we had a few more good months of interaction thereafter until his sudden death, which authorities attributed to a heart attack unrelated to the assault a year previous. I do remember that he seemed occasionally fatigued and out of breath in the latter months, but I knew his right lung had been punctured by one of the stab wounds, and I guess I thought that what I was observing was the lung still in the process of healing.
Today, I often think of him when I hear a Motown tune. And I think of him every time I hear Rick James’ “yeow” in Super Freak.
