Memories of Sandy Levenson by Tom Moore

By TOM MOORE
The downside of getting old:

Losing good friends and colleagues.

Sandy Levenson was both. He was a newsman who never saw a story he couldn’t edit or a headline he couldn’t write.

On deadline. Fast with no fuss.

A gentle man with a ready smile and a soft voice. He was a big, big asset to the BJ when he joined the staff.

I worked closely with him for many years. A lot of times, on Saturday nights when the Beacon was an afternoon paper, only and he and I would be left for the late trick. And in a short staff situation, he wound up as my only copyeditor. And that was a BIG, BIG plus.

Back in the days when we really published a paper that tried to give readers the best from every angle—we had several wire series…Chicago Daily News, New York Times, Knight Ridder, Associated Press among them—I would hand Sandy a dozen stories on the same subject and tell him I needed 15 inches or 20 inches…combining all those services to get the best story.

And nine times out of 10 the completed story was out to the composing room in nothing flat. And if he thought it couldn’t be done in that space, he’d let me know.

I’ll always have found memories of working with him.

And I’ll remember when he would give me a ride home to North Hill after our night shift. He had one of those first small—and I do mean small—Honda’s.

Of course he was a bit hard of hearing, so on the passenger’s side of that tiny car, he had a big, big speaker mounted under the dash—one you’d expect to find in your den.

So that speaker would be giving us music and he’d be talking over it and looking at me for my replies…as we sped along dark North Street…the car would swerve a bit and the tires hit a curb and bounce off!

Man, what a ride! You haven’t lived without talkng such a ride. I must confess I did feel a bit perturbed, but I said nothing and continued to bum that ride. After all, he was Sandy and I thoroughly trusted him…hoping that we wouldn’t wind up hoping the curb and winding up in the dog pound.

Then there’s the story he told about that little car. He was stopped at a red light when suddenly he started moving forward even though he had the brakes on.

Looking back, he found a big cement truck giving his car a nudge. Seems the driver was so high up, he couldn’t see the little car in front of him, and so he was inching up to the light!

And one Saturday night, Sandy, Dave Boerner, retired, who was news editor then, and I were working when the phone rang. Dave answered it.

He listened a moment or two and then barked: “go to bed!”

He hung up.

Then phone rang again. I answered it. It was a kid’s voice asking for Sandy.

I handed the phone to him. He listed for a minute, then turned to Dave and asked: “Why did you tell my boy to go to bed?”

Of course Dave thought he was talking to one of his kids.

Sandy came to our monthly retiree luncheons when ever he could. (The second Wednesday of every month at Papa Joe’s in the Valley.

And that group keeps getting smaller and smaller.
And now one more is gone.

Sandy, it’s been said time and time again---that old saw that when you were born they threw away the mold.

In your case, my friend, truer words were never spoken!