My dear friend August Maggy died last month.

He had been my mentor at the San Francisco Chronicle business section. When I met him, I was fresh out of college and trying to figure out my life. I was skinny, hot, wearing really short skirts, and high heels.

My life ran on caffeine and wine. Food was either takeout or in a jar. Cooking was a word never heard of in my apartment.

In 1987, I entered The Chronicle and began a love affair with journalism. I always had a love of words, but now I could see them in print, everyday. At first I was a secretary, but August saw promise in me. Soon, I was promoted to copy editor. My love affair with words lasted 13 years, when the novelty finally wore off. I left the paper in 2000 and soon became a mom and a wife.

I now cook every day. Caffeine and wine still loom large in my life, but those short skirts and high heels are long gone. And when I look in the mirror, hot is not the first word I think of. It’s tired that usually leaps to mind.

But August was still my friend. When we talked infrequently, it was all about the news biz. About how this person was being treated, how that story was played, how this section was screwing up. It was never about children or mothering or partners, it was always about the biz. When I got off the phone, it was as if I had been in touch with a sleeping part of me: the part that had loved my job, had loved my high heels and loved those short skirts.

And now there’s no one who remembers that me.

None of my current circle of friends is from those times. The work friends have faded as the family friends have grown. When I heard news of August’s death at the far too early age of 61, my first feeling was deep sadness. But my second was the selfish pang of youth finally and inevitably slipping away.

Good-bye August Maggy. I’ll miss you and I’ll miss the Georgie I was. Even as I embrace the Georgie I’ve become.

By Georgie Craig

Labels: caffeine, Death, high heels, short skirts, wine

Stumble This Post