Father, Teacher, Friend
Ian Brodie, the Messenger's publisher for the past 30 years, died on May 8. I am still waiting for the telephone to ring with his opinion of the latest issue of the Messenger. It was one of those "issues from hell," but I know he would be proud.
PHOTO COURTESY OF BRIDGET BRODIE  Ian Brodie in a recent photo was a distinguished journalist and had a life-long love of newspapers. He was the publisher of the Messenger for the past 30 years. |
Ian came into the Messenger's life when we were almost going into our terrible twos. I think we were his first child and what a father he has been. Yes, he invested $10,000 to get us on our feet and he never looked back. A true newspaper junkie! We didn't make it easy; as a matter of fact we were terrible. Many owners were sure we would be sold out and taken over by some major newspaper chain. Papa taught us the ropes, gave us the opportunity to grow with a loving hand. Rarely criticized, only suggested, and once the suggestions were made, we got it and moved on. He brought us proofreader extraordinaire, Bridget, also known as the "brain." What a blessing that was.
He hired Lee Kelly to be his personal assistant. One of her many tasks while working with Ian was to write "Dateline" for the paper and deliver the flats to the printer. Lee is a very talented writer and a constant contributor to our little rag. Again, another great blessing.
He was our father, our teacher, one of the kindest people I have ever known. I am the only hands-on staff member left after 32 years of publishing and he always had my back. It didn't matter where he was in the world, he was just a phone call or e-mail away, always interested in what we were doing, a great support to our editors, some of whom he had never met face to face.
His mantra was elegance, clean pages, no lines and getting it right. After reading his obits in two British newspapers which referred to "the Topanga Messenger, which had just been started by hippies in the hills above Malibu and Santa Monica," I can hear him say, "They got it all wrong. They didn't use Topanga Canyon. We are not Malibu. You must always, always be accurate." Followed by his incredible infectious laugh. "Hippies" was another word he didn't like. "We have to lose that image," he would say. "You have grown up now; you must be responsible and let them know you're professionals." Again, Dad giving us another lesson.
"Never be late. You are a newspaper; people depend on you; there are no excuses, no vacations and no time off during production. Rest up on the off week and take care of personal business." An example of this was the 1980 flood. The paper was going to bed and our office was flooded out. Despite the inhospitable circumstances, Ian saw that we took time to change 90 percent of the paper, adding news of the flood and great flood photos. He had us move our darkroom into his bathroom at home on Croydon so the paper could be finished. (I'm sure Bridget loved that!) Right again. We were the only paper to come out in Topanga–the L.A. Times couldn't get into our little flood zone because the roads washed out.
When the internet was born he wanted a webpage. "We must keep up with the world." Second child topangamessenger.com was born and he spent countless hours making sure we got it right. He checked our page constantly and always made sure we were right up there with our competition. Hours and hours of his research went into this project.
One of the greatest gifts was his visit to Topanga on his own after his first stroke. Not an easy trip for him to make, I'm sure, but he was bound and determined. Bridget was probably shaking in her boots. I know I was. He made it with grace and dignity. His wish was to be in the Messenger office. And that he did. We did revert back to the cheese-and-wine party in his honor. New staff members met him face-to-face for the first time and were overwhelmed by his spirit and love for our little paper.
So, my friend, thank you for all that you have given to us personally, as well as our paper, for all the faith you have had in us, and for always being there for me. I will miss hearing, "Cheers–lovely, job well done!" I will always remember your wonderful laugh and all of the good times spent in the Messenger office. Five p.m. used to be "Miller time" and I would give anything to go back, listen to your advice and celebrate the day. You would be reading the upcoming copy or we would go over the printed version after it came back from the printer. You would question, let us answer and again suggest – never criticize. A very thoughtful teacher.
"The Topanga Messenger, your staff-owned independent newspaper since 1976, dedicated to defending the public interest in our Topanga community"–those are your words and that is your legacy, Ian Brodie, and we will continue to do our best and make you proud. We are the little powerful newspaper that can! –Mary Colvig Rhodes
"Cheers!"
I feel like somebody just tore into the place in my heart that holds those special, meaningful memories. The Messenger has lost a champion and I have lost a dear old friend.
I don't remember exactly when it was that Ian became involved with the Messenger, but I know that the Messenger was still somewhat in its infancy. Colin Penno was editor, and I had started to write a silly little column called "Kelly's Korner." Ian was appreciative of my tacky little tales of Topanga riff-raff and encouraged me to keep at it. Unfortunately, the American Legion Post closed their bar shortly thereafter and consequently my sources, so to speak, "dried up."
It was about that time that Ian's "secretary" gave notice, and he was anxious to find a replacement. The hours were a good fit for me so I agreed that "we will both try it and see how it works." That was about 1980 and I stayed with Ian as his "secretary" until late 1985.
PHOTO COURTESY OF BRIDGET BRODIE  Portrait of distinguished journalist and Messenger publisher Ian Brodie by his son Russell Brodie. |
As Ian's girl Friday I did just about anything: clipping and filing the latest selected items from various newspapers, scooting to Santa Monica in search of baby food for his little son Russell, researching noted figures at area libraries, including the Motion Picture Academy, picking up daughter Louise at Montessori pre-school, taking Ian's car to the mechanic's or the car wash, and weeding and watering the garden. I never knew what I would be doing from day to day, and frequently I would arrive to find a note listing my duties, always signed: "Cheers, Ian."
Working for Ian certainly had its ups, but it was also fraught with misgivings. Perhaps my two worst experiences involved the arrival of this monster machine in his office. He called it a computer, showed me that it had slots and they had names, and that some odd-looking record was called a floppy disc and there was also a hard disc, all of which totally escaped me. It was a nasty, noisy contraption, the printer clacking loudly as if each stroke of the key were whacking me even more senseless. Yes, it really was a typewriter kind of affair. The probability of error was huge! At any rate, much to my relief, Ian was the first to perform a grand faux pas by spilling a glass of milk on the keys. I got the dubious honor of hauling the whole works down to Diamond Bar for repair. Once there I was asked what code they should use to access it. Code? Ian had once shown me some numbers to input in order to start it, and for once in my life, after a very bad first moment, I was able to remember it. Whew!
My second-worst experience came when Ian was on assignment and called at the very end of the day to dictate a story to me which, he said, must be sent immediately to South Africa via the computer. In abject horror I tackled the beast with which I had no previous experience to speak of, and noted that there were at least four spaces between each line as they came up on the screen. There I was, alone and with no idea how to correct the problem. I hopefully consulted with Ian's wife Bridget only to learn that she also knew nothing of the computer. (She has since become adept far beyond my scope of comprehension.) But I did get the news piece into the machine and sent on time, spaces and all.
When a big story broke in Nome, Alaska, Ian asked me to book him into a hotel there for a few nights. After much calling around the only thing available for the second night was an Eskimo hostel of quite questionable merit somewhere in the boonies. Their only communication was by two-way radio so primitive that I was asking my questions and then saying, "Over," while I waited for them to take their turn speaking. Eventually I learned it was a place where the drunks holed up to sleep it off! Needless to say, Ian took a pass on that one and spent the night in the lobby of a decent hotel.
Because of these and other anxiety ridden tasks, I will always think of Ian as my mentor. He had me doing things I did not believe I could ever do, and the lessons have served me well. I became far more apt to take chances and learn from my mistakes. I'm sure his tutoring helped me gain the moxie to pursue building a home in Topanga–no easy feat, as those who have done it will tell you. I'm also sure that his "no smoking in the office" edict, along with some personal encouragement ("It was difficult for me," he said. "I went to a hypnotist. I can give you a name if you like?"), was helpful (well, maybe) to me in quitting that wretched habit.
Ian was generous. I believe few people knew that. When I was quite ill for several weeks, in and out of the hospital and unable to work, I received a check in the mail with a note indicating, "This might be helpful. . . .Your job will be waiting for you when you recover." And as usual, it was signed, "Cheers, Ian." I will always be grateful for his kindness and support during that difficult time.
A lot of years went by. Ian was transferred to D.C., but kept in touch at Christmastime, and I saw him on some of his rare visits back to Topanga. When he was out here a few years ago it was sometime after the first stroke. He appeared frail, almost fragile, and I thought what great gumption he had to fly here alone and stay in a hotel room by himself. And how much he must have loved Topanga, and the Messenger, and all of us, to show such courage with this solitary venturing.
It is too new and so hard to for me to say goodbye to dear Ian. He never failed to mention how hospitable my late husband Richard was, how Richard used to offer him a "cold one" whenever he made one of his rare visits to our home. I truly hope that Ian is hoisting a "cold one" now, and of course with that proper Brodie toast – "Cheers!"
Cheers to you, dear Ian, cheers! –Lee Kelly
 Ian Brodie's career brought him face-to-face with some of the most powerful people in the world. Left: Brodie at the White House with former President Ronald Reagan. Right: Brodie (far end of table) at a White House briefing with former President George W. Bush (center, right). |
Britain's Eye on America
Ian Brodie had a nose for news and loved a good scoop, of which he had many. Covering the civil rights era from New York in the 1960s, he managed to work his way into a secret Ku Klux Klan meeting in North Carolina in the company of Robert Shelton, the Klan's Grand Wizard at the time. Later, as one of only a handful of British correspondents stationed in Los Angeles in the 1970s, he covered the trial of Patty Hearst, Roman Polanski's rape conviction and subsequent flight to France, the space program, and the Reagan era. In 1986, Brodie was promoted to Washington bureau chief for the Daily Telegraph, later moving to The Times of London. Leaving Topanga, but not his relationship with the Messenger, he became a highly respected member of the Washington press corps, where he covered such pivotal events as the Clinton impeachment and the U.S. bombing of Iraq in 1998. He was still in top form, having just spent six weeks reporting on the presidential election debacle of 2000 and the subsequent Florida recount when, in January 2001, he suffered a major stroke from which he never fully recovered.
WHITE HOUSE PHOTOS COURTESY BRIDGET BRODIE  |
As a former colleague describes below, in recounting some of Brodie's infamous escapades in bringing news of America to Great Britain, Brodie remained mentally acute and actively involved with newspapers until his death from a second stroke this May.
"Sorry I can't be there to raise a glass with you all to celebrate Ian's full and active life, although I console myself with the thought of all the glasses Ian and I have raised together in different cities and countries over the past 30 years. Earthquakes in Mexico and San Francisco, John Lennon's assassination, several Royal tours, IRA extraditions, world title fights, political conventions (both Republican and Democratic, one of which, in San Francisco, memorably coincided with a hookers' convention and a Dykes on Bikes rally).....the jobs we went on together were many and varied. On every one Ian demonstrated his unmatched professionalism but when the job was over he could unwind and relax with the best of us.
"The San Francisco earthquake particularly comes to mind because at the time Ian, who was the Telegraph bureau chief in Washington, was in a private plane on the campaign trail with then vice president Dan Quayle. When news of the devastating earthquake came through Ian persuaded Quayle that it was his duty to order the pilot to change course and fly immediately to San Francisco to inspect the damage, uttering the words: ‘It's what Margaret Thatcher would do!' Galvanised into action Quayle obeyed and Ian got a birds-eye view of the devastation.
"Even after his retirement Ian was immersed in journalism. He took a close interest in–and was in regular contact with–the Topanga Messenger, the newspaper he had bought while in Topanga, where he, Bridget and family lived for many years while he was the Telegraph's Los Angeles-based correspondent. He changed the Messenger from a folksy, whimsical arts journal into a campaigning, must-read newspaper which took up the cudgel for causes that mattered to the residents. Among the many successful campaigns he conducted through the Messenger was one that stopped the powerful Disney family from developing vast areas of the canyon.
"Until very recently Ian and I were in regular contact. He would seek my opinions on the latest movies he should see and in turn he would fire off to me snippets culled from various newspapers and magazines that he thought I might be able to develop as news or feature stories. As always, his news judgement was impeccable and I know that wherever he is now he will be happily doing what he always did best–searching out and finding a good story." John Hiscock
"I have very fond memories of working with Ian: he was a kind and generous colleague and always made one feel part of a team. He was also my perennial, avuncular and always jocular lunch companion for four years -- and someone I always felt had perfected the art of being a Washington Correspondent. The familiar refrain from London was that 'nothing ever gets past Brodie' – something of which I know he was very proud." Tom Rhodes
"He was such a brilliant chap - and, it turns out, modest as hell. Reading the wonderful obits today, I had no idea about half the things he was up while on the Express. Unlike most of us hacks, he rarely said a word about past escapades.
"A lovely man to work alongside. We all salute him." Hughie Davies
"Carry On!"
Ian Brodie leaves behind a legacy of generosity, love of life and a compassion that spoke to the deepest longings and sorrows of his fellow travelers on this earth.
It was a great privilege that grows greater in the remembering, to have worked with him when he first became publisher of The Topanga Messenger. Thanks to him, the Messenger has been an integral part of the Topanga community for more than 30 years. As its first editor, that is when I discovered that this highly respected international correspondent, who had his intellectual finger on the pulse of the world, was an inveterate romantic and somewhat of a rebel. I like to think that was the same spirit that inspired the American Revolution; it is so appropriate that he became an American citizen. As for why I think he was such a romantic, anyone who would put his life savings into a podunk little newspaper cobbled together by enthusiastic amateurs with a dream, had to have had a bigger dream than any of us dared to dream.
Thanks to Ian, my life was also indelibly marked by all the things he was and will ever be in my memory. His calm demeanor gave substance to my role as editor of the Messenger as we faced so many challenges, picking up gauntlet after gauntlet to meet them head on. During these heady times, I appreciated his quiet (British) sense of humor that always took me off guard and left me laughing. More recently, when I reviewed a play about the Lockerbie tragedy, I had no idea that Ian had covered that story as it actually unfolded. To have him share his experience with me took my breath away. As I listened to him, I heard the compassion and understanding that emanated from his words and his great heart. Thank you, Ian.
He would often say, "Carry on!" and then leave us to our tasks. He's leaving the room for now but even in the profound sadness I feel I will always hear him saying, "Carry on!" and I will, knowing he's not really that far away.
Carrying on, my heart filled with much love and admiration, I know that all whose lives Ian Brodie touched are the inheritors of the best of what human nature can aspire to - and that includes being a rascally, rabble-rousing free-thinker with a dream! –Flavia Potenza
Great Sadness
Great sadness at the loss of your founder and supporter. He was a wonderful man, we will all miss him.
As another Englishman we shared many common interests; he used to come to me for massage at Elysium. –Noel Pugh
A Twinkle in His Eye
This is such sad news. I'm so sorry.
I'll always remember how full of life and spunk Ian was when we met. He had so much ambition and a twinkle in his eye. What a great man. I'm so sad he's leaving us. –Melissa Yoes
A Life-Long Love of Newspapers
PHOTO COURTESY OF BRIDGET BRODIE  Ian Brodie as a foreign correspondent in China in the early 1970s. Brodie covered many of the critical events of the latter half of the 20th century. He spent time in Moscow as deputy foreign editor for the British Daily Express, later serving in Southeast Asia where he covered the Vietnam War and a coup in Cambodia. Sneaking into China on a tourist visa, Brodie was also on hand to cover U.S. President Richard Nixon's "ping-pong diplomacy," but was best known for his role as a foreign correspondent in the United States for several major British newspapers. |
Ian Brodie's life-long love affair with journalism began at an early age. Born in Bath, England, on March 23, 1936, Brodie is said to have begun leafing through newspapers at the tender age of three.
Like most of the aspiring British journalists of his generation, Brodie left school at 16 and went to work as a tea-boy, later becoming a reporter, for the Luton News, while studying shorthand, typing and similar subjects at evening school. "Only people who were going on to higher education, of which there were only a few as there weren't many opportunities, stayed on at school after 16," says Brodie's wife Bridget. "He did get some kind of journalism certificate" from his evening school studies, she adds. But at the time, "the goal was to get to Fleet Street in your early 20s, otherwise you'd never make it to the top of the profession."
As detailed in impressive obituaries in London's Daily Telegraph and The Times and in the Washington Post, Brodie more than accomplished that goal. After a stint in Northern Ireland as officer in charge of a transport depot for his National Service, Brodie returned to England, first working for a local news agency, then landing a job on the tabloid Daily Sketch, with a story recounting the sale of a baby to an American couple by a bus conductor and his wife.
He then moved on to the Daily Express where in just two years he moved up the ranks from reporter to deputy foreign editor. It was there that he established his roots as a foreign correspondent, stationed first in Moscow and later in Southeast Asia, reporting on issues ranging from the Cold War to the Vietnam War. He also reported from America. Based in New York, he covered the civil rights demonstrations of the ‘60s and the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He witnessed the assassination of presidential candidate Robert Kennedy, managing afterwards to wrangle a ride on the train carrying Kennedy's body from New York to Washington.
Brodie returned to England as the paper's foreign editor, then went on to become the last editor of the Scottish Daily Express in Glasgow. Eventually, however, he decided to move back to the United States, heading to Los Angeles where he served as a freelance correspondence for London's Daily Telegraph. It was during this period that Brodie and his wife Bridget moved to Topanga. "It was Ian's idea to come to California, where he saw there were few established reporters or stringers for British papers," says Bridget. "He actually wanted to settle in Santa Monica, which he was familiar with, but houses were too expensive. One day we were driving through Topanga and I thought it looked like my kind of place. Not Ian's really, too far from city, airport, etc., but since he would be working from home he went along with it." There in Topanga in the late 1970s, Brodie discovered the Messenger in its infancy and decided to invest both his money–a badly need infusion of $10,000–and his professional expertise in the fledgling enterprise. For 30 years, Brodie acted as publisher for this small-town biweekly while continuing both in Los Angeles and in Washington, D.C., to serve as a member of the foreign press corps of some of the world's largest newspapers.
The high esteem in which Ian Brodie was held by his colleagues in the international press is reflected in a the following sampling of letters sent to his family after Brodie's death on May 8:
"I first met Ian in Vietnam 40 years ago and we had been friends since. We had good times together covering all the happenings and I valued his friendship. He was always cheerful whatever the situation and he was, of course, a first rate journalist. Please accept my sympathy for your enormous loss." Ron Clarke
"We ... hope that you will all derive some comfort from the expressions of respect and affection with which Ian is being remembered.A former Daily Express colleague described him today as ‘one of a rare breed' and the obituaries reflect how much he was valued as a courageous and persistent reporter and admired as a man of sophistication, wit and calm authority. It is perhaps remarkable that an industry famous for its competitiveness could nourish so many strong and abiding friendships among rivals but Ian's death leaves many with dismal hearts and wounded spirits. Dermot and Jane Purgavie
"It is a real regret to us that we are unable to be with you at your planned celebration tomorrow of his life. What a fitting tribute to a fine journalist. ... For many years I had always admired Ian's outstanding journalism with the Daily Express and so it was a true delight to me as Foreign Editor of the Daily Telegraph that he was able to join the DT in 1975 in California. What an outstanding and distinguished career he went on to have with the Daily Telegraph. He was always enthusiastic, reliable, so versatile, so accurate in his reporting – in fact, he possessed every attribute one could possibly want from a foreign correspondent. He will be remembered so fondly by all who ever knew him." Kay and Ricky Marsh
"To me, Ian was a treasured colleague and friend. He was the most instinctual reporter I believe I have ever known. His eye for the telling detail was, for years, among the best in the business. I was inestimably honored a couple of decades ago when out in the thick of the political battle somewhere Ian referred to me has his ‘mate.'" Cragg Hine
"You do not know me, but I was a colleague of Ian's at the Telegraph and the Times. ... A few months ago my ex-wife Eve-Ann died. She was also a journalist, knew Ian and worked for The Times, as I do now. At her funeral in Drogheda, Eire, the conversation fell to old friends. We were musing on who was the best all-round journalist we had ever known and Ian topped the list. He was a pure professional and – in a trade not always renowned for its nice manners – an honorable man and a friend. He was an example to everyone and was respected by all. I will be raising a glass in Cambridge in his honor on Saturday with my little family. For a man of his caliber, maybe it is fitting that his life should be hailed in more than one place around the world." Pat Prentice
PHOTO COURTESY OF BRIDGET BRODIE  Ian Brodie (second from right) receiving the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in 1994 for "services to journalism." With him, from left, son Russell, wife Bridget, mother Betty, and daughter Louise. Brodie was "proud and excited" to receive the honor, says Bridget. He opted to accept the award from the British Ambassador at an embassy lunch in Brodie's honor in Washington, D.C., rather than returning to England to receive it directly from the Queen at Buckingham Palace. Brodie and his family became naturalized United States citizens last summer, but he never lost his love for all things English. |
Loss of a Mentor
Ian Brodie was a man of contradictions, an elegant Englishman who brought his broad mind and stiff upper lip to America and then, more astoundingly, to rustic Topanga, at a time when it was still brushing off the feathers of hippie life.
He was a journalist by profession– bred at a time when the word meant something. As editor of the Messenger, I discovered how keen his insight and observations were, developed over years as a foreign correspondent for London newspapers, but I only recently learned how distinguished his career was. He was a journalistic star from the 1960s into the new Millennium, covering a broad swath of breaking news–from the 1960s assassinations of our heroes and the horror of the Vietnam War to the sad comedy of hanging chads in Florida.
Though his credentials seemed too fine for a hometown paper, he became the patron saint of the Messenger, offering both his funds and his expertise. When I came on as editor in 1998, a green novice, the tall and rangy Ian, with his cynical smile, offered me both his instruction and protection. Though he had moved to D.C. by that time as the Washington correspondent to The Times of London, he remained the active publisher of the Messenger. With his broad reach, he consumed the Messenger with his tea and shot back comments on every issue–both acerbic and encouraging. He often came to Topanga (visiting royalty, I thought) putting up at his favorite idyll, Elysium. During his visits, I learned that Ian was also a charmer, a raconteur extraordinaire.
I feel a quiet nostalgia when I think of his integrity, his warmth, his generosity of spirit. I'm of an age when too many of my former mentors are passing, and Ian's passing is especially poignant. In a time when journalistic principles are under siege from every quarter, he served as an inspiration and, as a member of the dying breed of committed journalists, he will be missed. –Michele Johnson
So Long, Boss
Would Topanga Canyon's Messenger newspaper still be around more than 30 years after its founding without Ian Brodie?
It'll be interesting to read in this edition what people thought about that, and about him–although unvarnished honesty is seldom to be found in a post mortem tribute–so I'll answer that leading question myself: Probably not.
There had been newspapers in Topanga in the past (unlikely though that was) but time and demographics keep movin' on, and times were a'changin' (Summit Valley, anyone?) and the time really was at hand, and Brodie was there.
It wasn't altogether easy for the urbane and perpetually self-composed British newspaper man to handle the doubts about why someone like himself would barge (or blunder, some would say) into the hornets' nest of opinions and passions that drove the 13 musketeers to do what they did: to launch the Messenger.
He handled it all with a calmness that drove some to distraction. His adherence to logic and (forgive me, Ian) "staying the course," was something to behold–and made an everlasting impression on me.
You can't just run with your heart, I realized, watching his ongoing performance and demonstration of patience and will and confidence that never buckled. You've got to run your own mind and not let it run you. Therein lies the power. This alone set me on a sort of course of life.
When asked why he was doing this, Brodie would mutter stuff about how important the local press was in any country, how a healthy, honest press was the backbone of a healthy honest polity and especially how important a local press was to the cohesion and function of any community large or small.
Well, it's true, sure. That's why I was there and that's why we all were there back then, packing our passions by the pound.
But for Brodie, there was also the sheer fun of it.
He loved it all.
And I loved you, Ian Brodie, although I was not aware of it at the time. –Colin Penno
A Very Decent Man
In the time I knew him, he was always a gentleman and a very decent man. –Don Hilston
A Savvy Friend
Ian Brodie came to the Messenger at a critical time in our development. This paper had been my baby, along with nine other sisters and brothers, and it was time to let it grow. We were committed to publishing a paper that dealt with the local arts and timely and pertinent issues and controversies of concern to the Canyon and the Santa Mountains, but we realized that the community alone could not keep us afloat.
Fortunately, Ian came to offer not only financial support but also incredible journalistic know-how and experience. He quickly proved that he, too, shared the original vision that had brought the Messenger into being, but more, he proved himself to be a savvy frend (there is no "I" in friend). He was truly our frend (friend), far more than we knew at the time. – Merrick Davidson
Always a Gentleman
In 1988,I came to work at the Messenger in the wake of what surely rates as one of the more lurid job "interviews" in recorded history: a far-ranging, two-hour session with Colin Penno. That discussion covered everything from the U.S. Presidential elections to European political history, the shifting social morass of Los Angeles, and the nuances of working on a newspaper for a local audience with strong opinions and easy access to your home telephone number.
Colin sat across from me in a tweed cap and sunglasses, smoking Camels and taking pulls from a fresh pint of Cuervo next to the typewriter. The interview ended when he finished the bottle. There was no perceptible change in his demeanor throughout, but it was hard not to notice he never bothered to offer me a drop.
The next day he called with a question, "I forgot – you can write, can't you?"
Freshly hired, I came to the next editorial meeting and listened as he ran through the list of proposed stories. After nearly a decade, Colin's command of the newsroom was impressive, but he wanted to give up the daily grind and focus on his photography. I think there was some debate over the center spread and then Mary Colvig turned to me and handed me a pencil.
I looked confused.
"Here," she said, pointing to the clean dummy taped to the desk. "Lay out the paper."
PHOTO COURTESY OF BRIDGET BRODIE  Russell, Bridget, Louise and Ian Brodie on Pacific Coast Highway in 1980 for the Olympic Torch run. A fitness buff who ran regularly, Brodie published a beginner's guide to sailing in 1994. |
That's how I found out I was not "an editor," but the editor of the Messenger.
So I dove into the job, tossing out the broken chairs, painting the place, and tweaking the layout. I wandered the small roads of the Canyon, trying to focus on generating some harder news between manning the office and answering calls asking "for the number at Rocco's" or "whatever happened to those Nubian goats for sale in Old Canyon?"
I also learned about the paper's history, that it was broke and had always been since it opened its doors. Born in enthusiasm, it wobbled along as a labor of love and then wound up on the verge of a sale when Ian Brodie walked through the door and offered to invest. Ten thousand dollars later we had an honest-to-god publisher.
"He's our Guardian Angel," Mary explained.
After years of wandering the globe covering one major story after another, Ian wound up based in Topanga as a correspondent for the London Daily Telegraph. Despite working on serious issues for august papers, he had a deep fondness for the fundamental value of a small, independent press and the role it played in creating and maintaining the essence of a community. He also had a wonderfully keen sense of the absurd and, when you put those two things together, "The Mess" must have appeared to him as if heaven sent.
He took the publisher's role seriously and brought a wealth of professional experience, something the paper had been sorely lacking since its launch. He promptly introduced the fundamental concept of an editorial-versus-ad ratio for each issue – the kind of approach that allows a publication to live to print its next issue. The Messenger might not post actual profits, but he had put it on a path toward a future that would last three decades (and counting!).
By the time I landed in the editor's seat, Ian had moved on to Washington, D.C., to cover the White House. Our relationship evolved by phone and the occasional meeting when he managed to trail the President to L.A. or the times he would head west for the paper's annual Christmas party. On those nights, with the biggest issue of the year put to bed, the crew would stand around drinking cheap wine and trading insults with Ian leaning against the old layout tables, grinning like there was no place he'd rather be.
Although geographically distant, he was an always enduring, reassuring presence. Whenever the going got tough – and we were rarely short on legal threats from developers in the Montevideo era –Ian was always on the other end of the line. He'd been out of a formal newsroom for years, but he still answered the phone with a terse "Brodie," before offering guidance throughout the thrust and parry whenever I called.
Years after I had left the paper, I wound up going to Washington for a conference. I called Ian and said I'd love to see him and he couldn't have been more excited, urging me to meet him at "his club" for a drink.
This turned out to be the National Press Club, and as I navigated the warren of hallways in search of his office, it was hard not to notice that the nameplates on his neighbors' doors read like the lineup from the Sunday morning news shows. I couldn't help but be a little awed. Not by the names, but by the contrast between the level of his professional accomplishment and his enduring love for this little paper.
Later we sat in the bar, where Ian knew just about everyone, and caught up on local gossip and the way the Canyon was changing. Even though he had moved years ago, he read every word of every issue and didn't miss a beat. Time passed too quickly and I signaled for the check.
"Absolutely not!" Ian swiveled in his chair and indignantly stared me down. "You're my guest, in my club, and it's my bill!"
Ian Brodie – my publisher, my friend – always a gentleman. –Tom Byrnes
A Guardian Angel
I remember when [Ian Brodie] seemed to appear out of nowhere and gave a monetary infusion to support the Messenger in a time of need, I believe you referred to him as a "guardian angel." It was that support that seems to have propelled the Messenger past the 30-year mark and still going. –Patty Colvig
From Inspiration to Ink
I was very saddened to hear of Ian's passing. I arrived at the paper in 1978 with lots of time on my hands and they put me to work on paste-up. Ian invested in the paper by purchasing a typesetting machine, and the office had just moved to the center. As publisher of the Messenger he brought professionalism to the little bi-weekly "rag" that I am so proud to be a part of. Ian gave me my first writing assignment. He heard that a Topanga resident, the creator of the character Gumby, Arthur Clokey, had created another character, so he told me to get the story. I asked my new boyfriend Tom Mitchell, to come and take some photos. Thanks to Ian Brodie, Tom and I produced our first project together, and 30 years later we are still producing projects together. I hope Ian knew how grateful I was for his faith that I could get the story. He provided me, and many other Topanga writers, artists, and photographers, with the opportunity to get our work in the paper, from inspiration to ink. –Jeanne Mitchell
"What Would Ian Say?"
I was very sad to hear that Ian has left us. He was a dear man with a quick wit, an inquiring mind and an insatiable interest in just about everything. And I know what a hole has been rent in the heart of the Messenger, because he was really the Father of this special little newspaper.
Though physically 3,000 miles away and in recent years in poor health, Ian was still vitally interested in all aspects of his "baby." It was his inspiration that led and encouraged us, sometimes kicking and screaming, into the 21st century of the newspaper business–computerizing and digitizing photos and production, and establishing an international presence on the internet. But even more important was his care and concern for the people who worked here–whom he treated as colleagues, even those of us with no journalistic credentials–and the issues addressed over the years in this small but volatile town. His advice and guidance, informed by his incredible experiences as a journalist in exotic locales, elevated the Messenger's professionalism to a level unheard of in a newspaper with a circulation of [its size]. I am proud to have worked with the man, and learned so much from him–he was my journalism school.
Ian loved this paper. I know he read it diligently because occasionally he'd call or e-mail with a comment, suggestion or even a much appreciated "good job!" And when his knowledge or arbitration was needed, he was only a phone call away. I know how lucky I was to have his wisdom to draw on during my 10 years at the Messenger. I'm sad for those who remain that, during the inevitable troubles in the future, the best they have now is, "What would Ian say?" –Bonnie McCourt Michael
