I was terribly sad to learn that my friend John Stacks died last week, finally succumbing to the cancer that he had been fighting for the last four years. I got to know John Stacks when I was running the Notebook section at Time in 1997 and 1998, and he was the Executive Editor to whom I reported. Walter Issacson was running the magazine back then and it was very much his magazine, but John and Chris Porterfield were like cardinals in the Vatican, keepers of faith and tradition, and I admired and valued the steadiness and calm and attention that they brought to helping this big, sprawling weekly magazine succeed. I remember one of the first times Ken Smith and I met with him to talk about our line-up, he said “Oh, you’re a communicator,” and I took a great deal of confidence from that. He had a sense of fun and sociability, but he was fundamentally a serious man, serious about his responsibilities as a journalist and as a leader. I felt I could always turn to him with my problems and doubts and anxieties, of which I had plenty, and he graciously shepherded me through them. He taught me to trust my own judgement, to be alert for problems but not to force them, to be patient. He taught me not to let my own fears or anxieties or vanity get in the way of doing what had to be done, because what had to be done would always be done, and if you were letting your own ego prevent you from doing what had to be done, somebody else would do it, and you would be the loser. John conducted himself at work with a sense of service. He helped other people succeed at their jobs, but in a way that taught them that in the end, it was doing the job well that mattered. The byline on the article mattered a great deal, but the success of the magazine as a whole mattered more.
So long, John. I’ve tried to pass your lessons along. Thanks again.