45 Years Later

In my 'Mad Men' days at Maclean-Hunter publishing, I worked with some pretty awesome writers.  One of them was renowned sports journalist Roy Macgregor, now with the Globe and Mail.  Google him and you will see that he is a pretty famous Canadian journalist and the author of several books. 

When Roy and I were occupying side-by-side desks on Toronto's University Avenue in Maclean-Hunter's bull pen, we were both young journalists learning our craft.  I was 21; so was he.  Although you had to demonstrate talent to get into M-H in those days, Roy quickly established himself as a really good writer.  I remained a commercial writer, pretty good, but toiling in the trenches of the business publications division.  Roy?  He moved up quickly.  What a great time we had back then.  Born and raised in Huntsville, Roy was a complete gentleman and a down-to-earth original.  We got on famously, joking and rollicking around Toronto in the early '70s.

Over the years I have watched his career with great happiness.  No one deserves success more than he.  Now and then I think of him, but having recently subscribed to The Globe, I now read him most days.  He does not disappoint.  Today I impetuously sent him an email, after 45 years, complimenting him on the superb piece he did on the legendary Howie Meeker. 

Fifteen minutes later I got a wonderful response.  Back and forth we reminisced about our editor, the crotchety Jean Portugal, from whom we learned so much.  She used to rip our stuff to pieces -- and that was a very good thing.  Jean once took us to lunch in Chinatown, where she proceeded to educate us on the digestive properties of green tea while eating Chinese food.  It was worse than witnessing an autopsy!  I gagged.  She went into bodily functions and secretions and intestinal machinations that no sane person should ever have to contemplate.  "I need a drink," I remember screaming silently.

Didn't get one. 

So there you have it.  My brush with fame.  Roy Macgregor.