I was sent this fabulous email from Jeff. It made my day!:
“Hi Joe, I started at Reuters in 1988. I was in that fancy complex out near the Tower of London. Maiden Lane, or some such…? I can’t remember the name. It was in the Fall. There were 10 Brits and one person each from the other continents – a woman from Egypt, an Aussie, another from Hong Kong, one from Buenos Aires and I guess I represented North America.
Reuters got me a place right near your Dad’s place (Chelsea, correct?), where they also got a place for a good friend – Silvina Gonzalez Cigoj, from Buenos Aires. He had us over for dinner several times, cooked up plates full of dripping meat, which we loved, and showed us around some great Chelsea pubs. He was such a potent emotional connection to London for me in every way. His huge smile, massive laugh and copious appetite for all things life were magnetic to me, unimaginably exciting and inspiring.
During the trainings, he de-frocked all of us earnest but dead naive scrubs by bellowing out his Rules –
When writing about shipwrecks – “No bloody fucking ship ever went down to its bloody fucking ‘wet grave!'”
To a stupefied Yank (ok, me) who handed in an article with a lead he was delighted with: “Oh, aren’t you so bloody clever…get that grin off your face and sit down!”
On having a fellow hack yell at us about a plane crash in Lockerbie right as our holiday party in St. Bride’s pub was getting underway: “Oh….this something…had better be nothing…”
On first walking into an American bar and seeing a huge banner advertising “Happy Hour, All You Can Drink – 5 to 7″…..”Oh…you people are so naive….”
When I got back to the States from London in Spring of ’89 I was working on various desks in NYC and around the States and always missed George, but loved hearing George stories being passed around the various bureaux I worked in. I certainly shared lots of stories with a longtime fellow Reuters hack, Oliver Ludwig, who became one of my best friends and with whom I shared many a laugh in bars talking about your Dad. I may even have had the chance to introduce him to George at one point – I can’t remember. I hope I did.
The last thought I’ll share is that since leaving London in 89 I’ve gone back many times and even took my family to live there for 3 years (’99 – ’01). And every single time I’ve gone to London since he died in ’97, I’ve made a stop on my first day to 85 Fleet Street, and then to St. Bride’s next door, drank a beer, sat on those cold stone steps under the wall of names, and relished and cherished the amazing memories, fortitude and joy he gave me and so so many others.
Best Regards, Jeff Swimmer”