Art

With Art Shay at an exhibit of his photography in River North, January 2014.

Art Shay liked to tell people that I begged him to write a column for Chicagoist. In fact, his archivist, Erica DeGlopper, begged me.

Erica said it was Art’s idea, but I was skeptical as to why a then-87-year-old photographer wanted to write a weekly column on a website geared to a millennial audience. I was even more doubtful when Erica assured me Art would be OK with not being paid. All I knew was only an idiot would turn down a golden opportunity.

Art’s first Chicagoist column was published on December 22, 2010 but it wasn’t until his third column, a story of a chance encounter with Elizabeth Taylor, that it truly took off and I remembered good stories find wide audiences. That was also the first time I spoke with Art on the phone. I shared traffic numbers for that column with him, where the traffic was coming from and ideas for future installments. With business complete, I then asked Art to tell me about himself. 

For the next 20 minutes I listened and cried as Art told the story of his wife, Florence, their seven-decade relationship, her battle with ovarian cancer and how he felt powerless to see her in such pain. During that call, I realized the real reason Erica proposed the column: it distracted him from Florence’s deteriorating illness.

It was my first lesson that being an editor is more than fixing typos and shepherding stories from pitch to final proof. Sometimes, it involves being a therapist, managing egos and crises of confidence, knowing when to be gentle and when to be blunt, and when to simply shut up and listen. With Art, I recognized I had to be a protector as well as an editor.

Ever the professional, Art filed his columns every week for four years, even after Florence died in 2012. He wrote about covering Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination, Studs Terkel, famous Chicagoans, tailing the mob, being an Air Force navigator in World War II, race relations in 1960s suburban Chicago, his mentor, how to edit a photo, his hobo friend, faith, the life and tragic death of his son Harmon and his friendship with Nelson Algren more times than I can count. He saved his most inspired columns about Florence.

By the end of 2013, he and Erica were increasingly busy with gallery exhibitions and a new book, and the column eventually ended as Art had other, emotionally and financially rewarding, distractions.

Art Shay died today, one month after celebrating his 96^th birthday. Last year, I attended his 95^th birthday celebration at an Italian restaurant in Highland Park. I had only seen him a couple times between Florence’s funeral and then, and he barely recognized me. At his 95^th birthday, he was confined to a wheelchair but his mind was as sharp as during our first conversations. We caught each other up on our lives and careers. It was the last time I would speak with him. He outlived Florence by five-and-a-half years and I don’t think that would have been possible without Erica nudging him on. She was the driving force in Art’s late career renaissance and helped cement his already daunting legacy as one of America's best photographers. I’m thankful for her today for bringing Art into my life and for my playing a role, however small, in that victory lap.

In my living room, I have a framed photo of Muddy Waters and his wife that Art took in 1954 at some club on 47^th Street in Bronzeville. Ever mindful of the value of his work, Art autographed the matte along with the inscription: “For one of the best editors I ever worked with — Chuck Sudo.”

Thank you, sir, for being an example to look up to when I'm feeling low.