Requiem for a Publisher

The reader will note that a rather morbid undercurrent has run through this column over the past two months. In May, I noted the death of Frank Jacobs, a writer I much admired for his satirical contributions to Mad Magazine and who remains largely underappreciated outside its readership; in June, I remarked on the unfortunate coincidence of my age with that of New Yorker founder and longtime editor Harold Ross at the time of his passing. In spite of the country now deliriously opening up to sunshine and fresh air after the Long Intermission (which I should duly celebrate), I regret to say that this column is poised to be a hat trick for the Grim Reaper. On Wednesday, May 26, Don Jones, editor and publisher of The American Rag, died at the age of 89. The following morning, his wife Cathie posted this statement on Facebook: “I have sad news this morning. My sweet husband, your friend, publisher of The American Rag, earned his angel wings last night. Don had hospice care for the past seven months and passed peacefully at home holding my hand. He studied and practiced Buddhism for 25+ years and believed in reincarnation, so I expect we’ll meet him again.” I was shaken to hear the news. His presence in the world was of monumental importance to me if only that The Syncopated Times would not exist if