Tuesday, 2 August 2005 - 12:52 PM PDT

Here is the recent tribute to David that appeared in the National Journal.

OFF MESSAGE
Look Back In Wonder
By William Powers, National Journal
? National Journal Group Inc.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Do journalists ever learn anything? Or do they just flit mindlessly from story to story, never stopping to reflect on their own work or -- heaven forbid -- to improve it?
Fifteen years ago this month, the Los Angeles Times published an astonishing series about the media's coverage of the abortion debate. That series is worth another look now.

Most of the time, we flit. But every once in a while, the news business has a moment of blinding clarity about itself and comes away truly changed.
One of those moments happened 15 years ago this month, when the Los Angeles Times published an astonishing series about the media's coverage of the abortion debate. That series -- famous inside the profession, largely unknown outside -- dramatically shifted the paradigm of abortion coverage, overnight. And it's worth a good look-back now.
Washington is rolling merrily toward the confirmation hearings on Judge John G. Roberts Jr., and if any issue is likely to get hot in those proceedings, it's abortion. The coverage will look, read, and sound the way it does partly because 15 years ago a single news outlet, and one tenacious reporter, decided to step back for a moment and ask their own business some tough questions.
It was July 1, 1990, and the headline over the first story was chary, as if the paper knew it was about to lob a 5,665-word grenade into the collegial tent and was terrified: "Abortion Bias Seeps Into News: A Comprehensive Times Study Finds That the Press Often Favors Abortion Rights in Its Coverage, Even Though Journalists Say They Make Every Effort to Be Fair." [The article is available for purchase in the Los Angeles Times archive.]
But the story itself was anything but tentative. It began by noting that abortion opponents believed that media coverage of the issue was biased against their side. The author of the series, Times reporter David Shaw, wasted no time telling readers that he'd found this to be true.
"A comprehensive Times study of major newspaper, television, and newsmagazine coverage over the last 18 months, including more than 100 interviews with journalists and with activists on both sides of the abortion debate, confirms that this bias often exists," he wrote. "Responsible journalists do try to be fair, and many charges of bias in abortion coverage are not valid. But careful examination of stories published and broadcast reveals scores of examples, large and small, that can only be characterized as unfair to the opponents of abortion, either in content, tone, choice of language, or prominence of play."
If you had any doubts about this claim, the rest of the piece, and the three stories that followed, demolished them. Shaw built a breathtaking mountain of evidence. He quoted reporters, editors, and producers on their own work. He talked about abortion as a class issue, and the fact that mainstream journalists tend to be members of a class that favors abortion rights. He examined whether women reporters tend to have a harder time than men giving both sides of the abortion debate a fair shake (his answer: yes). He let those on all sides (for there are more than two) of the debate -- which had just ramped up again, thanks to the Supreme Court's 1989 Webster ruling -- weigh in with their thoughts on the coverage.
Most impressive of all, he got down into the weeds of word choice and showed how particular phrases frequently (and often unconsciously) tilted abortion news in the abortion-rights direction. His bullet points felt like real bullets, rat-a-tat-tat. A few examples give the flavor:
1) "The Associated Press, Washington Post, Boston Globe, and Time magazine, among others, have referred to those who oppose abortion 'even in cases of rape and incest' (circumstances under which most people approve of abortion). But the media almost never refer to those who favor abortion rights 'even in the final weeks of pregnancy' (circumstances under which most people oppose abortion)."
2) "United Press International reported last year on a poll that showed a minority of all Americans take absolutist positions on abortion. The story said 'only' 18 percent believed abortion should always be illegal. But there was no 'only' before the 27 percent who said abortion should always be legal."
Shaw never argued that journalists shouldn't have opinions, or shouldn't do bold, aggressive reporting on abortion. Rather, he was saying that the stories they write and produce should be faithful to reality, acknowledge the enormous complexities of the debate, and give all sides their due.
For American journalism, it was a giant head slap, as in: My God, he's right. And the series quietly resonates today. Mainstream coverage of abortion is far more careful and fair. The sloppiness and unconscious arrogance Shaw found to be so common in 1990 are now uncommon.
"David forced everyone to do basic journalism again, and the first thing you do in basic journalism is check your preconceptions at the door," says Karen Tumulty, Time magazine's national political correspondent, who was on the abortion beat for the Los Angeles Times when the series came out.

Tuesday, 2 August 2005 - 9:20 PM PDT

Before I came to work for the Los Angeles Times as its book editor in 1985, I knew almost no one at the newspaper except Art Seidenbaum, who had published my work, and David Shaw, whom I had met through his friend Steven Englund. David learned that I was under consideration to be Art's successor before I did (which was his way with such news, of course), and he phoned to say that he had put in a word for me with Bill Thomas. I tried to inquire diplomatically what that word was. He cut me off in mid-sentence with a phrase that might have been "fucking intellectual" but was continued by something like "and I told him we could use one around here." Then came a little story about his courtship of Ellen Torgerson, when the two of them, worried about being seen together in public by Times brass, knew that they could attend any play or concert in perfect safety. Cultural events were one place, he said, where you NEVER had to worry about running into Times brass. This was served up as fair warning to me, just as, I'm sure, "fucking genius" or whatever was served up as fair warning to Bill. But who but David would have conveyed his message in quite this way?
What a wonderful, passionate, bone-honest, loyal, and generous friend and colleague! zikharono leberacha, requiescat in pace. Jack Miles

Tuesday, 2 August 2005 - 10:59 PM PDT

I first met David some twenty years ago at the Gourmet Room at the Sheraton Plaza La Reina near LAX. We were both there to experience Roy Yamaguchi's innovative cuisine, before Roy went on to greater fame and fortune.

My wife, Willette, and I last saw David, with Lucy, six weeks ago at Providence—Michael Cimarusti's dazzlingly exciting new restaurant on Melrose.

In between, we encountered David at many memorable restaurants, from Sona to Spago, from Patina to Valentino, from Jean-Louis, and Citronelle, in Washington DC, to many other cities and compelling events. David always knew where to go before the word was out.

We crossed swords on occasion because of our divergent views on a variety of issues. But our paths thankfully crossed frequently because of a common passion for food and wine. While we frequently disagreed on matters of politics and journalism, we shared an appetite for ideas—and we both loved Fredy Girardet!

David was one of a kind. His obsessive passion for dining was unique. We learned much from him and his articles. We'll miss him.

Wednesday, 3 August 2005 - 7:58 AM PDT

I am writing in the first shock of this sad news, to send my appreciation of David, and my condolences to his family. When I worked as a reporter for the Los Angeles Times from 1975-83, I was one of the lucky ones: David was a great colleague and good friend, and thanks be to God he never skewered me in his stories. Aside from that inexplicable lapse, he was a completely honest and objective reporter. It is hard to do what he did, and he did it with great aplomb. We worked together during the days of Patty Hearst and the Chowchilla kidnapping, when Ted Thackeray spun stories that sometimes were actually true, and Al Martinez tried relentlessly, and unsuccessfully, to seduce the one or two women who were allowed to work as reporters at the Times. Alongside these Front Page types were the newbies like David and me, who really believed in the credo of objectivity, independence from fear or favor, etc. Despite our friendship, which spanned 30 years, I didn't know until reading his obituary today about David's modest origins. He certainly became a suave and worldly character. I have to tell a story that is absolutely true, and pretty outrageous. When I joined the Washington bureau in 1977, our newsroom friendship turned into an occasional gossipy dinner in New York or Washington. It was always an educational experience, filled with exotic delicacies that I would not have imagined. In the midst of our laments about the press and politics, lubricated by exquisite wines, David and I would look up and there would be the celebrated chef, joining us for a few minutes at the table. The entire evening usually consisted of delicacies that were off the menu, created for us personally by this chef. The most memorable dinner was at Jean Louis at the Watergate. The entire restaurant was closed except for us. David warned me that what we were going to do was probably illegal. We were young and foolish; now I hope we would be held back by a more evolved sense of environmental responsiblity. But then, I just didn't believe in advance what he told me would happen. We were to be served "ortolans," a kind of sparrow from France that is not supposed to be served any more (endangered? I hope not). The chef came out and chatted with us for a while. Then the wait staff came and placed immaculate linen napkins over our heads, covering our faces. Then they served a platter of spattering hot little morsels, fatty and crisp. The deal was you put the whole tiny bird in your mouth at once, and it was so hot and juicy that it was hard to maintain decorum etc. so the napkin enabled you to chew, and dribble juice, or whatever, in relative modesty. With these silly napkins on our heads, we ate these succulent little illegal treats. Our last lunch was in 2003, when I came to Los Angeles on business. Of all the friends at the Times that I wanted to see, I wanted most of all to hear what David thought about the state of journalism. I should have known better. Soon we descended into a three-hour, wine-soaked, and ultimately incapacitating lunch at a nearby restaurant drawing on a cellar of his own personal wine. Now that he is gone, I can only wonder what he would have thought of the roasted scorpions on a skewer that I encountered in Beijing last month. In closing, I salute my unique and unforgettable friend, a colleague whose standards were always higher than everyone else's, and who worked effectively to make us do our best while still enjoying life. --Ellen Hume, director, Center on Media and Society, UMass Boston

Wednesday, 3 August 2005 - 10:00 AM PDT

David and I became good friends when I was a young professor of journalism at Cal State Long Beach 1969-74. I was the founder and editor of The Review of Southern California Journalism. I believe that he was on the only LAT staffer who ever wrote for the publication, a stunning expose of the LAT and other major papers in certifying that a man claiming to be Howard Hughes was genuine. By phone, the man conducted a press conference, answering questions by reporters that supposedly could be answered only by Hughes. The LAT, the New York Times and other papers published stories testifying to the conclusion that it WAS Howard Hughes. David clearly established that it had established no such thing--that the man cliaming to be Hughes got a number of "facts" wrong and what he did not get wrong could easily have been known by someone other than Hughes. He also helped me to recruit a friend of his to write a cover story on food critics, a precursor to his own piece a few years later in The Times.
My wife and I shared his agony when he divorced his first wife. I learned of his vulnerable and sentimental side that few knew about or would have guessed existed.
When I moved to Philadelpia in '74 to work for the Philadelphia Inquirer, the close relationship continued. When his relationship with Ellen Torgerson became public, he brought her to Philadelphia to meet us. David asked me to arrange for lunch, which I did at a good young restaurant called The Frog.
The lunch continued into the late afternoon, when at last my wife and I pleaded that we could consume no more and retreated to our home to crawl into bed in splendid misery.
Our recovery was interupted by a phone call from David, informing us that he had made reservations for the four of us that evening at the renowned Le Bec Fin, then Philadelphia's top-rated restaurant. I doubt that we would have accepted a free meal with the Queen of England that evening, but we knew that with David a meal was more than just a meal. We rejoined the two of them in short order and continued the most monumental one-day feast of a lifetime.

Wednesday, 3 August 2005 - 11:26 AM PDT

For a short time, I sat in a cubicle near to Mr. Shaw when I first arrived at The Times in 1999. I was an art director at my first major newspaper. His phone was set to the loudest ring (and rang alot especially when he was not there); when he was at his desk, he talked with great energy in volume and opinion (I knew exactly where he stood on many topics); and he was very intense (dinner plans, Dodger tickets, and family). Even many years after I moved on from that space, he was always kind and said hello to me in the halls. I am very sad that such a wonderful and sweet person, with that funny turtle picture in his cubicle, is gone.

ml

Thursday, 4 August 2005 - 7:41 AM PDT

Friends,
I couldn't believe my eyes when I opened up the New York Times yesterday and read of David's death. We had just spoken a scant two months ago -- with no sign that he was ill. All seemed to be well.
David was a friend and colleague from afar for more than 30 years. As a member of the Washington bureau of the Los Angeles Times, I did not see him in person very often -- but we spoke frequently, sometimes on stories that he was reporting, more often on the joys and perils of raising our children -- especially as they entered their teenage years. He was so crazy about Lucas, and so proud of him! (He swore his son would never see the inside of a McDonald's!)
I left the Times in 2001, but spoke no less often to David, most recently as part of my research as a doctoral fellow at UMd's college of journalism. He always had time for me and I for him....
I still can't believe it.
I know there are some (particularly other journalists who may have been stung by his always insightful writing) who may have found him arrogant, even alienating.
I found him courageous and endearing.
Marlene Cimons

Thursday, 4 August 2005 - 9:38 AM PDT

What a loss. The irreplaceable Shaw was one of the most adventurous, obsessed, funny, imaginative, outrageous, and most wildly generous people I've ever known.

I met David shortly after the death of his wife Ellen, when he was in his early 40s . At that time, he was astonished to be alive at all, since most of the male members on both sides of his family had died around age 40. I often thought this was one of the reasons for his extraordinary zest for life. A zest that could be exhausting for his companions, but was contagious and life-affirming.

In those days, as a starving artist who loved to cook, I frequently gave lavish dinner parties, but on the cheap, and David, terrified that he'd be forced to drink some bad champagne or other rotgut , would always arrive (after checking out what was on the menu ) with a case or two of incredible wines. I drank wines with David that I had only heard of, and never expected to drink, like that stunning 78 Jordan Cabernet. And of course, David knew the Jordans personally. He knew everybody personally, it seemed to me.

Over the years, every time I planned a trip somewhere, I'd give Shaw a call and he'd tell me where to stay and where to eat. He was never wrong.

We can imagine what he's doing right now: busily arranging some daring feast with Lucullus, James Beard, and Careme. Ortolans might be involved.

Thursday, 4 August 2005 - 12:31 PM PDT

I only knew David Shaw through his byline, most recently in the Food section - but his were the pieces I most eagerly read. Always richly-written, well-thought through essays that more often than not I'd clip and send to other foodie friends. His insistence on eating (and drinking) well, on breaking bread with friends, and on broaching no PC SoCal claptrap (no smoking after a fine meal? Pah!) were inspiring. Just in May I was compelled to write him after his hilarious account of trying to find decent pizza in L.A. Who knew he was so sick? His vigor for life came through in his copy, and his sudden and tragic death only seems to validate his outlook of living fully in the moment. What a terrible loss to his family and friends, but also to his many readers. I'm sure I won't be the only one to raise a glass of something better than I can afford, and to light up a post-prandial cigar in his honor.

Thursday, 4 August 2005 - 5:59 PM PDT

David never held anything back, whether it was criticism or praise or one of those amazing sneezes that I swear could rattle glassware on the other side of the restaurant. He was tough, but he was fair and you always knew where you stood with him. And if you disagreed, he was more than happy to engage you in a civilized, open-minded discussion. I can think of few higher compliments I've received than an "OK, fair enough" from David. He was also probably the most reflexively generous person I've ever known. Make a lunch date--no matter where--and he would always bring something truly outrageous that he just knew you'd want to taste. I'm afraid we'll not see his likes again.

Thursday, 4 August 2005 - 6:42 PM PDT

I first met David when I worked as a Times copy boy in summer 1972. David was a g.a. reporter assigned nights, one of three (oe maybe it was 2?) reporters sitting in the cavernous former third-floor newsroom until midnight waiting for a calamity to cover. Most evenings, he would just sit there with his telephone headset on, hour after hour. I finally decided one slow night to ask him why he always seemed to be working on a story when there never appeared anything in print the next morning. He laughed heartily! Turns out, he was listening to Dodger broadcasts through an arrangement by his wife, who placed a radio next to the phone at home. The concrete walls of 220 South Spring St., aka Times Mirror Square, are too thick to permit decent radio reception. David truly was catholic in his interests and talents; above all, he treated people below him with dignity and kindness. God surely has granted him eternal peace.

Friday, 5 August 2005 - 10:40 AM PDT

I eat steak once a year with friends at Black Angus.I may give the nod to a fine Chablis but more often than not settle for the"4 buck Chuck" from Trader Joe.
Coming from traditional Chennai, South India, Western food is still a novelty, even though I have lived in Los Angeles for 15 years and travel to Europe frequently.
But what I found irresistible about Western cuisine, was the weekly column of David Shaw. I drooled over the restuarant meals he partook, participated joyously in his forays into his distinguished wine cellar,traveled with him to bucolic locations in search of the perfect truffles, frowned on his disparaging remarks at times about guests/winelists/chefs,
and could not wait to read his column the next week.
It is with great sadness that I say farewell to a wonderful table companion whom I never met.

Friday, 5 August 2005 - 11:06 AM PDT

I was media spokesperson for The Times during the nasty nineties, when everything but a locust invasion hit Southern California and The Times. And if anyone could be expected to view the company "flack" skeptically, it would be Media Critic David Shaw.

But early on, out of the blue and certainly unsolicited, David contacted me to let me know that he respected me and how I was doing my job. That meant a great deal to me. Earning his respect meant that I was doing things right. It was among the things that helped keep me centered through some horrendously difficult years at The Times (need I give specific details of all that happened?). David was among the first to show up at my office doorstep when my departure was announced.

I never asked David what specifically he thought I'd done well. I was afraid that if I did, he'd realize that he'd confused my work with someone else's!

David and I had lunch during the Staples flap. Speaking as a pr person, I told David that I couldn't believe how stupid it was for the female publisher at the time to say publicly that she had "a fundamental misunderstanding of journalistic ethics." David simply said, "But it's true."

I will surely miss what David called his "prickly congeniality". And journalism will surely miss his relentless, full-tilt-boogy tenacity when it came to uncovereing truths.

Laura Morgan
lauramorgan1@sbcglobal.net

Friday, 5 August 2005 - 12:31 PM PDT

I never met David Shaw... but since I moved back to Los Angeles a couple of years ago, I thoroughly enjoyed reading his column in the Food Section of the LA Times. His articles grabbed me – they made me think, laugh, nod my head in agreement – they were the columns that I forwarded to and talked about with my friends and family. He was so on the mark! I appreciated the way he mixed strong opinions, depth of knowledge, and humor in his pieces.

On several occasions, I was so engaged with what he wrote that I emailed my thanks/thoughts/comments to him. He always replied graciously.

His enthusiasm for fine wine and food was delightful. I wish I could have invited him & his wife Lucy over for a “simple” meal so that I could meet him in person… and enjoy one of his fantastic bottles of wine. I'm sure that it would have been a memorable meal... well, at least for me.

The force of his personality came through in his writing, and though I never met him, he touched me through his passionate writing about subjects near and dear to my heart. I will miss his columns.

I extend my deepest sympathy to his family and friends.

Monday, 8 August 2005 - 7:15 PM PDT

I worked with David for the last two years on his Sunday Calendar column, Media Matters. Every Wednesday we had the same routine of me making a proof for him to read and make trims, changes, etc., so he always ended up at my desk. But I also often spoke with him during the week about the topics he wrote about, and it was always an interesting discussion. I also enjoyed talking food with him -- I still want to visit the places he cited in 2004 as selling the best hot dogs in the L.A. region. Finally, I enjoyed reading his weekly food and wine column because it was clear he had a great passion for both. In my first week here just over two years ago, I told him how I had read his coverage of the Staples Center incident cover to cover, and he went on to tell me all about how he came to get that assignment. I'll always remember his smiling face.

Friday, 12 August 2005 - 11:32 PM PDT

I am so sad to lose David, one of the world's very special people. When David first came to the Times, Bill Thomas took my husband, John, aside and asked him to help David (who had a feisty streak)get acquainted...so began a long friendship. An early memory is of visiting David and wife Alice and being shown David's office, which had a bulletin board posting laudatory letters and notices of awards. After John commented about this "brag-board," David showed him the backside of the office door, which was totally covered with rejection letters. So much for the notion of David as egotist; he had a healthy perspective on his place in the world. We were fortunate to share good times with David, Ellen, Chris and Jordie. When the time came for us to meet Lucy, David arranged a meal at St.Estephe, whose owner/chef was (of course) a friend. David expansively told the chef, "we'll eat off the menu; just bring us dinner." Well, it was indeed a magnificent meal, including several desserts and wines.....and the bill came to over $800, shocking even the unflappable David, who wrote the chef a two-page, single-spaced letter listing the menus and prices of meals he'd eaten in fine restaurants the world over. (He kept fastidious records.) The bill wasn't changed; we didn't go to that restaurant again. We did continue to dine out, alternating fancy and inexpensive restaurants (which David also enjoyed, if they served good food.) One we went to Citrus, where David played a prank on John, conniving with the chef to present a grossly inflated bill. John enjoyed the joke and the friendship survived. I have enjoyed reading David's writing on all subjects and will feel pangs on Wednesdays and Sundays when his name is missing from the paper.

Monday, 15 August 2005 - 10:55 AM PDT

Among David’s many virtues was his healthy sense of humor, which was coupled with his not taking himself too seriously. That is, he took his work very seriously, but was never pompous about himself. For example, I doubt that any other Pulitzer-Prize winner would have told any of his friends the story of his misadventure as he went up to the Silicon Valley at the beginning of the dot com bubble to research one of his long pieces, on the effect the then-new Internet might have on traditional print media.

David called me a few times as he started working on the story, since I was a part of the editorial team putting together the content for the Excite search engine. Naturally, I asked him where he intended to eat. I’d been to Excite’s office in Mountain View, so I knew that the area was something of a culinary desert, at least, by David’s standards. The 20-year-olds at Excite thought burritos at La Fiesta were an upscale treat; their standard fare could be deduced from the moldering pizza boxes that littered their offices. David had already figured it out, naturally: he was flying to San Francisco, eating there, spending the night, and driving down to the Silicon Valley in the morning.

A few days later I called to check on what he’d learned. Before he would talk about his interviews, he wanted to tell me what had happened on the way down to Sunnyvale and Mountain View.

I don’t remember which great San Francisco restaurant enjoyed the pleasure of his company, but David said he woke up feeling blah, a rarity for a guy with what always seemed to be a cast-iron stomach. Moreover, he said that he’d woken up a few times in the middle of the night having to pee…another unusual occurrence.

With his sport jacket flung over the back of the seat, he was driving down 101, in that desolate area around what was then called Candlestick Park, when he realized he simply had to pee. Right then. He pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway, and walked around to the right side of the car to do his business, opening the front and rear car doors to act as barriers against the stiff breeze.

As he was relieving himself, two things happened more or less simultaneously: one of the car doors blew shut, and as the powerful wind blew his stream of urine onto his pants, he heard a man’s voice, a deep, stern, accusatory man’s voice: “What do you think you’re doing?”

Instinctively, he turned toward the sound. Naturally, his stream of urine went in the same direction. David was at that point peeing on a spot a few inches from the polished boots of a California Highway Patrol officer.

He stopped peeing as quickly as he could, and began an explanation of the dire physical circumstances that brought him to the side of the road, as well as the larger issue of what he was doing on 101. It didn’t hurt that he was a reporter for the Los Angeles Times, or that he could point to his spattered pants and wonder out loud how he was going to be able to conduct his day’s worth of interviews.

The cop heard David out and waved him away. As David turned to trudge to the car, the cop began to guffaw, and said, “You have a bigger problem than those piss stains.”

David had many, varied interests, but men’s fashion was never one of them. He was wearing one of his pre-Lucy pairs of pants, an ancient garment which, he suddenly learned, had split neatly down the rear seam. There he was: urine on the front, underwear showing in the rear.

After I’d stopped laughing, I asked him if he’d found a store to buy himself clean trousers. He didn’t have time, he said. He had five interviews stacked up – more than he liked to schedule in a day.

Well, I asked, how did it go? I wasn't inquiring about content. Luckily, he said, his sport jacket was long enough to cover much of the split seam in back, and the dark wool trousers didn’t show a stain in front. Not one person seemed to notice anything unusual about him. I told him that the quality of personal hygiene I’d observed among the kids working up there was low, even measured by Animal House standards.

In the years that followed, Lucy helped shape up David’s wardrobe. She didn’t have to do anything about his sense of humor, though, except enjoy it as much as the rest of us.

Tuesday, 16 August 2005 - 9:34 AM PDT

I was the copy editor for most of David’s series in Metro, starting with the one that won the Pulitzer and culminating in the Staples project. Someone might handle one day’s installment if I was off, but otherwise I did them all.

Since we didn’t share the same hours (David worked days, I worked nights) or the same refined culinary palate (a shortcoming on my part), I rarely saw him except when a project was in the pipeline. Then I would get peeled off from my other tasks on the Metro Desk and do David full-time.

David was a bricks and mortar writer who did bricks and mortar stories. He was the last person in the world to fall hopelessly in love with some stilted or contrived turn of phrase, or indulge in a precious, eccentric voice, let alone launch World War III when someone had the good sense to throw it out. He never once asked for a “writer’s dispensation” to break the rules of grammar or Times style. But David’s stories were, like bricks and mortar, solid and thorough. I can think of many reporters who could take a lesson from him.

As Bill Thomas pointed out at the memorial, regardless of the length of David’s stories, they were always pruned, sometimes greatly. Sidebars frequently vanished, two parts would be combined into one and truncated. I never heard a single word of complaint from him. He welcomed the tightening that came with copy editing and responded to questions quickly and completely. And he was always thankful for any challenges.

(One time, David and I were discussing Shelby Coffey III via Decade and his reply to one message was: “Oh fuck, I just sent that to Shelby.” I don’t know how David recovered from that, but I’m sure that he did).

(I also recall David’s valiant but unsuccessful attempt to interview Pope John Paul II by noting that they were both of Polish heritage—I believe this is when I learned that “Shaw” had been abridged from “Warshawsky”).

David was famous for following his stories through the editing system until they made print. I can see him even now walking quickly and purposefully either down to the composing room or back to his desk in Metro with a fist full of page proofs. One of my enduring memories is having the “Reg” go out with four daggers on Page 1 because of changes we had to make in David’s story for an edition that almost nobody ever saw.

All of David’s stories were handled through personal baskets in the Decade/Coyote system, so that nobody else could access them. The way the system worked, I got the story from David, edited it and sent it to be slotted. Once it was changed, I could no longer retrieve it. And so it was for the next person, all the way to publication. I recall an instance in which one story finally hit a public basket when it was composed. Someone in the composing room, using the “Makeup” utility profile, got the live version of the story on deadline and we had to rush around to get them off of it.

David’s sense of security, if not paranoia, reached its zenith with the Staples story. Five of us—me, slot Mike Castelvecchi, page designer Steve Mitchell, editor George Cotliar and David—were given keys to an office in another part of the building to work on the series. It was a terrific experience on a turning point in the history of The Times.

At one point, David had all of us listen to his recording of an interview with Katherine Downing to make sure he quoted her accurately. I have the vague notion that in the process, David “did something” in operating the recorder so that our discussion taped over a later part of an interview. I’m not positive, but I certainly recall a discussion to that effect. (And yes, I still have the key to that office—I’m sure the locks have been changed, but it’s my little souvenir of the Staples project. I wonder what became of all of David’s recordings. I hope somebody saves them).

Of all the stories I handled from David, one line has particularly stayed with me. As journalists, “We line up the experts and bracket the truth.” And of course that’s what we have done in recalling him. I never saw him as a father or a husband or a gastronome. But I will always remember working with him as a writer.

Larry Harnisch

Tuesday, 23 August 2005 - 10:42 AM PDT

I did not know David Shaw, but felt like I came to truly know him through his soul-baring and captivating column. How else to explain my overwhelming sadness on learning of his demise.

I am saddened to think I will no longer be able to look forward to the return of his ramblings and his latest adventures in food and wine.

I want to extend my deepest condolences to his devoted wife Lucy and his son, Lucas and especially my gratitude for all the many pleasurable moments he brought us each week.

Although, many of his rants are indelibly imprinted on my psyche, I would love to see a compilation of his writings forever memorialized in book form.

What a fabulous feast and tasty tribute that would be to this well-seasoned aficionado of life.

Saturday, 1 October 2005 - 8:42 AM PDT

I must have been out of the planet when this happened. Just found out now, an am profoundly saddened. We were, for many years, kindred spirits among the resident bad guys. Those were the days....

Thursday, 11 May 2006 - 3:46 PM PDT

David Shaw and I first met around 1960. We were both just out of high school and while I was looking for a part-time job to earn a few bucks for college, David was looking for a newspaper on which to start his career. He told me many times -- with supreme confidence -- bordering on arrogance -- that he would eventually be a sports writer for the L. A. Times.

Meantime, we were both working for a very local motorcycle weekly called the "Scrambler" and later "Motorcycle News." We were based in Compton, where I grew up (and I believe he did also) which even then was no "garden spot." Our little weekly was given away at motorcycle shops around the L.A. area. It stayed alive by "subscriptions" the shop payed the owner/manager, Charlie Schott. And less than lucritive advertisements.

I was mainly "office boy" and swept up, delivered papers, answered the phone, etc. Occasionally, I was able to use my minimal high school newspaper feature-page experience to cover a race. But David was alread the "pro" even if it got a little tiring to hear about it all the time. But it was true that without his speed at covering the Sunday races for the Wednesday edition, there would have been no paper.

We were not buddies. Although we went for burgers together and shot the breeze. And I do remember one "hair-raising" trip back from a mountain motorcycle event. David was "driving." I was frightened for my life. He seemed oblivous to the risks he was taking. From the moment that I relaxed and said to myself "If you die now, you die now" I was never afraid to be a passenger in a car again. Thanks David!

At that time what impressed me so much about David was his "cock-sure" attitude that he was going to be a LA Times sports writer. On the other hand I was completely uncertain of my future.

Then the newspaper changed hands and the new boss and I didn't get along. I was fired. The first and last for me, but it still hurt.

After that I didn't have time to keep an eye out for David's future accomplishements...In fact I only heard of him when he was awarded the Pulitzer for his coverage of the Times coverage of the McMartin Case. Then I would occasionally see him on television, mostly deriding the "food police." It was certain that he had found another passion,ie. gourmet food, other than journalism.

My brother, who works for the City of Santa Monica, asked me to lunch a year or two ago. We went to a somewhat "upscale" fish place in Venice. And over lunch, he mentioned that he had been reading one of David's pieces in the Times -- "Wasn't that the guy you worked with on the motorcycle newspaper?" I confirmed that it was and we discussed him briefly and as we were leaving I noticed David sitting two booths away with a male friend/colleague and I turned around and introduced myself. He remembered me, although the years have not been too kind and we briefly chatted about his careeer and his Pulitzer (which he modestly responded too.) He told me briefly of his wife and (I believe) grown son.

A year or so later I happened to see the announcement of his death in the Times. At that time I planned to write up my "little" story of how "our" journalism career got started. But you know the rest. Today I stumbled upon this site while strolling through the obits. I'm glad I found it and had a chance to add my experience of an "early" David for his family and others.

Tuesday, 31 October 2006 - 10:56 AM PST

I heard of David's passing yesterday from one of our oldest customers based in LA who owns a restaurant with his son.  I did not work with David.  But I do have a memorable story about David...

I contacted David in the fall of 2004 via email.  I remembered David wrote a poignant article a year or so earlier on a winery that I consulted for.  I was hoping David would write an article on the winery I own.  My email caught his attention as he responded quickly.  His editor had a Paso Robles theme that might correlate with the wines I was producing.  We exchanged a couple emails.  Then a couple phone calls.  Then in order to meet David's deadline David suggested we have lunch in LA and taste some of the wines in person.  My wife and I whisked down to Studio City in the middle of harvest to dine with David at Pinot Bistro.  It was a whitty lunch to say the least!  Lots of questions.  Lots of enthusiasm.  A little sarcasm.  A little humor.  All in all, a very memorable time together.  I brought some books with me that David had requested for the article.  David never promised me the article would be printed in the Food Section.  David was always reminding me the story might not be approved by his editor.  If I remember correctly, David was taking his son to a Dodgers game later that night and he was in a bit of a hurry to get back to the office before the game.  That was the only time I met him.  We shared a passion for the Dodgers and sports teams in general.  I'm sure we shared other passions for great wine and great restaurants.  There was a very intellectual chemistry between us somehow.  I would like to say David was the first professional journalist to write a story on my winery and my family.  I will be forever grateful for his time, professionalism and buying my wife and me lunch!  David's article on Clos Mimi appeared in the 13 October 2004 issue.  I stayed in touch with David after the column was printed.  Mostly via email.  I remember he helped me obtain the email address for a sommelier at Spago Beverly Hills.  Very sad to realize David would pass away less than a year later!

The bitter irony about David's passing is the fact that one of the owners (Mark Estrin) of the winery whom I consulted for died from brain cancer the 14th of May 2005.  David knew Mark well as both lived in LA and both shared a passion for food and wine.  Mark had battled brain cancer for a couple years surviving multiple surgeries at UCLA.  Mark was 57.

Sadly,

Tim