CARLTON FLETCHER: A farewell to one of the last of the old-time journalists

“I have no fear of death, it brings no sorrow, But how bitter will be this last farewell.”

— Roger Whittaker

In what I’ll always think of as the “Golden Days” at The Albany Herald, when a group would start telling those boy-girl stories that everyone has, my buddy Barry Levine would just listen, taking it all in. Then, inevitably, when the stories ran out, Levine would clear his throat and you just knew some bit of the Yankee wisdom he was known for was about to follow.

On so many occasions that it became one of the Levine-isms that those of us who knew Barry best came to use as well, often trying to beat him to the punch when the timing was right, Levine would say, “I got my memories.”

It breaks my heart to think that now, when it comes to Levine, who created a second life for himself in this business that he loved so well as The Herald’s “Old Rocker” columnist, I can only say I’ve got my memories.

Levine, whose health has been declining for the last few years, left us last week, and if I know Levine, he’s probably out in a cornfield in Iowa somewhere, trying to get Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford and some of the other New York Yankee immortals that he covered when he worked at newspapers in New Jersey together for an impromptu pickup game.

Levine loved the Yankees. He loved baseball best, but for him, baseball was the Yankees. Up until a few years ago, he purchased his season tickets to the Bronx Zoo each year for when he took a few days off and went up to that sacred place to watch a game or two. Plus, it should be noted, that season ticket holders also had the first dibs on playoff tickets, and Levine took advantage of that fact to make sure either he or some close pals got the opportunity to cheer on the Bombers as they sought yet another pennant.

Levine and I had this oddly wonderful relationship. He taught me so much about the newspaper business, and I’d like to think that I at least reciprocated a little bit by teaching him about the South. He mixed his newspaper witticisms with elements of his Jewish heredity and created a persona that was larger than life. He tended to rub those upstarts in the business who felt they knew everything already and didn’t need his input the wrong way, but those of us who worked closest with him knew he had a heart of gold and only wanted to help anyone willing to learn.

Laura Williams, a former Herald copy desk editor/designer, was closest to Levine. Even after moving to metro Atlanta and later Americus to take teaching jobs, she stayed in close contact, visited Levine often and even helped him get his columns ready for publication each week after health complications made it difficult for him to manage on his own. Theirs was a relationship every father of a certain age would love to have with his daughter.

When those of us who knew him talked about or with Levine, we’d always laugh at his many trademark bon mots. One of my favorite, which is rendered kind of sad now with his passing, was, “I’m here, but I’m not doing great. In fact, they got my picture down at Hall and Oates (it was actually Hall and Hall, but Levine was always the music man) Funeral Home saying, ‘Coming attractions.’”

It was Levine who tipped me over the edge in making a decision to go to Woodstock with my son Steve back in 1999 for the 30th anniversary of the famed festival. Levine went to many of the old-time New York-area showcase events that featured ’50s and ’60s rock and roll royalty, and he even helped promote some of those shows. Knowing my history of rarely traveling outside the South, Levine bet me the cost of a Woodstock ticket (they were $150) that I wouldn’t go. I think he was proud to pay up because it meant that I had left my comfort zone and experienced one of those once-in-a-lifetime events that I look back on now as one of the most memorable of my life.

After he left The Herald, I often visited Levine at his northwest Albany apartment. The photos he had on the walls of his living room were a priceless shrine to the Yankees, photos of himself enjoying some of the hijinks of the greatest players ever to play the game. I would just sit and stare at those photos, taking in all the details, and it was obvious Levine loved that I appreciated not only the collection but the fact that he played his own little part in that Yankee dynasty (including snagging a champagne bottle from the Yankee dressing room before the raucous players arrived to celebrate another World Series-clinching victory).

In reading the obituary Levine’s family put together to mark his passing, the last line touched me deeply and confirmed for me that his family had followed his wishes. The obit read: “It was Barry’s request that any of his longtime friends go out and have a good dinner in his memory and remember the good times.”

I’ll remember the good times with Levine. And my world — as well as the worlds of people who knew and loved Levine and the many who read the Old Rocker columns that he was so proud of — will be a little less full without him in it. As I think of Barry on his eternal journey, I think of the admonition he used to offer to any of his companions as they ended another work day … an admonition that I’d offer Levine himself right now: “Go straight home.”