Trying to imagine life without Gene Lyons’ columns

By Carlton Fletcher

Mama put my guns in the ground, I can’t shoot them anymore.

— Bob Dylan

I read the words, rubbed my eyes, then read them again. I’m still having trouble digesting them.

In searching the Andrews McMeel Syndicate sight for content this week, I came across this message: “Columnist Gene Lyons has decided to end his long-time weekly opinion feature. The final column available will be for release Jan. 29, 2025.”

As a faithful reader of Lyons’ columns these last several years, I can’t say I was exactly surprised. The writer had endured serious health issues last year before gamely coming back and continuing the column that has become, for many, a weekly pleasure. But the mere thought of no more Gene Lyons columns was as sobering as it was sad.

Lyons, for those who choose not to read his columns in The Herald each week — “He’s too liberal …” “He has no right to say that about our president …” “He’s not as clever as he thinks he is …” is an Arkansas Democrat-Gazette columnist whose columns are syndicated across the country. He is, at heart, an unabashed liberal, but like the really great columnists working today, he doesn’t let his political views get in the way of common sense.

The fact that he boldly takes on the ultra-conservative (read that Trump-loving redneck) bunch that governs Arkansas with Trump-like disdain for right or wrong (looking at you, Sarah Sanders) proves that he has the courage eschewed by most of his contemporaries.

Lyons is indeed clever, his impeccable command of the English language and his wit unmatched among the contemporaries who typically fawn over the people they write about in an effort to curry favor or to gain access. He says each week, in print, all the things we wish we could say to these feckless elected and appointed officials whose primary concerns are 1) Trump, 2) self and 3) party.

This talented columnist has the capacity to wring passionate emotional responses out of his words: anger, laughter, bitterness, compassion, and even pure joy. As his readers — this guy among them — eagerly devour his columns each week with the anticipation that they’re in for a special treat, rarely are they disappointed. It’s a rare Gene Lyons column that doesn’t elicit some kind of visceral response.

Of course, like those of us who are left to mourn after a dear friend or loved one is laid to rest, Lyons’ departure evokes in those of us who are of the baby boom generation the reality that time has marched on. Yes, we will miss his eloquent words each week, but deep down we ask ourselves, “How many more weeks do we have left?”

Lyons is leaving the profession that he practiced so well at the top of his game. He’s more like a Michael Jordan pulling the plug on his career while he’s still, though a step slower, the best at what he does. I think I much prefer that to seeing Mike Tyson running around the ring with a guy half his age, convinced that he actually can still win a fight by people who only want to cash in on his name. As the Bible (and the Byrds) said, “To everything, there is a season.”

So my life now is destined to be one devoid of my weekly Gene Lyons fix. I’ll move on. But I will go back and re-read many of his best works (is there a “greatest hits” compilation out there somewhere? If not, why?), and I will be amazed at the gifts and passion he brought to his writing. And I will offer this warning to any who would try to use the great writer’s offerings as a template on which they might build their own following: Don’t even try. There’s only been — and will only ever be — one Gene Lyons.

Godspeed, sir. Relax with your family, your cats, your dogs. You’ve earned it.