Tasked with covering the lives of others, journalists often find ourselves handicapped when we have to look inwards. So it is with Gail Massy, a true member of the T&T media family who passed away last Monday night after a short illness.
Some didn't even know she was ailing, ultimate testimony of her intense sense of privacy, which those of us who worked closely with her at the Express, and no doubt those at Lonsdale Saatchi and Saatchi, would have known. Some of us knew and made discreet enquiries about her well-being, aware that she preferred no flourish, drama or spectacle.It was one of the many surprises about Gail–a love of mass media coupled with unrelenting privacy.
In the world of newspaper journalism, members of the newsroom staff whose bylines are published are naturally the better known personalities, some elevated to notoriety by politicians and courtrooms, making them the subjects of their own stories. Those in the background, among them sub-editors, who take over responsibility for newspaper pages after the editor determines and assigns the content, remain generally unknown and unrecognised.
As a sub-editor, Gail was meticulous and professional. It seems she saw every punctuation mark, every extra spacing, every hint of libel and poor taste, every triple-deck headline, every photo border and every caption tag.
Writers and sub-editors have a complex relationship; fear and admiration co-exist on each piece of copy and one never knows, in this 24-hour job, whether the morning will be filled with explosive spats between a writer or editor and a sub-editor or whether a superb compliment will be due. Indeed, journalism lore abounds with stories of that relationship in all newspapers, perhaps throughout the history of newspapers.
Many writers and editors refuse to turn their backs on pages for fear that their vision of a story will be warped by a sub-editor's layout the next morning. (I will leave it to the sub-editors to record their thoughts about us.) There are few sub-editors in the business to whom I, for example, will hand over a page and turn my back. Gail was one of them.
This was known to everyone who ever handed a page to her, among them the late Wayne Brown, whose In Our Time Express column was among Gail's regular pages. She and Wayne developed a fast friendship over that page over the years.
Her exactness manifested in the look of her pages; she liked straight, neat, streamlined designs, copy in perfect alignment, definite borders and, although I cannot say so scientifically, I imagine it would be near impossible to locate a single orphan or widow in any of the thousands of pages she designed over her many years in newspaper journalism.
Those professional characteristics translated directly from her personal attributes; in dress, speech and manner she was measured, impeccable and precise. From hair to glasses and make-up, Gail always looked properly turned out. Her speech was slow and gentle and as I write this line my heart breaks from the memory of it.
Media people, drowning in information every day, are notorious gossips; I often feel that in this regard we are our worst enemies and when the subjects of our stories complain about sensationalism, invasion of privacy and all the things they dislike about mass media, I think they don't know that we are worse unto ourselves.
In a newsroom saturated with gossip about every imaginable thing, Gail stood apart and above it all. It was another of her surprising qualities. Again, although I cannot say so scientifically, I would venture that no one in the business can recall an instant when she wash she mouth on them, say they hear Gail say so and so, or that Gail was minding any business other than her own.
Everyone who knew her can testify fulsomely about her work ethic; she worked hard on weekdays, weekends and holidays; she worked longer hours than most in this abusive industry; and she worked well.In addition to her work on newspaper pages and Lonsdale publications, Gail's name survives her on many publications for Cafra, the Rape Crisis Society, Workingwomen, and several other NGOs.
Whenever I had a publication to do, I'd call her first, and she would deliver voluntarily, on time, content flawlessly proofread, copy in perfect alignment. That was her public service; she never said no when I asked.
Her talent transcended sub-editing. In another Gail surprise, she was an avid astronomer and among her hobbies was the theory of relativity; we still joke that she was the only journalist who could understand Prof Stephan Gift. She wrote quite a bit on both topics; those survive her too.
Whether I spoke with Gail often or not, I was sure to get a birthday greeting every year without fail. I don't recall when that started, but I came to expect it. Eventually I would joke in response to her greeting: "Well, my birthday start now." She did this up to February this year; I received the customary greeting via text.
So each birthday henceforth, Gail, I will remember you and when I do not get that ping on my phone, I will miss you, grieve for you, and wish you the best day in the best place. Farewell, my friend.