The hack* community said goodbye to a legend last night, Mike Magee, the Keith Richards of IT journalism, co-founder of the Register and founder of the Inquirer.
Mike's a tough old hack of the old school. He tak es no prisoners and has an attitude which alternately horrifies and fascinates some of my American counterparts. He's not afraid to be probing, has zero tolerance for bullshit and treats fools with no mercy, but respects proficiency and honesty in all who have those rare qualities.
At the first Intel Developer Forum (IDF) the two of us attended together, nearly a decade ago, his very presence in the room would set experienced flacks reaching for the rosaries, and their credit cards. Mike has a prodigious thirst and takes the reasonable view that if he's got to listen to a few hours of marketing nonsense then he should damn well get a pint after it.
Mike is a journalist of the old school. No matter what, the story comes first.
One night we held an impromptu global memorial service for a dearly loved flack friend who died tragically young - some of us in San Francisco at IDF, others in London with her family and friends and still more in New Zealand, where a bunch of hacks happened to be at the time.
Mike found the barman in our hotel was happy to serve gin and tonics by the pint glass and we raised numerous toasts to the dearly departed. Many drinks were quaffed (it's like drinking but you miss your mouth more) and after many hours I weaved my way to my room to file the day's copy.
I woke up face down on the keyboard to the sound of the mobile bleating; my editor was wanting to know when I was going to file. Mike of course had already filed and as I dragged my hungover backside down to breakfast he was looking cheerful as ever and puffing away on a cigarette as though nothing had happened.
All this caught up with him in the end and he suffered a massive heart attack in a London train station. If the ambulance had been ten minutes later he'd have been a gonner but the gods look after drunks and small children and he made it in time for his quadruple bypass.
A month or so later I met him at a press party and inquired as to his health.
"Fine," he replied with the traditional broad grin.
"I'm only allowed a glass of wine a day and no smoking but other than that I'm OK."
He reached down and pulled out a nearly full pint glass and a packet of Marlboro Reds and asked me for a light. Mike is not someone to change when he's having fun.
He's off to India now to train up a new generation of journalists, who may make up the vanguard of journalism being outsourced as effectively as IT or manufacturing. If he imparts the same lessons to them as he has taught journalists here the future of the profession is in safe, if slightly unstable, hands.
You'll be missed Mike, but we know you'll be back.
*The term hack has been applied to journalists since the 18th century, and is used to denote people who write fast for money. PR folk are traditionally referred to as flacks, since they handle the flack from journalists asking awkward questions.
I also like to think it's a term of affection, from one mercenary breed to another.
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