Already Missing Johnny

12.06.06

If you were offered the chance to be someone other than yourself, Johnny Apple would be a good choice. Of all the people I’ve known, I think he enjoyed his life most. Smart, talented and brash, unencumbered by modesty (false or otherwise), and possessed of a big appetite and a bigger heart, he took an enormous bite out of life. He would have loved his memorial celebration on Tuesday at the Kennedy Center. It’s going to be endlessly written about; at the reception the journalists were all trolling for quotes as they downed Patrick O’Connell’s caviar-topped oysters. "Can’t talk now," said Frank Bruni, "I’m on deadline." Bob Kaiser of the Washington Post said much the same. All the journalists were there—from Ben Bradlee to Morley Safer—and all the politicians (John McCain spoke and letters arrived from every president since Jimmy Carter). The food people were all there too.

Johnny Apple

Of the 11 people who spoke, Hodding Carter was the most personal, Calvin Trillin the most hilarious, and Johnny’s stepson John Brown—who named Johnny "Chief Sitting Bullshit" when he was nine years old—the most moving. After the tributes, there was food and wine, and milling about. It was a lot like a James Beard event.

But for me, the most poignant moment came later, at the train station. I stood there with Calvin Trillin (it was his birthday), and Alice Waters (who had flown back from Europe for the event). We’d all planned to leave Washington on the 6 o’clock train but by three o’clock we were sad and tired and ready to leave. What had we expected? Johnny, of course, and one more Lucullan feast. But Johnny was gone, and suddenly it seemed that the only thing to do was get on the train and come home.

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