The obit for Stanley Holmes was perfect, but in lieu of the opportunity to personally pay my respects to a wonderful man, I’ll do it here.
It was my privilege to work with Stanley Holmes at The Recorder from 1984 until his retirement.
This was back in the Holmes/Bernie McGarrah/Teddy Tyler days when the job was actually fun for me. Bernie taught me picas, Teddy always kept me smiling and Stanley taught me to hate typos. He was a stickler for proper grammar.
Those were the days when real people proofread each page before it hit the stands … spell-check be damned. He’d sit at the desk poring over each line, sputtering when he found a mistake. It was all about pride in a job well-done.
Once Stanley retired, he would drive the newsroom nuts with his daily calls to point out misspellings or misuse of a word.
I, at least, thought it was funny.
We kept in touch through the years, even after my retirement in 2004. We’d sit and chat at Valley Medical Group while his wife and my mom saw their respective doctors. Sometimes, I’d run into him and his wife in a local store, and he was always ready to reminisce about his Recorder days and quick to point out the latest typos in the paper that day. And — he’d remind me that typos never left the building back in his day.
He’d always greet me with a smile and a hug and send me on my way with a kiss on my cheek, and, because he had known my partner, Wes, for years, he’d always ask if I was still putting up with the old “SOB.”
When I’d nod, he’d shake his head and call me a saint. This went on every time we ran into each other. He called me regularly to see if I had caught the latest typo on such and such a page, and he’d have a great time criticizing this younger generation.
Of course, I always agreed, with a smile on my face.
Then he’d ask about Wes and my family and leave me with that smile as we hung up.
Stanley was one of the sweetest and kindest men I had the pleasure to know. I visited him at Buckley Nursing Home once I knew he was there and it took a while before his memory kicked in but once it did his first question was, “Did you see what they did to the damn paper today?”…. and I nodded with a smile.
Rest in peace, you dear man.
Sheila Quinlivan lives in Winchester, N.H.