The journalism world was shook to the core this week upon learning that David Carr, an author and columnist who covered culture for The New York Times, passed away Thursday in Manhattan at the age of 58.
He collapsed in the Times newsroom, where he was found shortly before 9 p.m. and taken to St. Luke’s-Roosevelt Hospital, where he was pronounced dead. The Times reports that an autopsy revealed he died of complications of metastatic small cell neuroendocrine carcinoma of the lung. Heart disease was a contributing factor.
David had previously survived cancer and struggled with alcoholism and substance abuse, which he chronicled in his book, “The Night of the Gun: A reporter investigates the darkest story of his life. His own” (buy it on Amazon). He wrote an NYT column called “The Media Equation,” covering the intersection of media and technology, and made frequent TV appearances on talk shows and news programs. In 2011, he was the leading figure in the documentary, “Page One: Inside the New York Times.”
You can watch the full documentary on Amazon Instant Video, but here’s a clip of David Carr and Brian Stelter discussing the film on PBS.
On the evening he died, David moderated a panel discussion of “Citizenfour,” the Oscar-nominated documentary about Edward J. Snowden, the former National Security Agency contractor who leaked classified information indicating that the United States government was conducting global surveillance on a far larger scale than was publicly known.
But Reel Life With Jane’s connection to David comes through our own Paula Schwartz, who worked with him on “The Carpetbagger,” an NYT column centered on Hollywood’s red carpet awards season. We were very lucky she decided to bring her expertise and connections to Reel Life With Jane.
Paula fondly recalls her time working with David, with whom she worked for three years on the Carpetbagger blog. “He wrote three thousand words a day and I know because Gawker counted,” she says. “He was a verbal acrobat. He was the Bagger and called me the Baguette. He came up with the cheesy name, and it made me laugh.”
She adds that as busy as he was, David always took the time to write her a thank-you note for getting him into a party, telling him about an event, or just steering him in the right direction.
“He made a point of complimenting and encouraging me when he liked what I wrote,” says Paula. “We emailed back and forth all hours of the night, 2 or 3 a.m., on the column. His mind moved so fast, the mental equivalent of a jazz musician, and sometimes it took me a while to figure out what he meant. Sometimes the next day even, but that was the challenge and fun of being in his world. He was the smartest guy in the room and the kindest. This combination is miraculous at the New York Times.”
His Carpetbagger posts dug beneath the glossed-over surface of the celebrity world, revealing details we often aren’t supposed to see or know about. “His writing cut through the bull,” says Paula. “Like few writers nowadays, you didn’t need to read the byline to know it was a David Carr story.”
Paula says she’s completely stunned by the loss of this “generous man, a real mensch,” but that he died in the newsroom he loved didn’t surprise her, “but too early by at least 40 years.”
One of her first Carpetbagger posts covered a party at Sting’s house. A private screening at Florence Gould Hall of “A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints,” was hosted by executive producer Trudie Styler and her husband, Sting. But the afterparty at Trudie and Sting’s apartment on Central Park West was the real talk of the town.
“We shared a cab with Swoosie Kurtz and her publicist friend James Baldassare, which meant we slid past the guys with the clipboards,” wrote Paula. “We went up in the elevator with Damon Dash and his wife, the designer Rachel Roy. Fran Drescher opted to walk the three flights.”
Sting’s residence featured a private elevator which opened onto a sea of marble, wood paneling and ceiling moldings. The floors were covered wall-to-wall by antique Persian rugs, and huge oil paintings blanketed the walls. The piano in the middle of the room held sheet music for “How Deep is the Ocean,” by Irving Berlin.
Trudie told Swoosie — that has a nice ring, eh? — that she had to go to her husband for money when the financing for the film ran dry. That’s how he became one of its producers. There was a pause for a general announcement: “I’m Ron Perelman,” said Mr. Perelman to everybody, giddy.
Then we bumped into a guy who described himself as a businessman from Zimbabwe who owned a villa near Sting’s place in Tuscany. “No matter how expensive your place is you always want to trade up,” he said. We know the feeling, sort of.
The rich are not like us. For one thing, they have more money.
Paula says that David sent her a note saying how much he liked the column, “and we were off and running on the season’s awards race.”
When Paula took a buyout from The Times in 2011, David emailed her this note: “Awww, Paula, congrats and so sad for us and me. You are a mensch, but a girl mensch. Love your tenacity and your sense of both irony and wonder at the stuff we covered. And I will put it all on the top of the memory box. See you in the building.”
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