Arnold García was the longest-serving editorial page editor in Texas when he retired in 2013.
“Opening doors” is a common theme of what has been written about former Statesman op-ed editor Arnold García, who died last week at age 73. He opened many doors for those traditionally not heard — including one for me.
After publishing many of my health care commentaries for several years, in 2009 he invited me to write a monthly commentary for the paper. He knew I was a practicing neonatal intensive care nurse and writing a monthly nursing publication for the Seton network, and he wanted his paper to reflect the perspective of a working stiff, especially one in health care. At the time, Obama was passing the Affordable Care Act, and from the debate you’d think the world were coming to an end.
He not only hired me, but he also set out to introduce me to influencers. He seemed to know everyone in town, and everyone loved Arnold. Of course some readers were nasty to him, calling or writing him to ventilate, rant even and sometimes calling him names. Arnold said sometimes he felt like a human piñata, but I knew it didn’t bother him. He knew that was part of being an opinion writer. Arnold was tough.
Arnold and Statesman editor Fred Zipp share a laugh in the newsroom.
If you work with someone for 10 years, you get to know them. Always smart and clever, he made me laugh every time we interacted. He was concise and straight-forward yet gentle with suggestions. Once I was late getting in a commentary, just couldn’t get inspired. After two weeks past deadline without communicating, I got an email from him saying, “Where you bean? Your horse came home hours ago.” (We both speak Spanish, so often we’d use Tex-Mex, hence “bean” instead of “been.”) That’s all he said, and the laugh from it cleared my head so that I quickly produced the commentary. When he started to tell a joke, which was often, you knew you were in for a great laugh.
Speaking of opening doors, when we went somewhere in a car, he’d never fail to open my door. When we walked downtown, he made sure he was the one walking next to the street. He was an old-fashioned gentleman in every way. He honored his mother and family. He always dressed well. When I would ventilate to him about someone, I could never, ever get him to say anything negative about anyone, that is except elected officials. He said they were fair game.
Arnold was an old-fashioned editor who was heavily involved in the community at large.
He was imaginative as an op-ed editor. Once I sent him something funny I’d written for Seton because I knew he’d love it. He read it and told me he wanted it for the paper. I was shocked — humor on the op-ed pages? “Why not?”, he asked, “Our readers would appreciate some humor on these pages once in a while.” Bingo! Among the humor pieces I wrote were ones on glass jars, writing Christmas letters, pecans, Christmas past, a culinary disaster with a WWII glider pilot, xeriscaping a yard in a Dallas historic district, camping disaster, Uber, the State Fair of Texas and reporting on Hillary Clinton’s clothes.
He was an old-fashioned editor, yet bold, and was heavily involved in the community at large. Unlike many op-ed editors, he was invited to make frequent appearances and speeches at important events.
Arnold and Vida celebrate their wedding in 2010.
When I visited Arnold a few days before he died, his sister and two children and sundry friends and relatives were at his house, solemn, waiting. His wonderful wife, appropriately named Vida, had died only a few months before. He looked to be a mere shadow of himself. His mother Bertha was stroking his full head of salt and pepper hair, still mostly pepper. As I held her and Arnold’s hands, she said, “What are you gonna do? It’s God’s will.”
The Austin community has lost a treasure, an old-fashioned gentleman and old-school newspaperman of the highest and best tradition. Rest in peace, Arnold, you are missed.
Austin, Texas