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Abbott Combes Obituary
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Memories and Condolences
for Abbott Combes
Marion McKeone
February 10, 2009
My name is Marion McKeone. I was Kit's fiancee - we had planned to marry at the end of January. Since Kit's Memorial Service on January 6th, I have been contacted by many of Kit's old friends who have asked me to post the eulogy I delivered, so his very happy last four years could be shared with those of you who couldn't be present but who have sent such lovely expressions of sympathy and support. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who has contacted me and written such lovely letters during the past several weeks. It has been a tremendous comfort.
EULOGY FOR KIT COMBES DELIVERED AT HIS MEMORIAL SERVICE AT ST MATTHEWS CHURCH BEDFORD HILLS ON JANUARY 6TH 2009.
Kit and I were a chance in a million connection. While Kit was married with a family and commuting from Bedford Hills to Manhattan, I was a student and punk rocker in London and Dublin, whose main occupation was piercing my nose with safety pins.
We met four years ago through Julie White, a mutual friend who is very dear to us both. At the time I was newly single and determined to remain so.
So when Kit phoned and e-mailed and sent flowers I told him he was awfully nice but I really didn’t want a boyfriend at the moment.
But he persisted in that gentle but determined way of his – he wooed me in with poems and flowers, with wit and charm. And it proved so very easy to fall in love with Kit.
At the time he was living in Katonah, in the most impeccably organised apartment I had ever seen. His was a solitary life in many ways, but he had a wonderful group of friends, the Perks gang, who remained wonderful friends, particularly in the last year of his life.
Three years ago, Kit came to live with me in Manhattan, on the Upper West Side. We had a wonderful time – dancing open air at the midsummer night swings at the Lincoln Centre, picnics in the park and sunsets on the Hudson River. The Met, the movies, the museums, the insanely romantic dinners in our favourite restaurants.
When we started living together he brought a sense of order as well as infinite amount of love and mischief. By sleight of hand socks that hadn’t seen each other in years were reunited in pairs – chaotic piles of magazines and news clippings suddenly found themselves in chronological order; – I used to joke that the elves came in at night.
We both worked for Sunday papers but we had a very different approach to work, which I think secretly delighted us both. When Kit would arrive home on Friday night with his week completed in the most orderly and precise fashion, I wouldn’t have even started writing the weekly 1500 word column that was due in by midnight.
He would shake his head in disbelief and smile as I swore every week that this would be the last time I would leave it until the last minute
-- and we both agreed it was a very good thing for both of us that Kit was not my editor.
Kit was fiercely loyal to the New York Times and very proud he worked for it. And like so many things, it became a source of gentle teasing between us.
Every morning while I was still in bed he would pop out for coffee, pastries and the newspapers. I would always grab the New York Post and read it, loudly exclaiming at the brilliance of its reporting. Then I’d ask Kit if there was anything of interest in that other tabloid.
Invariably he’d open his mouth to defend the Old Gray Lady’s honour and end up just smiling and shaking his head in mock sadness at my irreverence.
During our time together Kit wrote me more than five hundred poems. Some are hilarious little limericks; some are witty observations or impulsive thoughts that he harnessed with the most precise and wry language. Some are beautiful love poems that I will treasure forever.
Poetry was Kit’s essence. He loved it and often read to me aloud
– ee cummings was a particular favourite -- and he read so beautifully.
He had the soul of a poet – beneath the impeccably buttoned down exterior there was a restless dreamer , an incurable romantic who brimmed with hopes and ambitions and curiosity.
We took many wonderful trips together; Washington DC, Santa Fe, Paris to visit deRaismes.
The trips I planned tended to be impulsive and last minute; the trips that Kit organised to his family retreat in Exuma were meticulously planned. They were all wonderfully romantic. Kit loved Exuma and I came to love it too; We celebrated our Birthdays and rang in three New Years Eves there. We had planned to ring in a fourth there last Wednesday.
Two years ago for his birthday Kit came to Ireland. At the time I was at a writer’s retreat in Monaghan -- one of the wildest parts of Ireland – and I’m not just talking weather or scenery.
It was November in the middle of nowhere in an enormous old house surrounded by a thousand acres of lake, woodland and mountains.
And Kit loved it – the lashing rain, the fierce storms and the nightly gatherings of an assortment of writers, poets and musicians around an enormous dinner table.
Every night after dinner there were impromptu performances of poetry and song, punctuated by some very lively exchanges over many bottles of wine. They often ended with a dawn swim in a freezing cold lake.
Kit, who didn’t drink any alcohol at all at that time, just drank in the energy.
He was exhilarated by the anarchy of spirit - he was astounded that Anne Enright, one of latest of the late night partiers, subsequently won the 2007 Booker Prize for the novel she managed to write there in between hikes during the day and ferocious bouts of revelry at night.
One misty afternoon when you couldn’t see a foot in front of you, I took Kit to a fairy fort deep in the woods. He was enchanted by it.
He often told me his time in Ireland was the most magical time of his life and I think in some way, some part of his soul connected with something there that was both peaceful and restless, that was captured in the literature and poetry and music, which he came to love.
From Annaghmekerrig we went to stay with friends whose family has owned a castle in Ireland for many centuries.
Again there were late nights and dinner parties that could at best be described as very lively, with raucous tales of ghosts and dark deeds and more recent mischief.
Kit loved it all – the history and the here and now and the eccentricity of the family patriarch, Sir Jack Leslie, who every night at midnight, would don a black beret with a crimson feather and announce he was off to the local disco. Sir Jack is 94.
From the wilds of Monaghan we went to the wilds of Dublin – specifically my house there which was home to family and friends that included Shane MacGowan, a songwriter and somewhat notorious lead singer with a band called the Pogues.
Shane, like Kit, is a gifted poet and they got on like a house on fire - which shortly afterwards was precisely what happened but that’s another story.
One night a long, late dinner was followed by an epic game of trivial pursuit. When Shane eventually beat Kit, I’m not sure who was more amazed. I remember Shane saying: “But you work for the New York Times. “You’re supposed to know EVERYTHING.”
But Kit was never one to boast the breadth or depth of his knowledge. We all knew what a fine mind he had; he was a whiz at crosswords; I used to love the little smile that would play across his face when a particularly knotty puzzle was unraveled and put in order.
Much of what was so wonderful about Kit was deep beneath a surface that could be at times, to use his own word, ornery.
And when Kit became ill, his grace and courage became evident to everyone. A lifelong smoker, he quit and never spoke of it again.
He never complained.
He took everything the disease threw at him, including various treatments, with a stoicism that was beyond description.
His doctors and nurses were astounded, then awed by his resilience and his unfailing courtesy and good humour.
Every morning, he went to work, and every morning before he went to work he performed the same little ritual of inviting my opinion on whether socks matched suspenders matched bow tie matched shirt matched handkerchief.
It was a charade and we both knew it; no one had Kit’s eye for colour and design, or his sense of style.
Though we both knew how tough the fight was, neither of us thought for a moment he would lose. There were hard times but we had many, many more wonderful times during his last fifteen months.
Kit never contemplated dying or defeat. He never spent a day in bed. Aside from appointments for treatments, took a day off work.
The day before he went in for a procedure that we believed would extend his life by several years, we picked out our wedding rings. Two days later he was ready to leave the hospital, having been told the treatment was a complete success, when he suffered a heart attack. Right until the end, he believed that he was winning the fight and he went down fighting.
And when his doctor and I had to tell him he was dying, his response was so typically Kit.
He uttered a mild expletive and then turned to me and said. “You can quote me on that before adding. “Actually you can’t, because we don’t print words like that in the Times.”
Before I conclude with a poem by Seamus Heaney, I’d like to thank Kit
For introducing me to his family, to his father, who aside from Kit, is as gracious and gentle a man as I’ve ever met.
To his family Sally and Mike and Richard and Holly. I already have seven sisters but I feel that with Connie and Ada B and deRaimses and Andrea, I now have several more.
I’d like to thank Connie for organizing today’s service.
And I’d like to thank Kit’s New York Times family, which threw him a wonderful surprise party just a few weeks ago. We walked up Broadway afterwards and Kit was just elated – like a kid returning from a party with a balloon. I was just grateful that I hadn’t given the game away in advance.
During the past year, Kits Perks café crowd really rallied around. I’d really like to on Kits behalf, thank all of you, especially Leslie Scott and Tom Casper who never failed to keep his spirits high with games of cribbage and good cheer.
There were many other wonderful friends, whom Kit valued very dearly. I also want to thank Lisa Berg who could not have been a better friend to Kit or to me. And Kathryn Bonn. And my little sister Therese, my best friend whom Kit also adored. They shared a sweet tooth and she sent Kit obscene amounts of Irish handmade chocolates.
Kit and I had everything except enough time. This poem is entitled, Postscript.
Britt Almroth
January 26, 2009
I didn't know Kit long, compared to so many others who have left messsages, but he was the kind of man with whom it didn't take long to become friends. Kit loved Exuma and he will always be a part of the island and the lives that he touched there.
Richard McKerr
January 8, 2009
What can you say about someone with whom you went through puberty? (I almost wrote the sentence with a hanging preposition, but know from experience that it would be a hanging offence.) He won every game of Hangman I ever played against him.
Kit always had a clear view of the commoner's view and always had a way to make it classy. Pink Brooks Brothers button down shirts in Junior High School? In the 50s? Please.
Godfather of my son, Jason, Kit took the honor of moral guidance seriously. Beacon of intellect and humor for Megan, who never cries but cried.
Sat with me in the back seat of a Subaru and cheered wildly at the live news of Nixon's resignation.
Of all the people I've known almost all my life, always the one I wished I'd known better. I'm older and you weren't supposed to go first.
Never Better. We already miss you. You were FANTASTIC.
A. G. and Rita Rud
January 7, 2009
We were saddened to read of Kit's death. We only met him once, but his brother Richard was a close friend, and we knew his parents well, having gone to Christmas Eve Brandy Alexander receptions at their house on Barker Road in Pittsfield for many years. Our thoughts are with the family, especially Abbott and Richard.
Gary Perugini, II
January 6, 2009
Dear Abbott,
My deepest condolences on your loss. Have thought of you often through the years. Know that you are in our prayers.
Boris Weintraub
January 5, 2009
One of the good people--at the Star, the Times, and in civilian life. When my children were very young, Kit asked my wife Kay to do a story for the Times magazine on what it was like to raise twins. The girls, now 31, treasure it to this day--as I treasured Kit's friendship and companionship. He was an original.
Dawn-Marie Manwaring
January 5, 2009
It was such a pleasure to have known Kit and he will be missed. I will always be grateful for his offers to get me the crossword puzzle answers.
Tamika Rolle
January 5, 2009
My sincerest condolences to the family of Mr. Combes.
Allan Dodds Frank
January 4, 2009
From Allan Dodds Frank
Kit Combes was a great and generous gentleman who we shall all miss, yet remember for the twinkle in his eyes, the bounce in his step... I do not remember the exact moment when I met Kit although it was shortly after I got off the plane from the Anchorage Daily News to join the Washington Star. I may have met Kit while he was still at the Washington Post. In any case, God knows how many drinks and cigarettes and laughs and good times and political and journalistic discussions we had over the decades, from Henry's to Jenkins Hill to the bar at Grand Central long after he joined the NY Times and I had become a broadcaster. He was a sweet man with great dignity and a fine wry sense of humor...and perhaps most important, he always willingly helped those in the newsroom when they needed it, even if they were to shy to ask.
Philip McKeone
January 3, 2009
Sincere sympathy to all Kits family on his passing.
He wrote a beautiful letter to my father, last July, on the death of my mother. For this our family will always be grateful.
May he rest in peace.
Philip McKeone.
Bob Grieser
January 2, 2009
I have fond memories and laughs from the times working with Kit at the Washington Star and when are paths crossed after that. The memories are good. cheers my friend
Roberta Cunningham
January 1, 2009
I have very pleasant memories of meeting Kit and his family in D.C. when his mother, Ardyce Rainforth and I had dinner with them. It was the first time I ever had quiche and heard Pachebel's Canon in D; still a favorite.
Mary Combes was one of the most extraordinary persons I have ever met. I wish I were the listener she was. I still miss her.
I wonder if deRaismes remembers the little sock doll I made for her when she was born.
Abbott, we look forward to your Christmas card each year to have some sense of how you are. We had no idea that you and your family were facing Kit's illness. It had to have been Mary once again. We are so sorry.
Please know that Rich and I send you all our deepest sympathy. May God grant you the strength to get through the difficult days ahead.
Most sincerely, Roberta Cunningham
Jaci Canning-Murphy
January 1, 2009
Decades of good memories-from his green MGB to our reunion at the Berkshire Museum last year..and so much in between. Kit truly enriched my life.
Michael Satchell
January 1, 2009
My enduring memory of Kit is of a warm and gentle soul, a highly talented editor, never flustered, who brought a measure of calm professionalism to a roomfull of wonderfully boisterous, egotistical, aggressive and talented writers and editors. I loved his English glen-chequered shirts worn with a yellow bow-tie. Ken Walker has it right. A consumate gentleman. I wish we could all go back and do it again.
mary campbell
December 31, 2008
I remember pitching a story to Abbott on the phone, it was a great story -- I don't even remember taking a breath. There was a noticeable pause, then in this deep, almost theatrical tone, Abbott asked: "Are you for real?"
I was a swollen-legged, 8-months pregnant writer working from a tight corner of a hallway landing -- (A girl can dream, can't she?) -- Well, Kit went with the story and gave me this wonderful break!
As our work relationship loosened, he called to describe the cool artwork for the piece (which involved a graphic of the late author Kurt Vonnegut standing on a spinning CD) and even then, I worried that I might have laughed a little too loud! I began to sign my emails “Pregnant in Portland.”
As with all fantasies, this story, too, had a Hollywood ending -- it spread through the major national news outlets – “As you know, the Times likes to get it first,” said Kit to me at one point, all but fully inculcating me into my snood-wearing, cigarette wielding Roz Russell/ “His Girl Friday ” fantasy...
The night before the Sunday Times was to arrive with my story in the Magazine, my baby moved her pointy elbow across my belly like a finger on pie crust dough, and I watched it helplessly and smiled at the thought of presses rolling – in black and white, of course.
A few days after the article ran, my fax spit out a message from Kit, showing the work of a Washington Post columnist who “picked up” the story, with a note that read: You know what they say, Mary, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery…"
Kit touched a lot of people through his work. That is an important part of a life well lived. My deepest condolences to the Combes family, especially “the Pumpkin Sisters,” and all of Kits loved ones, friends and writers to whom he gave unselfishly.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Mary E. Campbell
mary campbell
December 31, 2008
I remember pitching a story to Abbott on the phone, it was a great story -- I don't even remember taking a breath. There was a noticeable pause, then in this deep, almost theatrical tone, Abbott asked: "Are you for real?"
I was a swollen-legged, 8-months pregnant writer working from a tight corner of a hallway landing -- (A girl can dream, can't she?) -- Well, Kit went with the story and gave me this wonderful break!
As our work relationship loosened, he called to describe the cool artwork for the piece (which involved a graphic of the late author Kurt Vonnegut standing on a spinning CD) and even then, I worried a little that I might have laughed too loud! I began to sign my emails “Pregnant in Portland.”
As with all fantasies, this story, too, had a Hollywood ending -- it spread through the major national news outlets – “As you know, the Times likes to get it first,” said Kit to me at one point, all but fully inculcating me into my snood-wearing, cigarette wielding Roz Russell/ “His Girl Friday ” fantasy...
The night before the Sunday Times was to arrive with my story in the Magazine, my baby moved her pointy elbow across my belly like a finger on pie crust dough, and I watched it helplessly and smiled at the thought of presses rolling – in black and white, of course.
A few days after the article ran, my fax spit out a message from Kit, showing the work of a Washington Post columnist who “picked up” the story, with a note that read: You know what they say, Mary, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery…"
Kit touched a lot of people through his work. That is an important part of a life well lived. My deepest condolences to the Combes family, especially “the Pumpkin Sisters,” and all of Kits loved ones, friends and writers to whom he gave unselfishly.
Most Sincerely Yours,
Mary E. Campbell
Benjamin Forgey
December 31, 2008
Kit was one of those wonderful people who made sure that newspapering was fun--and reminded you of that fact when occasionally you forgot it. Thanks, Kit.
Joe & Mary Haddad
December 31, 2008
Abbott
I was very saddened to read about Kit's death. We are on our way to FL when I saw it the Eagle. Our thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
Lee Cohn
December 31, 2008
My condolences to the family of a fine editor and amiable member of the Washington Star gang.
Ellen Boxer Aldrich
December 31, 2008
Holding hands walking in the rain , he asked me to go steady. I said yes. Fond memories of dating Kit during junior high years in Pittsfield.
A fun loving, unique guy. I'll miss you Kit.
Linda Kirby
December 31, 2008
I was stunned to read that Kit had been ill and passed away. I knew him both at The Washington Star and The New York Times. It always brightened my day when I ran into him in the halls at The Times or on the streets of New York. Seeing him always made me grin, particularly in the summer as he trudged the streets of NY in his shorts, loafers and bow tie. He will be sorely missed.
Lurma Rackley
December 31, 2008
Please accept condolences from another admirer who crossed paths with Kit at the Washington Star.
David Holmberg
December 31, 2008
Kit was the best man at our wedding thirty-one years ago, and last March, at one of our regular lunches in NY, he told me he was dying of lung cancer. I'm glad he was able to go to Paris and the Bahamas and enjoy a 64th birthday party before the end, and I'll miss him a lot.
Nick Adde
December 31, 2008
Farewell to the talented editor and kind man who helped me get my first clip published in the Star, and taught me so much while I worked for him.
Lew Sichelman
December 31, 2008
Farewell. You were a great coach for the Washington Star's softball team -- except when you benched me when the editor said he was a thirdbasemen. He wasn't, of course, but what could you do? All is foregiven.
David Burgin
December 31, 2008
Kit and I worked together in our time on the Metro desk for the Star from 1974 to 1976. He was one of the most talented and most creative newspapermen I have ever worked with. Kit used to do a spot-on imitation of Sid Epstein and scared me witless with his phone calls each time we did somethig we knew Sid wouldn't like. Kit also urged me on during my streak of hiring major budding stars like Maureen Dowd and Randy Sue Coburn, and others, for the dictation bank. Kit came up with the phrase i will never forget during the Woodward and Bernstein days, "Where the hell are they getting this stuff?"
Kenneth walker
December 31, 2008
He was a gentleman and a gentle man -- even with a bow tie in shorts
DeWitt Smith
December 31, 2008
Kit's editing hand guided me when I started my first writing job: writing fashion pieces for the Washington Star. And he was the only one who offered an encouraging word when there was none from any other quarter.
We stayed in touch through the years and had lunch in Manhattan at Allen's, just before I moved to California in March 2006. And we e-mailed or chatted now again.
I wondered why I hadn't gotten an answer to an e-mail I sent two months ago. This morning when I read my NYTimes, I knew why.
Even after reading his obit, I wanted to hear his voice one last time. So I called his cell phone and office phone, both of which are still working. It was the office voice mail that made me tear up. "Leave a message; I'll be back after the New Year."
I shall miss you, dear friend.
Timothy O'Leary
December 31, 2008
My deepest condolences from a former co-worker at The Washington Star.
Diane Williams
December 30, 2008
I'm sorry to hear of Kit's passing. He was a great manager of The Washington Stars coed softball team! Those were great, great times.
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