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Michael Browning Obituary
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Memories and Condolences
for Michael Browning
Bill Hannum
April 21, 2010
I recruited Michael to the Ft. Belvoir Castle newspaper in 1972 or 73. We happened to meet at the base library while waiting for the rain to stop. We started talking about our assignments - I worked for the paper, and he was doing something with acetylene torches. His intellect was glaring, even to me, so I suggested he go to the editor - Lt. Carol Ryan - and have a talk. That's how he got the job. We had a great time at the paper. He was a very rare treasure! Bill Hannum 21 Apr 2010
Lynn Ranew
September 12, 2009
I met Michael in Jacksonville when he worked for the Florida Times Union. What a brilliant, funny, exuberant man. He is a star that you never forget. His smile and his arms embraced the world.
William Owens
July 6, 2008
I just learned of Michael's death-- I met him 34 years ago when I was a student at the Intercollegiate Center for Classical Studies in Rome and Michael was teaching assistant. In my memory Michael will always be a part of that year: in his Army fatigue jacket; his fluent and profane Italian; his special affection for Giancarlo and Benedetta.
Nena Donovan Levine
February 17, 2007
Michael,
The photo album, unearthed in a dig through my suburban basement, is a building block of life, a past life. When building blocks were fat, red, and vinyl-covered; not skinny, shiny cases. I'm grateful it sat just one layer from the surface. Not like the city of Cannakale so long ago, that none of us (even had the guidebooks been in not-Turkish) could unjumble into seven layers. Except you, Michael.
I heft this circa-1969 artifact. Pages (the tacky kind -- what is that stuff?) ripple behind "protective", cloudy, plastic. The color of ancient, the color of mildew. Today we know among other things the whole setup is photo abuse in extremis.
Michael, here you are:
1. Ostia Antica. You're shot from below, slim silhouette with camera, jacket slung over shoulder, smiling, your feet longer than the width of the wall you stand on.
2. Selinunte. You scale a temple wall: left leg bent, foot two courses above; right leg set to push off and up; hands finding a higher grasp. My caption: "Michael, the human fly."
3. Roma, Bar Gianicolo. On the last night of fall term you smile in perfect focus. Your face crinkles; that flop of hair falls across your forehead.
4. At the Rubicon. You stand on the muddy bank, considering, assessing, tempted. Then you cross via il ponte. Only because you need those shoes dry for Gubbio & Assisi.
5. Troy. Four of us in sweaters and lumberjackets, under the covers, grinning as if we really are up to something. That one took a lot of takes.
6.Pergamum. You're a point at the end of the Sacred Way, a lesson in perspective, too small for ancient eyes to recognize.
7. Stadium at Olympia. Tom spectates from the grass. You lope solo toward the finish line.
8. Hadrian's Villa. You've climbed an olive tree (surely proibito), planting your tripod to perfect a "candid" group shot: "Il Mezzogiorno Sull'Erbe."
Mille Grazie, Michele. What gifts you bestowed. Requiescat in pace.
Josep Bosch
February 6, 2007
I met Michael in Beijing in 1984 where we both worked as foreign correspondents. I liked him. He was always full of enthusiasm and in good humour. It seemed to me immediately that he was a good man, full of humanity and unpretentious. I admired his acknowledge of China and his eagerness to learn more and more for his personal intellectual enjoyment and to share it with his readers. I liked the way he took his job seriously. When I learned of his death through common friends I felt sad. Now I'm sorry I did not meet him again to share a few memories and a few of his contagious laughs.
mohammed bashir
January 31, 2007
i could always tell he was asmart person just by the way he looked and smiled.may he rst in peace.been friends with his kids during the years we were in china,this was like 20 years ago but aman could never forget remarkable family like teh brownings.sorry for your lose Mathew.would love to get intouch.mail me at [email protected]
Bashir Mohamed elhassan
January 30, 2007
Iam stunt by the sad news of the death of Michael Brownings.We met in China in the 1980s.I was a diplomat from Sudan.His sons Mathew and Noah were close friends to our sons Mohamed and Zeryab who were their age.through our kids our relations became very strong. Though we belong to two different worlds Eve and Michael made quite indifferent to us.We realized that there are so many things in common between us as human beings.Eve used to come sometimes late evening to collect Mathew from our appartment.She often says:"Iam bringing with me the adoption papers for you to sign."We have had very illuminating coversations with the Brownings over so many issues at the time,especially over lunch at the Chinese restaurants we join as families with the kids.We really enjoyed the intellectual anaysis of michael that he often volunteers to offer us.Please Eve,Mathew and Noah accept our condollencies-Mohamed ,Zeryab and myself-if Najat their mother was alife she would have done the same.She died in 1994 after giving birth to Najat whom we gave her the name of her mother.We pray to God to bless Michael and Najat and rest their soul in peace.
Ambassador Bashir Mohamed Elhassan,Khartoum ,Sudan.
e-mail:bashiros @yahoo.com
Jeanne Houser-Cohen
January 20, 2007
I wish I had written Michael Browning. Every time I read one of his wonderful articles I would think how I wanted to write him to let him know how much I enjoyed it. Our families went to Assumption school together. It was a small school and if you went there during the 50's and 60's you had some serious nun stories. Michael wrote an article about the horrific Assumption cafeteria food and asked if anyone was out there who remembered it? I wanted to write him to let him know how it took 25 years from the time I graduated until i could eat jello again. I moved to S.Fla.in 1973. When he joined the Miami Herald he was joining an elite goup and he belonged there. His articles from China were something to be savored on a Sunday morning. It was as if you were walking the exotic streets with him and his fair-haired boys.
I loved reading about his son in middle school and how he eagerly awaited every afternoon when his son would get in the car and tell him the stories of middle school. When my son started middle school I realized I was doing the same thing. Waiting in the car for the update on the rockers vs.rappers. I was going to write Michael but I I didn't. I wish I had written this
brillant writer who touched so many hearts with his pen.
Eve, I loved your story about your banjo playing brother. My heart goes out to you.
Debra Capozzi (Browning)
January 16, 2007
How strange this feels. I don't know you or your family. I always felt a connection as I am a Browning and I have a nephew named Michael Browning.... I often spoke of "your" Michael Browning to him. I will miss his writings. Please know that people that don't even know you love you and care.
carolyn frederick
January 16, 2007
I met Mike years ago when I first came to the Post. We would see each other in the hall sometimes and have little chit chats. He will sorely be missed by his fellow co-workers at the Palm Bach Post.
Rick Damato
January 13, 2007
So near, yet so far. My sisters went to school with the Brownings at Assumption and Bishop Kenny in Jacksonville. I fell in between and never really knew any of them.
At age 55 I have determined for myself to acknowledge no regrets, or at least the fewest possible as I continue the process of facing my own mortality. How in the hell could I have been so close to Michael Browning and missed him so completely? You who knew him and were able to enjoy his work for these many years must know what I mean. Reading a couple of his articles pitched my way from my sisters (who were closer in age to several of Browning's sibs) has left me in awe of this person who grew up where I grew up and with whom I shared so much except for talent.
My writing in trade publications for nearly twenty-five years has been a shell of one of Michael's columns. My several trips to China were significant in my life, but pale in comparison to his experiences there.
How could I have come so close, but been so far? What could I have learned had I known Michael Browning? I am determined to find out. I never knew Michael Browing in this life, but will start today to celebrate his being here by seeking him out through his published words.
Success, for me, will be a life just like the one those of you who have posted notes here describe. In other words, I want to be just like Michael Browing when I grow up.
And if I can't figure it out here, I will be satisfied to meet with him in the hereafter. Godspeed, Michael Browning.
Mario Petrella
January 11, 2007
Caro Mike, il grande salto è fatto! Scommetto che adesso stai scherzando con qualche strano personaggio del tuo nuovo mondo. Poi mi racconterai.Ricordo che volevi scrivere il grande romanzo americano e sei diventato un bravo giornalista. Ricordo il tuo sguardo pieno di meraviglia per ogni piccola cosa. Ti ringrazio per questo sguardo, mi ha molto aiutato nella vita. Ricordo quando suonavamo insieme io la chitarra e tu il Banjo in una piazza di paese con le mani gelate e fingevamo di aver paura a suonare "bandiera rossa".Solo adesso, che un respiro ci separa, capisco come le persone entrano in altre persone,perchè adesso capisco che sei una parte di me e sono orgoglioso e per sempre felice al pensiero di essere stato una parte di te. Mike sei un grande!
Il tuo Mario Baby, per sempre...
John Barry
January 11, 2007
I am emotionally devastated by the new of Michael's death. He was like a son to me, being my son Kenneth's best friend since childhood. They were together from parochial elementry school, through Bishop Kenny High School and graduated togeher from Columbia University.
I have many fond memories of his visits to my home and of being in his company. While he worked for the Florida Times-Union in its Brunswick, Ga. bueau he came to me and asked whether he should take a job offered to him by the Miami Hearald based on their appraisal of his talents as a writer.
As a writer for the Times Union,I said, "Take it, they never came to offer men a job." With that encouragemet he joined the Herald staff and proved beyond measure the acumen of the Herald's "head hunter" for great newspaper talent.
My deepest sympathy goes to Mathew and Noah Browning and to Eve Brwning Miller and to other family members.
Marco Petrella
January 11, 2007
I cannot write here all the things about Mike and our friendship, as my english is very poor. I am an italian friend of Mike's. We met in 1970 in a mountain village in Italy where we worked togheter taking care of horses (unbelieveble, isn't it?. I visited Mike in 2003 last time. We lived togheter for a few days, and it seemed to be young again, even if he was taking care of his old mother. Some months ago he realized that dead could be imminent and he wrote to me a mail about, with usual kindness and humor. Many people in Italy will miss Mike.
Edward A. Gargan
January 10, 2007
I am a delinquent collector of journalistic memories, but one of the handful of treasures I retain is a framed, cheaply I am ashamed to say, photograph of Michael and me outside a Chinese naval base before a large sign declaring, “Foreigners Keep Out.” I was new to China, then in 1986, but already aware of Michael’s prodigious reputation as a writer and intellect, and most importantly, unlike some correspondents, as the least competitive, gentlest and generous of colleagues; Michael was unthreatened by anything, by China’s police-state tactics, by the ferocious difficulty of the language, by the often appalling, frustrating, mind-numbing intransigence of Chinese bureaucrats (one of whom has ascended, through what Michael, as an occasional student of Taoism, would recognize as wuwei, to the post of foreign minister).
For too many years before the internet many of us found it impossible to follow Michael’s work with any regularity, the sporadic article at best finding its way into our mail sacks. Later, in his post-China years, when this new fangled thing called the web finally caught on, those of us who remained in Asia could still keep up with the Browning oeuvre. He was, and there is no debate on this in my mind, the finest newspaper writer of my generation, a writer of precision and delicacy, a balletic sense of language, an elephantine vocabulary, all infused with a capacious historical sensibility.
This week there have been several dinners in the Beijing of today, a city Michael would not recognize, at which conversation wafted lushly over memories of Michael’s time here, now two decades ago. We are stunned by his death, of which we had no inkling, and profoundly saddened by the loss of a genuine literary journalist, of a man of whom many of us stood in awe.
Paul Ghiotto
January 10, 2007
I first met Mike in September, 1962 when we began four years together in classes at Bishop Kenny High School in Jacksonville. The school was blessed with a number of outstanding teachers and from them we got a great start on a very rewarding life! Afterwards, Mike went on to Columbia University and I went into the active duty Navy to complete two years of required service.
Our paths crossed again when my ship pulled into New York in March, 1967. Somehow I reached Mike at Columbia and he said to come on up and spend some time with him and roommate Ken Barry, another BK alum and classmate.Mike cautioned me to bring a friend since the school wasn't in the best location. I took a buddy who hadn't graduated from high school with me telling him that when he had kids someday he could tell them he "went to Columbia!" The four of us had a great time as we toured the town, bought the Mamas and Papas LP, "California Dreaming," ate fine quisine at a nearby Horn & Hardart, and got a brief tour of Columbia while skirting a Students for a Democratic Society (SDS)demonstration against the Vietnam War (my buddy and I were in uniform!).
I had caught only brief glimpses of Mike over the next 38 years. My aunt who lives in West Palm Beach had a story written about her by Mike who asked if we were related.
I emailed him a brief note. We emailed again this past spring when I inquired if he was going to make the 40th high school reunion. He couldn't but sent a nice, cheery Mike-type email back.
Then, suddenly I got word from my aunt that he had died. Since then I've read all of the lovely comments posted herein about Mike and read the special articles selected by The Palm Beach Post.
What a rich and entertaining life he led! What a truly positive affect he had on so many people!We should all be so fortunate!
Knowing just one unique and special person like Mike, however fleeting, somehow makes up for all the curmudgeons and naysayers that the world seems overly populated with!
Thank you, God, for allowing me to know and be in the same world with someone like Mike!
Kenneth Barry
January 10, 2007
Michael was my best friend and I will miss him dearly. Our friendship began at school in the second grade and continued to the present. I thought I knew my friend well. I followed his career and admired his achievements, I stood in awe of his erudition and talents, and I laughed and teased with him often over the many years.
But not until now did I see the full extent of his benevolent influence, how far and wide he left his mark in the world as shown from the many people he touched, inspired, entertained and helped. I think he would be amazed and pleased to read such a large outpouring of affection from so many, including some he never knew.
To me this is the best testament, along with Michael’s two boys, to the full, rich life he had and a measure of how much he will be missed. I would like to thank Scott Eyman for his moving obituary and express my sincere sorrow to Michael’s family.
Robin Reeves Zorthian
January 10, 2007
Michael Browning was my Latin instructor 33 years ago at the Intercollegiate Center for Classical Studies in Rome, when I was an impressionable twenty-year- old on her first trip abroad. For me and for the rest of the “Centro” students in that autumn of 1974, Michael was a figure of wonder and exoticism. Just a few years older than we were, he was already a military veteran, wearing his familiar green army jacket and boots everywhere. He was tall and lanky back then. He had a moustache. He played the banjo. He kept a daily journal in a lovely handwriting, and used a fountain pen (was it an Osmeroid?) without apology. He had that deep southern accent, and the lofty vocabulary, but was also the source of such memorable remarks as “That girl’s teeth were so bucked, she could eat corn through a picket fence”.
Every afternoon after classes were finished, Michael would set out, guidebook in hand, for some corner of Rome in search of an interesting old church, an obscure fountain, or a forgotten stretch of city wall. In the evenings, after dinner, he’d offer to lead a group of students down to the local bar for espresso, sambuca and cigarettes. It was with Michael that most of us first learned the custom of the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria – lighting the sambuca with a match to toast the 3 floating coffee beans, then sipping the warm clear liquid. On weekends he’d sometimes organize groups to travel outside of Rome – to Capri, Allatri, Siena, and Mount Soracte, where we all stood at the summit and recited Horace’s “Soracte Ode” in Latin as the sun set.
After Rome, Michael and I kept in infrequent touch, via letters and email. Sometimes years would pass between letters but then that familiar lush handwriting would appear on an envelope, sometimes with a clipping of his from the Herald or the Post. And he was so very proud of his boys. I last heard from Michael this past October, but he said nothing about his health. Another Centro student, Sandie Liacouras, just phoned me with the sad news. I feel his loss so profoundly right now, though I hadn’t seen him in 30 years. To his family and co-workers, I send my deep sympathy. Michael, I will never forget you.
Hank Selinger
January 9, 2007
I was shocked to hear of Michael's death. Those who worked alongside him at The Herald could never forget him. "One of a kind" is a cliche Michael never would use, but that's what he was.
Neal Ulevich
January 7, 2007
I worked with Mike for years in China, and we kept in touch by post and email until his last illness. I am filled with a sense of terrible loss at his passing.
Ivan Browning
January 6, 2007
Michael was my first cousin and we were email buddies due to shared ownership of a piece of rural land in Madison County and similar political leanings. His writing talents were amazing; he carried a family tradition of writing to such a lofty plateau that we are in awe. I hope the Post and the Herald and will publish collections of his stories. It was always a treat when Michael would email me a heads-up on a piece he’d done. Subscribers to the Post were indeed fortunate to have his by-lines delivered to their homes.
Michael had a deep and abiding love for our land in Madison County; he wanted to preserve it in its natural state forever so that future generations could “set foot” on it, a phrase of my Dad’s he often cited. Pictures of the ancient cypresses with their feet planted in the swamp sent to him by our cousin Bill reinforced those feelings. Michael was always interested in Madison County doings though he only lived there for the first two years of his life and visited occasionally when he was a child and when he was based in Tallahassee. He despaired that development would devour Madison as it has done to much of natural Florida.
Thanks to everyone who’s shared their memories of Michael; the family has received insights into Michael’s work and friendships that are comforting. You’ve shown us glimpses of Michael we’d have never seen otherwise. Thanks also to the Palm Beach Post for keeping his story online and for making a number of his well-loved articles available on his tribute page.
Gilbert Brown
January 6, 2007
I was dating his beautiful half-sister when Michael was born and just a few years old At times we baby-sat Michael and brother Phillip and siser Eve. My interest was,of course in his half siser whom I have been married to for 53 years.
During his last few years, he would come to the Annual Book Fair in St. Petersburg each year and stay with us two or three nights each visit in Dunedin. Daytimes he roamed the fair, puchssing a few classics each year. Each night my wife and I would sit and lisen to some of his incredible storys and travels. The words he used were always so descriptive, even to me, an engineer. Once, after he had mastered the use of sliderules he challenged me to a calculation speed contest. As he had practiced and I had not had a sliderule in my hands for some 30 years it was a setup and he, of couse, won.
Just before his death in Shands, he told one of my sons he had 4000 books. Earlier when I had asked him what he planned go do with his many books, he said he planned to donate them to some small college, but not to his alma mata, Columbia University, where they would be
'lost.' He always was interested in having small-town students and residents learn to appreciate the classics as he had done.
While traveling in the far east, he had collected many oriental antiques and ivory carvings. These, he planned to also donate to a small town museum.
A large part of his life's ambition was to enable as many young people as possible to learn of and appreciate the artistic accomplishments of others.
This was an indication of his love of people and selflessness.
Ann Overton
January 6, 2007
I am sure that being engrossed in a Michael Browning story in the Herald and later the Post made me late for work more than a few times during my 20 years in South Florida. Thankfully the Web allowed me to continue to keep up with his wondrous way with words and take on life. Please, someone compile his glorious writing into a book and make it required reading for current and future classes of journalists and also a memoir of one man's life who touched so many readers throughout the region. Thank you.
Teri Arenson
January 5, 2007
Even though,I didn't know you personally, I so enjoyed your writing, and views. I know I say this for myself and everyone that had the privilege,to read and learn by your feelings,Thank You!
George Cason
January 5, 2007
Eve,Matthew and Noah,
Michael was special to me. He sent me a picture by E-Mail of our old store and house, which his Granfather Menke had taken with a box camera in 1946. I can remember W H (Dub)caring the mail and buying gas at my father's store. What made this so special was I didn't know a pictue existed. I had made a wish and prayer that one would be found.
Christine Beckett
January 5, 2007
Through my spouse (James Louder) and his twin brother (Fred Louder of Prince Edward Island, Canada) I have been hearing about Michael since 1972. What an incredible person; what intense love and respect James and Fred have always had for him. In 1998 I emailed Michael, trying to lure him up to Montreawful for James' surprise 50th party. Alas, Michael simply could not make it; but the attempt was worth it for the beautiful emails he sent and a warm affection we started. I felt that in reading his words I had met the man.
Michael, wherever you are now, I hope there's lots of: swimming; sunshine; music of all sorts especially banjo; languages by the gadzillion; good paper, pens, and real ink, preferably resting on fine Chinese furniture; and every possible historical figure you ever wanted to jaw with. Or at.
Matthew and Noah, if you ever come up to Canada, you get in touch with the Louders!!
June Bradford
January 5, 2007
To Matthew and Noah,
I was very sorry to read of your father's passing. I never met him, but a friend of my brother's babysat for Matthew when he was about 2 years old. I enjoyed reading his work and my friend thought very highly of him.
May he rest in peace.
E.A. Torriero
January 4, 2007
Michael Browning, formerly of "the Miami Herald newspaper" - as only he could announce it - was part of a unique cast of literary characters assembled in Miami in the late 70s and early 80s that even today inspire newsrooms the world over. Thankfully his wonderful way with words will be with us forever.
Jan Miller
January 4, 2007
Michael is my brother-in-law. I could have missed knowing him if not for my wife, his sister, Eve, making sure we stopped last year to visit on our way to a vacation cruise. The cruise was great, but the start was the topper: to meet Michael, to hang out with him, laugh at his jokes, be amazed by his collection of books, hear his laugh, his remarkable command of English, his quote for every possible situation! We drove around in his huge car, went to the King Tut exhibit, ate at remarkable restaurants, had a bar-be-que at his house, and saw that demon giant bougainvillea hedge he wrote about, swam in his pool, and I felt totally welcome, among family, and at home. Michael had an honesty about him that is rare, and instantly became a friend. I do wish we could have hung around more. When we left the train station for Ft. Lauderdale, Michael gave us a banjo concert on the station deck. He was a hell of a player, and I luckily have a movie of that. I once was told that the greatest compliment a person can give you is that they’d like to have you as a neighbor… I wish Michael, my friend, had been ours…
Warren Resen
January 4, 2007
Michael...I miss our get togethers where conversations ambled aimlessly all over the place, covering so many topics. Your opinions were never forced but knowing the depth of your knowledge I could never question your conclusions. What am I going to do with some of those special editions now that I don't have you to foist them off on to? I doubt if I will ever again meet someone of your intellect and kindness. Rest easy.
David Merrefield
January 4, 2007
I had the pleasure of working closely with Michael Browning for about three years when he took his first real journalism job, that being with the Florida Times-Union. He and I constituted the two-man bureau in Brunswick, Ga. Initially, as bureau chief, I undertook an effort to edit his copy, but it soon became evident he was a far better writer than I would ever be. So I left his jottings alone, from which they profited immensely. During our association, Michael was never content with short-form news writing, finding precise facts and brevity too confining. So I specialized in breaking news while he concentrated on long-form news features. That proved to be a useful solution. I still recall those days vividly because I learned much from him, and probably he from me. To this day, I find myself using certain turns of phrase in my writing and speech to which he introduced me. I now regret we didn't keep in touch for a longer time than we did.
Claire Howard
January 4, 2007
Dear Eve and Michael's Family, I'm so sorry to read of your brother (family member's) passing. I didn't know Michael, just that he was your older brother. What a beautiful tribute here in this guest book to him! I would enjoy reading some of his writing. God Bless him richly, and you, in this time of your sorrow. Claire Naughton Howard
Chris Vaughan
January 4, 2007
Slow to learn of this sad news, I will be quick to respond: Because I always wanted to be a foreign correspondent, I paid careful attention to the dispatches from China by Michael Browning, whose byline virtually guaranteed a lesson in reportage and the craft of writing. When I moved from focusing on Haiti and its diaspora at the Herald to covering Southeast Asia for others, I made a review of MB's China-handiwork a priority before attempting anything across the Hong Kong border. Time well spent. Much of that work stays with me still, as does the example set by a writer who gave readers credit for being willing to follow a long, strong sentence to its prize of a conclusion. The body may falter, but his words go on forever.
Peter Slevin
January 3, 2007
There was never any point in trying to take apart a Michael Browning story to figure out how he did it. Early on, I tried, before I realized that what he crafted was not humanly possible. Not only did Michael have a more glorious vocabulary than any mere mortal, he saw the world differently, as if he wore a special lens. Michael illuminated everything he beheld in ways so imaginative, so perfectly funny or poignant or wise, there was nothing left to do but sit back and marvel. He was a genius and a joy, too soon departed.
heath meriwether
January 3, 2007
If you had to have a reporter exasperated with you, Michael Browning was your man. Not withstanding his erudition, his basso-profundo voice, his infectious laugh, his stunning command of Latin, and his extraordinary writing touch, he could make your sides ache when he translated his high dudgeon into long missives about the impossibly wrong-headed ways of errant editors "directing'' him on stories from China. Whenever I heard that a Browning memo was in the newsroom, I dropped everything to read it. In elegant and hilarious prose, Browning could remind you of why, even when he was exasperated, we were so blessed to have him in China and anywhere else he landed.
Reading the guest book with so many thoughts from his colleagues, it's easy to see why we cherished the memories of this remarkable man. I think Browning would've loved seeing it...I only wish he could write an entry that would have us all rushing to our dictionaries and reference books and shaking our heads once again in admiration for what he could do with words and images.
My deepest condolences to Michael's family. I hope they can find solace in all the memories shared in this book.
R Davis
January 3, 2007
My deepest condolence to the Browning Family. The Bible give us a hope of seeing our loved ones again Act 24:15.
Krista Pegnetter
January 3, 2007
So sad to hear about Michael Browning’s death. I only worked with him sporadically at The Palm Beach Post, but he seemed a sweet, brilliant man. His beautiful writing and love of words and literature brought joy to my librarian heart. Michael Browning is one of the many special things I’ll remember about working at The Post.
Deborah Gray Mitchell
January 3, 2007
I wish that I could have met and photographed Michael Browning. As a devotee of his writing, the Miami Herald has never been the same since he left. His is the one portrait I'll always regret not doing.
The world of journalism has lost its master.
Bob Mooney
January 3, 2007
A great honor for me:
Sent : Tuesday, October 17, 2006
To : Robert Mooney
BTW I collect my little 2nd place statewide plaque for enviro writing this Sat. evening, so I am warmly disposed toward you. That Parker pc wd not have happened without your indefatigable gadflying. One of best little things I ever did. Tks.Allbest MCB
Bruce Parsons
January 3, 2007
I never met Michael Browning but we exchanged friendly emails following his article on The Da Vinci Code. Though I thought Michael (and nearly the rest of the world) made much ado about nothing, I relished every word of his review/commentary. Browning used words to paint scenes in our heads and hearts. Through his prose, Browning elevated the ordinary to extraordinary. What a wonderful gift. Thanks.
Kathleen Carroll
January 3, 2007
Like millions of others, I got to know Michael first as a reader of his stories. All anyone needed to say was "Have you seen what Browning has from China today?" You knew it was something special. We met years later. He was a lovely writer, as others have said so well. But for me, the treat was hearing him discuss his adored sons.
Rachel Sauer
January 3, 2007
Michael Browning is one of the few writers I've ever been tempted to plagiarize. His writing seems to float a foot above the ground. He could describe scenes exactly they way they're felt, and that's an incredible gift. He was always gracious and kind about my idol worship. Ad astra, Michael.
Jess Moody
January 3, 2007
I
was shocked to hear of the death of my dear ftiend, Michael Browning. I
kidded myself that I was pretty strong in word usage. Then I met the
Michael. He wrote a two page article about me, and I knew that my new
William Cowper Brann had been born. Michael and I were fans of that old
iconoclast from Texas, called "The wizard of words." We agreed that
Michael was the 'Lizard of Words" and I was the "Gizzard of Words." I have
not been so soul-wounded in my modern life quite so much as the
terribly sad news of his death. I think the preacher and the writer
liked each other a lot.No one knows how much I will miss him Jess Moody
Phil Sears
January 3, 2007
It was a pleasure to read anything penned by Michael, and I consider it an honor to have gotten the chance to do a few freelance assignments over the years to accompany his stories. What a great body of work he left us all.
All I can say is, if God has a newsroom, it just got infinitely better.
Frank Davies
January 3, 2007
Falstaffian, to be sure. A gentle genius, certainly. Those of us lucky to work with Micheal at the Herald sometimes grasped for analogies to describe what he did with words - Magic Johnson on a fast break, or Robert Altman orchestrating dialogue. He was an American original, but he had his arms around the whole damn world. How could one reporter describe a donut shop shooting and explain the emergence of modern China with the same elegance? My image of Tiananmen Square is not the solitary man before the tank, but the lone reporter racing through the carnage on his Flying Pigeon bicycle, then describing it for all of us. All the best, Michael - that's what you gave us.
Dave Marcus / Newsday
January 3, 2007
I ask myself the same question when writing a feature -- even today, 25 years after starting in this crazy business as a Miami Herald intern.
“How would Browning write it?”
I still don't have the answer. We miss you, Michael.
Brian Cole
January 2, 2007
Wonderful, jolly uncle. Loved by all I know. I heartfully regret not knowing him more closely. He will be dearly missed.
Mike Wilson
January 2, 2007
In the early 1990s Michael filed a story for Tropic magazine -- from New York I think. I spent a lot of time hanging around the Tropic offices in those days and was later on the writing staff. As it happened, Michael's piece ran in the issue containing clues for that year's Tropic Hunt. Gene Weingarten and Tom Shroder published some of the clues alongside Michael's piece.
The issue had been out for a couple of days when a letter appeared in Tom's electronic basket. Tom showed it to me.
"You RUINED it," I remember Michael saying. Turns out he didn't appreciate having his story associated with the giddy gimmickry of the Hunt. In referring to his beloved piece I think he used the words "besmirched" and "adulterated." He may have invoked The Furies and damnation. The letter was so far over the top that you couldn't even see the top from where it went. Tropic should have published it the next week, it was so entertaining, so passionate, so extreme. It was just brilliant. And he wasn't kidding.
In a sense what Tropic had done with the piece was no big deal. But not in any sense that Michael understood. He was great because he was one of the few people I have met in this business whom I would describe as a genius, and because he cared about every story, every word. I hardly knew him but he was a huge influence on me. Huge. I always thought he needed to be as big as he was because a smaller body couldn't have contained all that talent.
My sympathies to the family and friends of this remarkable man.
Martha Musgrove
January 2, 2007
Michael's wonderful wordsmithing brought the people and events he wrote about to life. He captured me with his coverage of China. No one since has come close to matching his ability to find and describe common threads of humanity while dissecting another culture. And in my mind's eye, I can still see him on his bicycle assembling the story of Tiananmen Square. Years later the story was a road trip with Leonard Pitts, two men, one white and one black, traveling together through the South, probing its contradictions as well as each other's psyches. I'm too old to cry, but I blink a lot at the thought that there will be no more words from Michael.
Mary Browning
January 2, 2007
Michael, your Aunt Pat called on Saturday to tell me of your passing.
A sudden hush fell over my life.
Memories of you flooded my soul...tales of you as an altar boy at Assumption Catholic Church..the summer of Tolkien, cucumber sandwiches, and Stolichnaya vodka and your question "Wouldn't you care for some Wodka?"...squabbles between brothers over the ownership of the" Children's Hour" nursery map of classical literature that hung in the nursery of your childhood home...the pride your dad Dub had for you as he would beam over your latest writings...Krystal hamburgers, 2.5 inch square "gut bombs," and racing to see who could eat the most...the Christmas my gift to you was pottery from Italy, and as you unwrapped it you said, "Thank God, there's no touristy writing rimming the bowl." Then, you discovered the second gift, a plate that said "Viva, Viva, Viva Italia." We all laughed and laughed as you said, "Well, I set myself up for that one."....your kindness to Mollie after her father Philip died...your emails and advice that made her visit to Italy the single most profound time of her life...you, the dutiful son caring for his mom... you, the lover of place and people....
Now, the silence floats in with "small scuffling feet" and the realization confirms that you, our dear Michael, have taken "l'ultima passeggiata" long before we were ready to let you go.
With love,
Your sister-in-law, Mary
Carol Weber Thomas
January 2, 2007
Michael's prose was so elegant, so thoughtful, that when he was hired as a general assignment reporter for the Miami Herald Broward bureau I wondered about his ability to make deadlines. His first assignment was a shoot-em-up, nothing like the subject matter of the long pieces in the clips he had sent us. No worry. He made that deadline and many more, turning even the mundane into a world-class read. A lovely writer. A lovely man.
Chris Mobley
January 2, 2007
Ol' Man River,
Dat Ol' Man River
He mus' know sumpin' But don't say nuthin',
He jes' keeps rollin',
He keeps on rollin' along.
I don't even have to close my eyes to hear Michael's stirring rendition, delivered from the shallow end of somebody's swimming pool at somebody's going-away party sometime or another. What a lovely voice. What a lovely man. Surely we all will keep rollin' along, but it won't be the same.
Amanda Bennett
January 2, 2007
Michael was one of the intrepid band of not-old-China-hands sent to cover China. I remember not only his wonderful writing, and his sense of humor, but also his deep, quiet kindness to colleagues.
Amy Vernon
January 2, 2007
This man wrote some of the finest prose to ever grace the pages of The Miami Herald. Hard to imagine he never won a Pulitzer.
Larry Kaplow
January 2, 2007
In addition to being a great collector and devourer or books, Michael was also generous with them and his knowledge of them - even in the fleeting acquaintance and email correspondence we had. It prompted me to read more at a time when I wasn’t reading enough.
When I read his stories, there would always be at least some vaguely familiar word that I would look up, relearn and think about differently than I had before.
When I try to stretch as a writer, I tell myself to think like Michael – though of course I can’t.
Jim McNair
January 2, 2007
Everything Browning wrote was memorable. My favorites, from our days together at the Herald: His reflection of growing up as a white kid in the south, alongside Leonard Pitts' own reflection of growing up a black kid in LA. There he reminisced about drinking soft drink "suicides," a fading facet of southern childhood. And his series about the Florida water crisis, which described the water line to Key West as a 130-mile-long "straw," said all that needed to be said about that subject.
Marc Fisher
January 2, 2007
My heroes are leaving. First Gene Miller, now Michael, the most elegant writer in American journalism. Last year, after Gene died, Michael wrote about him on another of these guest books. Like all great eulogists, he could well have been speaking of himself:
"His example inspired scores of young journalists, myself included. He had an almost heroic lucidity about him, tempered with great kindness and human warmth. I have never known a clearer, more diamond-like intellect. He was like a human burning-glass, focusing everything into 'bright shafts of daylight,' as Lucretius says. Yet he could use wonderful phrases like 'scared the bejabbers out of him.' He wore his natural talent lightly. You never felt jealous of him. You just wanted to be more like him."
As ever, Michael said it better than I could.
Lynn Medford
January 2, 2007
He was Proustian, Faulnerian and Hemingway-esque at once. Not to mention the Paul Bunyan bits. And not even Michael O'Donoghue could match him on a blistering,withering memo (Smurfs!). A rare literary titan in the news business. We were blessed.
Glenda Wolin
January 2, 2007
In the features section of the Miami Herald in the early '80s, we knew Michael was special even as a newcomer who was stuck writing "Wednesday's Child" (or was it Tuesday's?), a short feature about the adoptable child of the week. I'd like to think we had a tiny part in encouraging him along his path to what he became. And in answer to Frank Cerabino's question about what he was reading when he was stabbed, it was part of Shelby Foote's Civil War trilogy, the Civil War being another of Michael's passions. I clearly recall the day it happened, when we found out he had staggered, bleeding, into the Herald lobby and collapsed. He was closer to the hospital, but he was drawn back to the place he loved.
Pete Weitzel
January 2, 2007
Truth be told, it wasn’t Michael Browning’s wonderful writing that got him to The Miami Herald.
It was his drawing talent.
I was state editor of The Herald in 1977 and often scanned other Florida newspapers looking for both items and writers of interest. One day, I came across a superb sketch of the Okefenokee Swamp in a feature section of the Florida Times Union, I thought about clipping the drawing and passing it along, suggesting we think about hiring him for our art department. Then I noticed the same person wrote the story. And the story was an even finer piece of artistry.
Son-of-a-gun, or something like that, I thought: a two-fer. And, oh yes, the art department be damned. Wouldn’t it be something to have someone in a bureau who could illustrate his own stories.
Michael was then the one-man Savannah bureau for the Times Union, and even though I had no openings, I sent him a letter praising the story and the sketch and asking if he might be interested in working at The Herald. A month later, when I was in Savannah on personal business, we had lunch. And a few months after that, Michael joined the Herald.
I don’t recall his ever doing a sketch for one of his stories, but it didn’t matter, and he surely didn’t disappoint. Michael’s reporting and writing talent turned out to be so much more than a two-fer.
Richard Morin
January 2, 2007
Michael wrote straight up, full on, with perfect pitch and always in complete control. The places we saw and the fun we had, thanks to Michael. His gently wicked sense of humor and mischievous chuckle will be missed.
Mark Seibel
January 2, 2007
For seven years I edited Browning while he was in China and it was easily the best task one could ask for. Every story was filled with surprises. Very little, if anything, ever needed to be touched. In the rare instance when something didn't quite work, no one was quicker to fix it than Mike. And, of course, there was the daily contact with one of the most astute world observers one could hope to know.
Mike's newspaper stories were wonderful, as he witnessed China's turn away from Maoism into the modern age. But it was his memos, sometimes telexed in those dark ages before e-mail, occasionally sent by snail-mail with his expenses, that gave a special window into his world. We'd share them in the newsroom and laugh with Mike's wry observations of everything from Chinese bureaucracy to the professional frailties of his editors or the likely reaction of the accounting department. I've always regretted that I didn't save every one.
Two quick anecdotes: Once, Browning and his Chinese interpreter were interviewing a Chinese Roman Catholic priest about religion in China. The priest was clearly uncomfortable speaking candidly through an interpreter who no doubt worked for the Chinese government. So Mike switched to Latin, confouding the interpreter, but putting the priest at ease.
Once, after several years in China, Mike and family were back in Miami for a visit. Everyone has to deal with the cultural peculiarities of the place they are, and Mike told this story to underscore the point. One of his sons, Noah, I think, was cruising through the Miami television stations and paused at a cartoon show in Spanish. Noah watched for a few moments, then pronounced his verdict: "Dad, that's no good. It's in Japanese."
Mike Browning hated the formulaic and loved the oddities and ironies of the world he wrote about. Years after he left The Herald, readers still would ask me about him and talk about how they missed his accounts of China. That's a pretty amazing tribute for a writer who spent much of his career telling people about a place that had little relevance to their day-to-day lives _ and a lesson to the rest of us in an industry that seems to be struggling to remember why it exists.
Lisa Getter
January 2, 2007
Michael had no equal. He turned journalism into literature every time he wrote. What a loss for readers everywhere. I feel lucky to have known him.
Mike McQueen
January 2, 2007
Like many former Miami Herald journalists, I was an admirer of Michael's prose. Most of my time at the Herald, I was on the city desk as an assistant city editor. But I did a one-year stint as an editor/writer on the combined national/foreign desk and got to work every now and then with Michael when he was stationed in China. I can tell you that we never published Michael's best writing. His best work was contained in the long, erudite and graceful emails that he wrote to his editors about the story he was working on, intended to work on or wanted to comment on. If you have read Michael's published work, I know it is difficult to believe that he can trump that. But he often did in these informal notes to editors.
My condolences to his family and friends and I trust Michael will rest in peace.
Mark Thompson
January 2, 2007
All I know of Michael's work was what I read with amazement and wonder as a member of Knight-Ridder's Washington bureau in the late '80s and early '90s. The fact that we lost both that once-special company, and, far more importantly, this gifted writer, in 2006 makes me greet 2007 even more warmly.
Ian Katz
January 2, 2007
As a copy editor on The Herald's foreign desk in the late 80s, I had the pleasure of working with Michael when he was in China. What a talent! His writing often left me shaking my head in amazement. A helluva nice guy, too. It sounds cliche to say on someone's passing that he was unique or one of a kind. But Michael was way beyond extraordinary. What a huge loss for journalism.
Nicole Neal
January 2, 2007
From the moment I met Michael Browning, I had a fantasy about him: I wanted
to invite him over, sit him in a leather chair (I'd buy a wingback for
the occasion), and listen to him read. He was so gracious and so
charming, he probably would have obliged. When we needed poetry, we
tapped Michael. He always came through. But more than that, I'll miss
the man himself. He would have found a better word, but the best one I
can come up with is "special." Michael was special.
Elisabeth (Liz) Donovan
January 2, 2007
Like the guest book for Gene Miller last year, this is looking a bit like a Miami Herald reunion. And who best to be the catalyst for this, as, after Gene, Michael was a big part of the soul of the Herald. He wasn't at the Post as long, but it seems he had a similar impression there. Condolences to all of Michael's friends and family who will miss him so much; and to my scattered Herald colleagues who will hold his memory close. We did love him.
Eve Browning
January 2, 2007
Michael Browning was my dear brother, friend and confidante. His writing was a force of nature. Michael never paid much heed to limits; he detested deadlines and word counts. Even the laws of gravity were to be defied; when he was 5 years old, he tied a bath towel around his shoulders and attempted to fly like Superman off the roof of the garage in Jacksonville. Amazingly unhurt, he rose from the ground and said (according to family legend), “I know I can do this”. From his earliest years, he loved words and sentences and they loved him back. Once long ago he wrote to me somewhat down because the Miami Herald had assigned him to cover a hog-calling contest. He turned that contest into a shining display of heroism and solid American virtue, comparing the hog-callers to Homeric warriors on the sun-baked plains of Troy. Anything Michael touched as a writer took on magic power.
As these tributes show, Michael never did anything half-heartedly. When he chose a topic to write about, he turned it inside out for every glimmer of strangeness and beauty. His passions were of epic proportion: The Civil War became one such passion, and he almost fulfilled his aim of visiting every major battlefield and sensing its ghosts. When his first son was born, Michael told me he had learned the meaning of a line from Virgil: “I love you more than my eyes”. He taught himself to play the banjo during his army years, and added this to a monumental love of music which dates back to childhood, when he would stand for hours conducting the symphonies of Beethoven played on a scratchy little turntable at top volume. Last spring he took me to the train station in West Palm Beach and brought his banjo. As we waited for the train, he played. Slowly, every other commuter turned to listen, then smile, as the pale slanting sunlight was transformed into a radiance of shimmering banjo notes and time stopped.
Eve Browning
Duluth Minnesota
Mark Schwed
January 2, 2007
The trouble with trying to write something about Michael is that nothing can be said, or thought, that will in any way adequately honor his intelligence, wit, and humanity. I will miss him greatly.
Michael Grunwald
January 2, 2007
Michael was Florida's brilliant, quirky, generous, curious journalist-professor. Reading his stories--or even his Allbest emails--felt like eating chocolate cake for college credit. What a loss.
Mike Haggerty
January 1, 2007
In the early 80s, a few Miami Herald editors got together to decide who to send to Atlanta, New York, Israel and China. Fred Grimm succeeded Bill Rose in Atlanta, a bureau that made sense because, geographically anyway, Miami’s in the South. Joe Starita succeeded Sara Rimer in New York because so many from New York live in Miami. Marty Merzer succeeded Danny Goodgame in Israel because of the importance of the area. Michael Browning went to China. It made no sense at all for The Herald to have a bureau there, but, what the heck, Knight-Ridder was paying for it. Bill Montalbano opened it and stayed two years. Michael followed, stayed far longer than anyone expected and showed us in his own way why we should care about this huge country that was lurching into the modern world. He wrote much about politics because he was a brilliant reader of tea leaves. But what I remember most were his columns about life in China. He took great delight in describing roasted monkey carcasses hanging in the market to be sold for dinner that evening (with the monkey’s brains considered an epicure’s delight). And he explained why Beijing had so many bicycle repair shops – the Chinese had a nuclear bomb but hadn’t figured out that washers were needed to keep nuts and bolts tight and keep the wheels from coming off. In those days, The Herald had generous travel budgets. Mike was sent from Beijing to Rome to cover an important meeting called by the pope. The Vatican issued its official daily press releases in Latin with translations into several other languages. Mike proceeded to correct the Latin grammar in the press releases, question the pope’s representative in Latin, and correct the translations in the several other languages. The rest of the press corps depended on Mike to explain what was really happening, bypassing a huffy and miffed bishop. It was all so typical of the one and only Michael Browning.
Paul Anderson
January 1, 2007
Michael will remain with me in a flood of unforgettable memories, including:
Drinking beer and slurping oysters as he told stories in bars from Hollywood to Tallahassee to Hong Kong. If he repeated a story, no one minded.
Learning new words in each encounter, including medieval oaths for clumsy editors.
Hearing his warm chortle as we toured the Temple of Heaven in Beijing, and Chinese people crowded around Matthew and Noah to reach out and touch their golden hair. While I was initially unnerved, Michael's patience helped me learn amuch bout the world.
Assuring my mother in Boca that it was all right to cancel her Miami Herald subscription (after more than two decades) and pick up the Post, just so that she could keep reading Michael's stories.
And exchanging emails with Michael after Mom called particularly wonderful pieces to my attention, with each of his replies including an effusive Thank You to her for remaining such a loyal fan.
It's now time for us to thank him for giving us the great gifts of enduring friendship and shimmering prose. We'll miss you, Michael.
Janelle Marr
January 1, 2007
My husband, Mike Marr lived next door to Michael Browning on Abby Lane in Jacksonville from 1950 until 1966. I had the wonderful honor of meeting Michael when he moved to Palm Beach County.He spent several nights with us in Belle Glade and always sent the most eloquent letters and cards to us written in real ink (not ballpoint). I have read most of his articles in the Palm Beach Post and often I called to tell him how much I loved it and sometimes I called him to ask what the heck it meant. My husband and I knew he was ill but never thought of him passing away so soon. He sent each of us a Christmas present this year and we will always cherish his friendship. We were privileged to have him as a dear friend and we will greatly miss him.
In addition to writing so well he played the guitar and enjoyed entertaining us.
joe
January 1, 2007
I was Mike's mailman during the time he lived in Palm Beach Gardens.Most of the books he received were delivered by me,and he sure had a lot of them.But it always was a pleasure talking to him either about those books from all over the world or a recently written article. I will miss him dearly.
Leah Schad
January 1, 2007
I first met Michael Browning shortly after his arrival here. His assignment during that Christmas season was to find an unusual story to write about at a local church. As administrator of Grace Episcopal Church I received the phone call and arranged to meet him with the others that he would write about. We kept in touch from time to time talking about his articles. When I heard that Michael was dying I actually became nauseous. That can't be, I said to myself, but alas it was. We have lost a writer of such depth and sensitivity, still hard to believe. Whether he was writing about his dear mother or 'fighting' the bouganvilla in his yard, he drew you in to become part of the story right along with him. I use to run into him in the grocery store where we would block the aisle and chat longer than anticipated. We are all the richer for having had Michael in our lives. He will always be special to all who knew him.
David Spencer
January 1, 2007
Michael was one of the finest writers I have ever had the privilege of working with as a newspaper photojournalist. Our final road trip to Winter Haven to work on a story on Florida citrus will be remembered fondly. His wicked sense of humor and joke telling made the rainy road trip a delight. Later, after a lunch at my home, Michael astounded me with his knowledge of a historical photograph I showed him taken in Rome in about 1860-not only did he easily transcribe the Latin inscription on the monument depicted in the photograph, he also casually mentioned the history and significance of a building mostly obscured in the background of the photograph. Although Michael is gone, his published prose will be his true monument. For those who might stumble upon it-just like Roman tourists craning their necks and scratching their heads to decipher the meaning of Latin inscribed in stone, it will hold significance and bring delight for generations to come.
Lynne Pine
January 1, 2007
To see Mr. Browning's byline was to know you were in for a treat. What an extraordinary gift for giving his readers a fully fleshed sense of place and person. I felt I was standing right next to him in the old book store.
Once, I sent him an email thanking him for enriching my life and he wrote back that I was a "silver-tongued devil" for heaping him with praise. I think not. I did not know Mr. Browning except through his work,and yet, like so many other readers, I will miss him dearly.
Michael Capuzzo
January 1, 2007
For those readers or reporters who thought The Miami Herald had a special group of writers in those days, Michael Browning was the most stunning proof of it. To me he was a giant in all respects, our Thomas Wolfe, the more gifted one, not the sharp social critic, but the southern Goliath who wrote thousand-page narratives of pure poetry. Browning however gave you the impression he had the talent not only to write Look Homeward Angel but to have edited it, such was his intellectual rigor. But trying to describe him is an empty game compared to the power of his art, his ability to set one's heart and mind on fire. This morning I went hunting for his words to show my wife. I found them, in Tom Shroder's memories in this guestbook of Michael's magical description of Bejing, and in Scott Eyman's obituary of one of Michael's last communications with him. When I hit Michael's defense of the Chinese right to happiness, I wept. I urge anyone to read Michael Browning who wants to know what's possible in journalism. Channel surfing the other night, an old clip of Earvin Johnson at Michigan State appeared, when he was 19 and thin and grinning and every move was magic, and I wanted to stop everyone in the room, like I do now, and say, "Look at this!"
Shannon OBrien
January 1, 2007
I am deeply saddened to learn of Michael Browning's death. I worked with him on a handful of stories and was always impressed and inspired by his breadth of knowledge and passion for learning more. He will be missed.
Sammy Alzofon
January 1, 2007
Michael's e-mails were eagerly anticipated. Unlike most, I received those questions that Michael couldn't answer. The requests were challenging, the language delicious, and it always felt like an honor to do research for him. I will miss him deeply, as a colleague and as a teacher.
Marianne Browning Green
January 1, 2007
Michael was the flowering of both families' intellectual aspirations. He put himself into his unique orbit, but probably would credit his father's love of literature and his mother's encouragement. After his return as a world traveler, he endeared himself again by his love of the family farm woodlands in Madison County and by his concerns about keeping the space and serenity he enjoyed during childhood summer stays. He belongs to a world that we understand through words from his journalism family, adding to our special regard for him as grandchild, brother, nephew, cousin--amazing family member.
James Louder
January 1, 2007
Michael Browning was my oldest and dearest friend. We met in 1962 as freshmen at Bishop Kenny High School in Jacksonville, where my father’s Navy career had landed our family earlier that year. Michael was the first real friend I made in this new place and we connected with the intensity characteristic of boys that age: recognition begets brotherhood and, forged in the fire of shared experience, it lasts for life.
Michael and I enjoyed two short years together before the Navy whisked the family away from Jacksonville as quickly as we had come. Then began a correspondence which, I think I may say, marked the first efflorescence of Michael’s gift as a writer. I still have his letters from those years. There I find all the qualities that so many people came to prize in his writing: the cadence, the vocabulary, the sensibility, the originality, and the wit—always, unfailingly, the wit!
Many other contributors to this memorial have remarked on Michael’s wonderful sense of humour, his readiness to laugh and his gift to raise a laugh, sometimes in rather improbable circumstances. It was his most endearing trait, the more so because his wit was never tainted with cruelty. Michael possessed the true comic genius, which is born of love and compassion for humanity. It is also born of pain, beheld and experienced—and here I must tread gently. Let me only say that my beloved friend’s wonderful humour could not have been, without what the poet has called, “the notion of some infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing.”
Another wonderful quality of Michael’s, which so far has escaped remark, was his profound love and appreciation of music, especially classical music. In this, as in so many other things, his knowledge was encyclopaedic and his sensibility well-nigh infallible. This was the more remarkable since he had no formal musical training at all. A lot of our youthful correspondence was taken up with furiously debating the relative merits of Bach and Wagner—silly stuff to the men we became, but how we flogged each other to learn what Art really is! When I look back, I can hardly believe my good fortune to have found so young a friend who felt so deeply and thought so well.
There has been no greater grace in my life than to have kept that friendship for over forty years. Tonight the hurt in my heart belies the wonder than such a thing could have been at all. But the hurt will heal and the wonder will abide.
Pam Smith O'Hara
January 1, 2007
I had the extreme good fortune to have Michael in my life for nearly three decades. From the day we met on assignment at the Stardust Ballroom on Hollywood Beach, I have loved him madly. He was a treasure.
Ray Martinez
December 31, 2006
“Elvis lives!” That’s how Michael Browning began a story about a hurricane ripping through the Florida Panhandle in the mid-90s. In its destructive wake, Browning, the classics scholar cum newspaper reporter, chose foremost to write about a statuette of Elvis that was blown from its beachside yard and then discovered, mostly intact, all the way across the sound. Wow.
Reading a story by Michael Browning was an act of love and enlightenment. And usually joy. He was the most sentient reporter and the most beautiful and compassionate newspaper writer I’ve ever read.
I had the honor of working next to him for a brief time. He seemed to have not a fleck of ego. He was kind and gentle, full of humor and verve.
His life in years was too short, but his life lived was immense and profound. God how I admired him. Viva Browning!
David Von Drehle
December 31, 2006
If Michael Browning's fame had matched his talent his death would be front-page news across the country. He was a member of journalism's smallest fraternity--writers capable of sentences and paragraphs so great the rest of us think: Either he's not writing, or we're not writing, because we are NOT doing the same thing. He inspired and humbled me, and I will miss him.
K Tulk
December 31, 2006
It was after reading of Mr. Browning’s experiences with his mother that compelled me to write to thank him for sharing his experiences and feelings. He was kind in his response and seemed grateful that I had written.
He was still feeling the loss of his mother and I told him that I too had experienced much of what he had gone through and that I also felt great loss after my mother died. I then told him not long after my mother died, I started receiving, almost daily, little signs that she was still with me.
Mr. Browning stated he had not observed any commutations from his mother to date but “would keep an eye out.”
It was last week that I did a search of the PB Post thinking I may have missed one of his articles as I had not seen one in some time. I was saddened to read of Mr. Browning’s passing.
I think he would have liked this quote:
“Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it.”
~W. Somerset Maugham
Justin Gilken
December 31, 2006
For the last year and a half, Michael would occassionally stroll into the multimedia office at the Post, having fully embraced the technological revolution, and hand over his recorder. "There is sound on here somewhere," he would say, and during the 3 or 4 minutes it took to off-load his audio onto a CD, he would always hang out and joke with me. It was always hilarious, even when I had to google his punchlines. His radio delivery was poetic, and even though he was among the most distinguished "old-school" writers, he always made me feel like the "new-media" portion of the biz mattered. I loved those hilarious afternoons when he'd stop by... I'll miss them very much.
Mike Blumstein
December 31, 2006
No subject was mundane after it passed through Michael's lens. He was a unique soul who enriched the lives of colleagues and readers alike.
Heidi Bell
December 31, 2006
How ironic that Michael Browning died almost 3 years exactly to the day that he wrote the poignant, lovely story about his mother's death. I know that story resonated with many, many readers. He was a wonderful writer and from all I am reading a wonderful person and loyal readers of the Post will definitely miss him.
Cynthia Kopkowski
December 31, 2006
I'd pass Michael in the halls of the Post and chat with him for a second, then walk away thinking, "He had an epic piece in the paper today that included allusions to 16th century botanists and Spartan battle techniques and 15 words I've never even heard before. I had a column about how you can use canned vegetables to hammer nails in a pinch." It was a testament to Michael's graciousness that he never let on.
Leslie Streeter
December 31, 2006
As a 30-something journalist, I've been supremely lucky to have access to something the next generation of newspaper folk will be bereft of - honest-to-God veterans of the trade. I am humbled and fortunate to have been able to work alongside Mr. Browning - and as a southern gentleman, he understood that I called him "Mr. Browning" out of genuine respect rather than as a nod to age. He knew more words than anyone I've ever met, and you could see the joy he gleaned from using them, from biting into them like juicy morsels of meat. There was no pretense, just an utter thrill in the language. And it was comforting and awe-inspiring that this supremely smart man took the time to write encouraging emails to a younger reporter like myself, to stop and chat and share that gift of language and experience. I'll miss our talks about our work. And God how I wish I'd saved all of those emails.
Judith Mariggio
December 31, 2006
Michael's article about Bomarzo, a garden of sculptured oddities north of Rome which few Americans visit, prompted me to email a note of appreciation. His response included a bit of Italian, references to an obscure novel, an opera, and an essay, and the name of his "favorite old book shopping resource." I can quote him directly, as I've saved that response on my computer since March 1, 2002. He also noted, "One lifetime is not enough for Italy." Michael Browning was himself a treasure, and I shall miss the thoughtful and generous spirit with which he shared his observations.
Anne Baumgartner
December 31, 2006
Goodbye Michael. You wrote with great love and magic. I only wish you had bargained for a few more years.
Mary Voboril
December 31, 2006
His writing was uniformly fine. He deserved to be more widely read, more famous than he already was. And certainly more celebrated.
Jodi
December 31, 2006
You were my neighbor. You walked past my house frequently, a great, gallumphing walk. You were always glued to what looked like a transistor radio... could it have been? I often wished to stop you, to tell you I admired your writing. A mutual friend once told me of your shyness, and I suppose I feared I might alarm you. But for all your erudite prose, for all the times you sent me to the dictionary in the middle of one of your stories, my favorite line came from a piece you wrote about the how-to's of recycling: "No stinkin' soup cans!"
Charles Passy
December 31, 2006
As soon as I heard about Michael's passing, my thoughts turned to the
story he wrote about his mother's passing. I remembered the kicker -- about having to deal with feeding the dog the morning after her death. It was a perfect metaphor -- that life will go on.
And I suppose that's the case here. But I went back and read the story
and realized that there are not many writers out there whose kickers
stay in my mind months and years after the stories are published. And
then I read more of Michael's pieces -- about the Publix bag boy, about
the Middle Eastern rug seller -- and realized how many of the small, precious details of them I remembered, too. Michael's work was like that. He had the gift to
hone in on those nuggets of place, personality and setting and build
them into a sweeping, telling whole.
Damn, he'll be missed.
Robert Fulmer
December 31, 2006
I wish I had met the guy. After reading the varied remembrances I wish I could have, for about an hour, sat down and watched and listened to this remarkable man.
I devoured everything he wrote in the Herald and the Post. I used to skim through both papers looking for his byline, and, if I spotted it, I'd dive into his article like crazed rat. He sentences were polished, iridescent pearls.
Gonna miss his work. Sounds like he had a helluva life.
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