STEVE WALDON, JOURNALIST
9-1-1956 - 26-10-2008
Nimble wordsmith whose generosity of spirit cheered us all
'IT WAS like when you hear news so dumbfounding that, for a few awkward moments, the brain loses its higher functions and the message seems algebraic rather than straightforward."
Those words about Kosovo refugees by Age journalist Steve Waldon precisely summed up how his family, friends and colleagues felt on Sunday night on hearing of his tragic death in a motor accident that evening.
Waldon, 52, inspired probably more affection than any journalist on the paper for his unfailing generosity of spirit, indomitable cheerfulness and ridiculous sense of humour.
"He was the soul of The Age," former colleague Julie-Anne Davies said yesterday.
In his 35 years on the paper - rising from putting rubber bands around documents as a 17-year-old in the accounts department - he also showed himself a talented and versatile journalist. He was a fine subeditor, rising to chief subeditor and production editor, and worked on the foreign desk, as letters and opinion editor, plus a spell as EG editor he relished.
But he will be most remembered as a writer - columns, colour, features - whose best work was intelligent, empathetic, insightful, witty and eloquent. If a story demanded sensitivity - a difficult funeral, say - humour, or a slightly off-centre window on the world, Waldo (as he was universally known) was an obvious choice.
But his depth and passion emerged in coverage of three issues for which he will long be remembered. First was a series on Albanian refugees that eventually led him to Pristina.
Typically, he got involved in their lives, and when one Kosovo family pleaded for help to return to Australia he hectored bureaucrats and drove around the state twice in their ultimately successful cause.
Next was a series on the indigenous community of Rumbelara in Shepparton, facing condemnation after a grand final football brawl. A respected Rumbelara leader, Paul Briggs, says: "Waldo's unbiased and intensive investigation came at a critical time. He was an honest, decent man. He and I became friends."
But the coverage that resonated most widely was on male depression and suicide. It won him and Julie-Anne Davies a Walkley nomination and the Press Club's Gold Quill award. Waldo wrestled with depression for years, and that series exacted a heavy toll on him.
"He asked me to work alongside him," Davies recalls. "We spent three months delving into this stuff that was deeply confronting. It showed his incredible compassion, moral integrity and bravery to deal with something so close to home. It made a difference in many people's lives, and they told him so. He stayed with it long after, speaking at men's groups and breakfasts."
His irrepressible side was what made him so loved. He was always a cheerful and uplifting presence in the newsroom, and few people parted from him without a smile.
At his core was an irreverent sense of humour, quick and clever, sometimes caustic but never hurtful. A man addicted to teasing - he drove the arts reporter mad by constantly assuming the most philistine attitude possible - he attracted it equally naturally. Close friend and colleague Michael Vaughan recalls a breakfast at Lakes Entrance where Waldo ordered "the world's biggest fry-up - and a skinny latte. The woman behind the counter looked at him and said, 'I'm not sure that's going to help'."
He had a long contest with former Age journalist John Schauble to get obscure words published in the paper, such as "futtocks" and "turbidity". Being a leader writer, Schauble usually won.
Waldo thought the Beach Boys the epitome of musical achievement, and liked to quote their lyrics in articles. A quest to hear founder Brian Wilson play live remained unfulfilled - once he was on holiday, another time in hospital.
Waldo told his colleague Andrew Tate: "The promoters set aside a copy of the CD Pet Sounds Live for Brian to autograph, with my name on a yellow sticky note. With the absent-mindedness for which we all love and despair of Brian, he signed across the note. When it finally falls off, I will have a CD sleeve that says 'Bri … on" and a note that reads 'an Wils'."
After a Paul McCartney press conference, Waldo noticed the former Beatle's glass of water was still half full.
Purloining the glass, he carried it carefully back to the office, then home, where he proudly left McCartney's fingerprints and DNA on the kitchen bench - only to wake the next morning to find his wife, Cheryl, had tidily washed it and put it away.
Another typical Waldo tale comes from the annual pilgrimage by a group of sports subeditors to an Adelaide cricket Test. Waldo was famous for never seeing a wicket fall - because he was at the bar, picking up his sunglasses, reading the paper, looking at the scoreboard, waving to the press box, finding a straw for his Pimms, or halfway through telling a joke that required him to face his comrades rather than the field. Last year he finally saw a dismissal, leaping to his feet to declare: "Yes! I saw it!"
His dress sense was erratic, and he would often turn up without embarrassment in a floral shirt, shorts and sandals.
Had he been sent to interview the governor-general, Waldo would have expected the eminent and humble alike to take him as he was - and as he took them.
Waldo was a Christian of a gentle and understated style, whose faith was important to him and a source of strength.
Vaughan says what made Steve remarkable was his giving in every sphere of his life. "He was so good at it. He gave of himself all the time."
He was a mentor to many young staff, officially through the traineeship program, and privately because he was so friendly and accessible, and his advice was so helpful.
His wife, Cheryl, and children - Johanna, 27, and Cameron, 25 - were bedrock for Steve, a devoted husband and father. Their loss is greatest of all, but his early departure will leave a hole in the lives of all who knew him.
By BARNEY ZWARTZ
Farewell Mate.
NUNQUAM OBLIVISCAR - "I WILL NEVER FORGET...YOU"
Cheers,
Christos Harisopoulos
