TIME

David Carr’s Grand Caper

The reporter, who died Thursday, was a Raymond Carver character plopped into the New York Times’ Edith Wharton world

David Carr was the most unlikely New York Times superstar. It’s a great newspaper, no doubt about it, but let’s face it: The Times is the sort of place known to employ people with two last names. Harrison Salisbury. Fox Butterfield. McCandlish Phillips. A paper, as the late Ben Bradlee used to say contemptuously, with “four f-cking dance critics.” It is said that the late R.W. Apple Jr. traveled with his personal pepper grinder in his luggage, lest he be trapped on assignment with improperly seasoned food.

Carr, the Times media columnist who died on the job Thursday at 58, suddenly and unexpectedly, was a reformed crack addict and street dealer with the faint gravel voice of a wino bumming a buck. In cold weather, he favored the sort of overcoat you could picture being passed out by missionaries from the back of a truck. Though he ordered only soft drinks, I can say no one looked more at home hunched over a dim-lit bar, the kind where Cutty Sark is a premium brand. He was a Raymond Carver character plopped into the Times’ Edith Wharton world.

A lot of people will point today to Carr’s intelligence and talent — and properly so. He was wonderful at translating the patter of media sales-talk into the argot of real life, a skill that requires a lot of brainpower. No one ever brushed past David’s BS detector mumbling “platform agnostic” or “digital first.”

MORE: Read TIME’s Review of Carr’s Memoir, The Night of the Gun

And he had that noted quality of a fine mind: the ability to grasp two competing ideas simultaneously. He understood — and embraced — the tidal power of social media without losing sight of virtues from the past. David was a reporter, not a pundit; he explained rather than preached, and almost uniquely he saw the entire horizon. It wasn’t just journalism that was being shattered and remade on his watch. It was every form of human communication.

I am happy to pay tribute to his brains and gifts, but I want to put in a word also for his enthusiastic work ethic. Journalism is a young person’s game; the years between 22 and 30 are like the trampling scrum outside Walmart on Black Friday. David Carr spent those years spiraling down into a pit most of us are lucky never to see. He wrote about it in his memoir, The Night of the Gun. It’s worth reading even after I give away the most shocking moment: the night David strapped his infant twins into their car seats and drove to a crack house, where he left them at the curb while he went inside to get high.

It’s no small thing to claw a path upward from that low point to a star-turn as the face of the New York Times — which was Carr’s role in the acclaimed documentary Page One. The hidden ingredient was stupendous effort. The man did his homework. If a trench needed digging, he grabbed a shovel. In his early years at the Times, David wrote for every page, every section, uncomplainingly. He became the paper’s biggest cheerleader and one of its most original voices. The bosses wanted a blog — he blogged the Oscars. The bosses wanted video — he shambled in front of a handheld camera. The bosses wanted live events — he slipped on a necktie and made himself an emcee.

MORE: David Carr, Influential New York Times Columnist, Has Died at 58

Most of all, he covered his beat like a blanket, expanding the traditional role of the media critic to include every gust and swirl of the digital tempest. David was the John Reed of this particular revolution, documenting and participating at the same time. For many of his fans, Carr’s death was unbelievable because he was Tweeting and live-streaming right up to his final breath.

Was he his own favorite subject? Yes — but who could blame him? David was great copy, as the old newsmen say. Understanding the sinews of a good story, Carr relished the dramatic arc of his pit-to-peak biography.

But even at his most self-absorbed, he had a winning sense of wonder and gratitude for the way his life had turned out. David Carr believed in a God of second chances, and he accepted without question that he was among this God’s favorites. With his twins safely grown to young adulthood; with his beautiful wife and the daughter they had together; with his bully pulpit at the Times and his all-access pass to the glittering world of media and celebrity, David Carr was the Prodigal Son 10 times over. Feasting on the fatted calf of divine grace, every day was thanksgiving.

“The trick,” he once said, is to enjoy the second chance, “and hope the caper doesn’t end anytime soon.” He kept up his end of that equation, to the delight and profit of his readers and friends. And if the caper ended too soon for him and for us, it was a doozy while it lasted.

Read next: Remembering David Carr, Media Critic and Media Lover

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TIME LGBT

Why the Supreme Court is Set to Make History on Gay Marriage

The writing's been on the wall since the Defense of Marriage Act was struck down in 2013

The fight for same-sex marriage rights in the United States has reached its final round. On Friday, the Supreme Court announced that it will hear arguments on whether state laws that ban these unions violate the constitution.

There’s not much question which way the decision will go: same-sex couples are going to prevail. The logic is plain:

In 2013, the court—the very same nine justices—struck down the Defense of Marriage Act. The plaintiff was a lesbian spouse whose marriage was recognized under New York law. The court ruled that the Constitution bars the federal government from treating traditional marriages differently from same-sex marriages in states that legalize both.

Read more: How Gay Marriage Won

Now the court will apply the same reasoning to state laws. Does the constitution allow states to discriminate when Congress cannot? Can the 14 states that still ban same-sex unions refuse to recognize marriages lawfully performed in other states?

In other words: suppose that two couples lawfully married in, say, Utah both move to Ohio. Can the authorities in Ohio refuse to recognize one of the marriages—the two-husband marriage—while recognizing the union of husband and wife?

Justice Anthony Kennedy, the deciding vote on same-sex marriage in 2013, left no doubt about his thinking in his majority opinion: “No legitimate purpose” exists to justify a law “to disparage and injure” same-sex couples. And that’s what these laws do, he concluded. DOMA “instructs all federal officials, and indeed all persons with whom same-sex couples interact, including their own children, that their marriage is less worthy than the marriages of others.”

Lower federal courts pretty clearly agree on this point. Even some of the most conservative courts of appeal have ruled that state laws against same-sex marriage are in conflict with the 2013 ruling. Earlier this term, the Supreme Court declined to take up the issue, for the simple reason that the lower court judges were all arriving at the same decision. Where there was no dispute, the high court saw no need to step in.

But last fall, a panel of the 6th Circuit Court of Appeals—with jurisdiction over Ohio, Kentucky, Michigan and Tennessee—upheld state laws against same-sex marriages. With lower courts now in conflict, the Supremes have a role to play.

Given Kennedy’s long history as a defender of the dignity and rights of homosexuals, it defies belief to think that he has been sitting in Washington, watching couples in one state after another gain the freedom to wed, if he doesn’t in fact believe that freedom exists. For the Court to uphold the 6th Circuit opinion, Kennedy would have to join the court’s conservatives in a ruling that would potentially invalidate thousands of marriages across the country.

Polls now show that a majority of Americans believe in the right to marry. The shift of public and judicial opinion on this issue in a single generation has been startling. But it is less controversial with each passing day.

Now the issue will be resolved once and for all.

TIME

Medicine Is About to Get Personal

Photographs by Gregg Segal for TIME Dr. Garrison Bliss is shaking up how primary-­care medicine works

How can Americans get better health care for less money? There's a quiet experiment going on among primary-care physicians, and the results are intriguing

Nowhere outside the pages of Dickens is there a more aptly named fellow than Garrison Bliss. A trim, gray man, he has twinkling eyes and a face lit by a smile of such authenticity that it makes you think of Shaker furniture. But he’s a doctor, not a mystic. And he’s smiling because he believes he and his cousin have found the answer to one of the toughest questions in health care.

The idea is deceptively simple: Pay frontline doctors a fixed monthly fee directly instead of through the byzantine insurance bureaucracy. Make the patient, rather than the paperwork, the focus of the doctor’s day. The result will be happier doctors, healthier patients and a striking reduction in wasted expense.

In one of the more intriguing experiments in the medical industry, Qliance Health, the company Bliss co-founded with his cousin Dr. Erika Bliss, 47, is applying this idea to managing the health of roughly 35,000 patients–about half of them on Medicaid. If it can work for them in Seattle, they say, maybe it could work for everyone.

How the Bliss cousins arrived at this notion is a more complicated story. But it’s one worth telling, because it says a lot about how the U.S.–normally adept at hooking up the buyers and sellers of goods and services–managed to make such a mess of its medical economy. The story starts with the fact that Garrison Bliss, 69, wasn’t always so happy.

He is a primary-care physician, and a career in primary care has become a recipe for misery in the U.S. Nearly a third of all frontline physicians ages 35 to 49 expect to quit within the next five years, according to a 2012 survey by the Urban Institute. Young healers who start with dreams of being Marcus Welby often sour when they meet the realities of the job–which can include seeing patients every 11 minutes and having their performance assessed by how many MRIs they order.

Like so many others in his field, Bliss came to feel that he wasn’t in the business of caring for patients at all. His job was to feed payment codes into the grinding machinery of the insurance companies, rushing from exam room to exam room, ordering tests, making referrals, scheduling follow-up visits in which the cycle would be repeated. He knew that a proper exam, with time for counseling and questions, can take 45 minutes or more. Yet even a 15-minute session became a luxury.

“There are no insurance codes for ‘cure,'” Bliss likes to say.

One day about 20 years ago, two of Bliss’s colleagues announced that they were stepping off the treadmill to create a new kind of practice. They invited a small number of their wealthiest patients to become members of a premium health care group. For a five-figure annual fee, those patients would have immediate access to the doctors. They would be able to schedule appointments on short notice and would never again languish in a waiting room. Should they need to see a specialist, their primary-care doctor would be happy to accompany them as an advocate and translator. This model, which was soon emulated by upscale doctors across the country, came to be called concierge medicine.

Coddling the rich was not Bliss’s bliss. Still, he was intrigued. Could the same idea work at a more affordable price? What if, instead of charging $1,000 per month for each membership, he charged $65? He didn’t have to decorate his clinic like a Canyon Ranch spa or set up shop on Seattle’s most expensive real estate. If he brought down the overhead, would ordinary people pay the equivalent of a monthly cable bill for the satisfaction of having a doctor who knew their histories and cheerfully answered their questions?

Bliss launched an affordable primary-care practice, called Seattle Medical Associates, in 1997–and soon had all the patients he could handle. At last, he was working for them. And he was happy.

Considering the health care model Americans are accustomed to, it can be hard to get your head around the approach Bliss had come to call direct primary care. But here’s how it works: for a flat fee every month, patients have unlimited access to their doctor–in person and by phone or email–for routine things like checkups, cuts and burns, infections, flu shots and skin exams, as well as chronic-condition maintenance like blood tests for diabetes or high cholesterol. Under the law, every American is required to have medical insurance–but direct-primary-care patients can seek less expensive policies, because they require coverage only for hospitalizations, surgeries and other specialized care.

It was working for Bliss, so when he heard that his cousin Erika was miserable after just three years in primary care (“burned out, cooked, feeling like a failure and thinking about getting out,” as she puts it), he shared some of his sunshine with her. “Every time I walk into the examination room, I feel like I’m going to a party!” he sang over the phone. “I think this model I’ve been doing has a lot of potential to change health care for the better. Come help me scale it up.”

Since then, they’ve signed up previously undreamed-of populations: big private employers like Expedia and Comcast, public and industry employee unions like the one for Seattle firefighters and–most radical of all–at least 15,000 Medicaid patients.

The private company’s results so far suggest that the model is scaling up nicely. Qliance now serves some 35,000 patients; the cost of about half of them is paid by the government through traditional and expanded Medicaid programs. Treating a wide variety of patients–young and old, healthy and chronically sick, well-off and poor–Qliance claims to be saving approximately 20% on the average cost of care compared with traditional fee-for-service providers. The company’s staff has tripled over the past year, and Qliance is looking to expand beyond Washington.

Unhappy primary-care docs from across the country are streaming to Seattle to find out if some version of Qliance could be their salvation. The American Academy of Family Physicians, which kept concierge medicine at arm’s length for years, is moving quickly to embrace the direct-care concept. And the promise of greater efficiency and better results has attracted the likes of Amazon’s Jeff Bezos and his fellow billionaire Michael Dell to invest in Qliance.

All of which makes Bliss smile.

A NEW MODEL

Concierge care was originally conceived before Obamacare, and it revved up in response to the Great Recession as an escape hatch for doctors fleeing the status quo. The existing fee-for-service system pays caregivers a certain amount for each test, diagnosis and procedure–which, according to critics, encourages overtreatment instead of preventive wellness care. Qliance, along with a growing number of similar operations, aims to be more than an escape. It seeks to be the answer to the quest of health care reformers: healthier patients at a lower cost. Fix the way primary-care doctors are paid, the Blisses argue, and we can cut unneeded tests, premature procedures and excessive ER visits.

The driving insight here is that primary care and specialized care have two very different missions. Americans need more of the first so they’ll need less of the second. And each requires a different business model. Primary care should be paid for directly, because that’s the easiest and most efficient way to purchase a service that everyone should be buying and using. By contrast, specialty care and hospitalizations–which would be covered by traditional insurance–are expenses we all prefer to avoid. Car insurance doesn’t cover oil changes, and homeowners’ insurance doesn’t cover house paint. So why should insurance pay for your annual checkup or your kid’s strep swab?

When people get good primary care, their maladies are diagnosed more quickly and can be managed before they grow into crises. Fewer patients wind up in expensive hospital beds. Emergency rooms treat genuine emergencies, not routine infections and minor injuries. Patients receive timely advice and encouragement from a trusted physician to shed those pounds, change that diet, drink a little less and exercise more. The fee-for-service insurance model discourages this approach. It pays mainly for treating disease, not preventing it. Worse, it makes the life of a primary caregiver so exhausting that students in medical schools and nursing schools are avoiding the field altogether. According to Colin West, a co-director of the Mayo Clinic’s program on physician well-being, the U.S. faces a shortage of tens of thousands of primary-care doctors–at a moment when we need them more than ever. In a definitive survey of third-year med students published in the Journal of the American Medical Association, he found that only about 20% were headed into primary care.

West was particularly dismayed by the number of students who started medical school with primary care as their ideal but gave up by year three. They had figured out, he explains, that the burdens of our health care system “roll downhill to the primary caregivers.” To make up for unpaid time spent filling out forms, docs must see more patients to generate more payment codes.

At the tangled heart of this dysfunction is Medicare, which by its sheer size sets the standards for insurance reimbursements. Specialists dominate the panel that sets its payment rates. Thus the system values surgeries, scans and other procedures more than it values checkups and management of existing conditions. West, a primary-care doc, explains it this way: “If I put in an hour with a patient, I will be reimbursed for one exam–the same payment I would get for seeing that patient for 11 minutes.

“Meanwhile, an ophthalmologist might perform three cataract surgeries in that same hour, and each surgery might be reimbursed at twice the rate of my exam. So that doctor is making six times as much money.”

And if the eye patient has questions after the surgery about her medicine or her recovery, the specialist’s office is likely to suggest that she consult with her primary caregiver. After all, neither doctor gets reimbursed for answering questions on the phone, so the chore is often traded like a hot potato. “We say primary care is critical to a healthier future,” West says, “but in every way we show value, it is at the lowest level.”

DIRECT ACTION, IN ACTION

On a rare crystal day in Seattle, I paid a visit to the headquarters of the online travel agent Expedia. For over a year, Expedia has paid Qliance a fixed per-patient fee to provide a direct-primary-care option for HQ workers. Specialists and hospitalization are covered by traditional insurance.

Expedia was motivated to try direct care for reasons that are familiar to business executives everywhere: health care bills were skyrocketing, but employees were not getting healthier. “We had a number of catastrophic illnesses in 2011 and a disturbing number of deaths–12,” vice president for human resources Connie Symes tells me. “We found Qliance and their model of spending quality time with patients addressed our need to get employees involved in their own care.”

Qliance opened a clinic in Expedia’s building. The clinic is staffed by three doctors and includes several exam rooms, a small lab to perform routine tests, an X-ray machine and a stock of commonly prescribed generic medicines. Expedia employees zip from their desks to the doctor’s office with little or no waiting time. New patients spend 45 minutes elaborating their medical histories; after that, most visits can be handled in 15 to 30 minutes. Patients can also reach their doctors by text and email.

At the end of last year, Expedia surveyed the staff, Symes says, and the response was emphatic. More than half the employees had tried Qliance, and of those, more than 95% said they were satisfied. “They love the doctors,” Symes says. “They love the personal relationships they’re forming.” And although Expedia still classifies Qliance as an experiment, Symes says direct primary care, with its emphasis on prevention, “is taking us in the right direction on lowering costs.”

Seems too good to be true, I tell Erika Bliss, Qliance’s CEO, and she replies that she hears that a lot–but that’s because we haven’t seen, from the inside, how much waste and inefficiency is larded into the existing system. With enough freedom, she says, a primary caregiver can easily find lots of ways to deliver superior health care at a lower price. Bliss suggests that proper primary care should cost an average of about $1,200 per patient per year and will save significantly more than that in emergency care, specialist visits and treatment of chronic diseases.

“The existing system is built around diagnosing and treating complex cases. It rewards expensive, invasive and complicated solutions. But patients don’t want to be complex cases,” Bliss says. She cites a famous study by the Institute of Medicine that estimated that 30% of each health care dollar is wasted in the U.S. While reformers struggle to “bend the curve” of rising costs by squeezing out the waste, “we just lop it off,” she says.

While the results at Expedia are intriguing, the real test of direct primary care began when Qliance became the first practice of its kind to join the Medicaid system. Medicaid patients can be a challenging population because many of them have untreated medical conditions after years of inadequate health care. Absorbing thousands into the Qliance practice–at a reported cost to the government of about $700 per person per year–had made for a roller-coaster year. Medicaid patients are promised the same care as other Qliance customers.

One of those new patients is Jim Papadem, an out-of-work printing-press operator in his mid-50s from Redmond, Wash., who had long ignored his deteriorating health out of fear that the cost of treatment would ruin him. “I was pretty sure I had diabetes, and it turns out I had atrial fibrillation too,” he says. At his first meeting with his new Qliance physician, Dr. Randy Leggett, Papadem detailed his many symptoms. Leggett dispatched him to an eye specialist for treatment of a diabetes-related condition. She also prescribed two generic drugs to manage his blood sugar. Next came a referral to a cardiologist to treat the heart malfunction, which Leggett now monitors routinely. “She calls me now and then to check up on me at the end of the day, and when I have questions, she is available to help me connect the dots,” Papadem said.

So where are the cost savings? For Papadem, proper primary care reduces the likelihood of blindness, stroke and heart failure. More immediately, the Qliance patients now have an alternative to getting their care at the local emergency room. According to a 2010 survey of ERs in Washington State, the vast majority of emergency-room complaints are not actual emergencies. Instead, they involve common maladies that are easily handled by primary caregivers. With the average cost of a child’s ER visit running almost $2,000–and the average adult ER visit more than $4,500–Qliance more than pays for itself every time it keeps a client out of the ER.

Qliance’s large, diverse patient group makes it the first direct-care firm in a position to compile compelling statistics on the promise of direct care. “What will tip the scales for us is when we can produce hard data on savings and outcomes,” Bliss says hopefully. That takes some time, but the numbers are firming up. “If we can show that we are getting 15% to 30% of the costs out by using a model that doctors like and patients want, the whole system is going to flip pretty quickly.”

Centene Corp. is a Fortune 500 company hired by Washington State to manage its Medicaid plans. Jay Fathi, CEO of Centene’s Washington affiliate, tells me that “we already have evidence to show us that they are doing a good job.” Confident that the direct-primary-care model has legs, Centene has joined the growing roster of Qliance investors.

SO WHAT’S THE CATCH?

Of course, there’s a catch–at least in the short term. Docs on the treadmill are often responsible for 2,000, 2,500 or even 3,000 patients each. Direct-primary-care doctors serve far fewer patients. In a nation where there is already a shortage of primary caregivers, this would seem to disqualify direct care as a mass solution.

“It’s a trend that will probably grow a bit, but I think there is probably some ceiling to it,” says Ceci Connolly, managing director of the Health Research Institute at consulting giant PwC. Connolly foresees direct care as one part of a wider mix of patient-directed primary-care options, from drugstore clinics and Weight Watchers outlets to wearable monitors and digital apps.

But leaders of the direct-care movement argue that in the longer term, their model can solve the shortage of frontline doctors. By giving primary caregivers a good living doing work they can love, direct care encourages young physicians to follow their heart.

On a recent visit to Wichita, Kans., I met a young doctor who is doing that. Josh Umbehr, 33, was an aspiring primary-care doctor at the University of Kansas when, like many others, he grew horrified by the fee-for-service system. “It was crazy,” he said. “Insurance paid more for a prostate exam if it was done on a separate visit from a checkup. So the patient would have to come in twice. Medicare would pay for cleaning out earwax–but only one ear per visit. You had to schedule a second appointment for the other ear.”

Then he discovered direct care. As the son of a garbage collector, he understood the idea of one price for unlimited service. With classmate Doug Nunamaker, 34, Umbehr launched a moderately priced clinic called Atlas MD. The idea caught on enough that they recently hired a third doctor. Now they care for about 1,800 patients at an average monthly price of about $50 each.

An entrepreneurial dynamo, Umbehr paints a sky’s-the-limit future in which primary care is transformed into medicine’s most valuable role. To hear him tell it, he’s already living that dream, seeing an average of five patients per day–with other interactions by phone, text and email–while earning $200,000 to $240,000 per year. (The national average for primary-care physicians is well below $200,000.)

His in-house pharmacy, run out of a closet, saves patients hundreds of dollars per year on meds–a major selling point for those who blanch at his monthly fee. Take the uninsured mother who could not imagine paying $120 each month to cover herself, her husband and their two kids. Umbehr asked if she was taking any medications, and she said that was the problem: her prescriptions cost $138 per month. Umbehr buys the generic version wholesale for $1.55. “I told her her membership would cover the drugs. We eat the buck and a half as a cost of doing business, and she gets primary care for her family. At the end of each month, she’s 18 bucks ahead.”

When people say this is going to worsen the physician shortage, Umbehr says, “No. The current system is worsening the physician shortage. The ship is already sinking. We probably talk to 10 doctors per week who are burned out, going bankrupt, ready to retire years before they ought to. And when they see they can take better care of their patients and never deal with insurance companies again, and earn $210,000, $220,000, $250,000 per year, you’re going to see physicians flocking.”

Wouldn’t that be something? After so many years of dire forecasts, of blue-ribbon panels and expert commissions, of alphabet agencies and battles on Capitol Hill–wouldn’t it be amazing if the health care revolution finally arrived in the form of simple family doctors offering better care in exchange for a happier life? It’s worth a try, because if it works, an awful lot of people will be wearing that blissful smile.

TO SEE MORE SOLUTIONS GO TO http://www.time.com/solutionsforamerica

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TIME obituary

In Memoriam: Michel du Cille (1956 – 2014)

He worked in images, but his passion was reality

In 1987, photographer Michel du Cille immersed himself in the lives of Miami crack addicts inside a dangerous apartment complex known to its residents as the Graveyard. Working alongside the tough and talented young reporter Lynne Duke, du Cille produced a definitive document of the social and human tragedy that was the crack epidemic. Michel’s work for the Miami Herald’s Tropic magazine won the Pulitzer Prize—one of three Pulitzers honoring this important and influential photojournalist.

His editor on the piece, Gene Weingarten, was struck by the fact that Michel went to work without a camera. For weeks, he haunted the Graveyard with empty hands, learning to see human beings before making them his subjects. Knowing them meant revealing himself. “I want them to get to know me as a person,” Michel said. “First comes trust, then the work.”

Du Cille died this week as he lived, taking the long, honest path. He despised shortcuts. At 58, he was hiking miles of remote West African trail in pursuit of the Ebola epidemic for the Washington Post. Evidently, he suffered a heart attack.

A great news photograph—and Michel du Cille made many of them—reveals its subject in a way that writing can never match. What may be less obvious is that a great photograph also reveals the photographer. Writers can sketch scenes based on interviews; spin tales from notes and transcripts. The photographer must be present at the critical moment; there can be no substitute. This almost always means hours, days and weeks of preparation before the moment comes.

I was honored to work with Michel for many years at the Herald and the Post, and I remember him as a journalist of unrelenting integrity. He spoke in a soft voice with the faintest seasoning of his native Jamaica, and his was the still, soft voice of conscience. He demanded the best from himself and expected nothing less from the rest of us.

Together with the brilliant and hilarious editor Joe Elbert, du Cille built the Post’s photography department into one of the most distinguished in newspaper history. They were yin and yang, boisterous Joe and quiet Michel, but they prided themselves on their shared commitment to utter candor. They critiqued portfolios like Marine drill instructors, breaking the photographers down before rebuilding them in stronger form.

Michel du Cille—The Washington Post/Getty ImagesWounded soldiers during a morning formation. Walter Reed Medical Center. 2007.

When Michel stepped down from senior newsroom management to resume life as “a shooter,” he immediately reminded us that he could walk the walk. His deeply humane work documenting the neglect of wounded soldiers at Walter Reed Army Medical Center perfectly complemented the wrenching investigation by writers Anne Hull and Dana Priest, and earned the Pulitzer gold medal in 2008.

That he eagerly volunteered to go into combat in Afghanistan after cancer treatment and a pair of knee replacements tells you a lot of what you need to know about Michelangelo Everard du Cille. That he wrote with searing openness about the challenge of honoring the dignity of Ebola patients while documenting their wretched suffering tells you the rest. He worked in images, but his passion was reality. No picture could be worthy unless it was honest.

Chip Somodevilla of Getty Images says that he leans daily on a lesson he learned from du Cille. “He said to always look at the subject—the action—from all angles. He said to literally walk a circle around your subject to see it from a different angle, and wait for the surprises to come. That is very sound and sage advice from a man who never stopped telling stories that surprised, touched and moved us all.”

TIME remembrance

Ben Bradlee’s Electric Glow

Ben Bradlee on Oct. 1, 1995.
Alexis Rodriguez-Duarte—Corbis Ben Bradlee on Oct. 1, 1995.

A former Washington Post reporter remembers a legendary newspaperman who lived off gossip, palled around with the Kennedys and was the most celebrated editor of his time

Charisma is a word, like thunderstorm or orgasm, which sits pretty flat on the page or the screen compared with the actual experience it tries to name. I don’t recall exactly when I first looked it up in the dictionary and read that charisma is a “personal magic of leadership,” a “special magnetic charm.” But I remember exactly when I first felt the full impact of the thing itself.

Benjamin Crowninshield Bradlee was gliding through the newsroom of the Washington Post, pushing a sort of force field ahead of him like the bow wave of a vintage Chris-Craft motor yacht. All across the vast expanse of identical desks, faces turned toward him — were pulled in his direction — much as a field of flowers turns toward the sun. We were powerless to look away.

This was after his storied career as editor of the Post had ended. I was the first reporter hired at the paper after Bradlee retired in 1991 to a ceremonial office on the corporate floor upstairs. For that reason, I never saw him clothed in the garb of authority. He no longer held the keys to the front page and the pay scales, so his force didn’t spring from those sources. Nor did it derive from his good looks, his elegance or his many millions worth of company stock.

I realized I was face to face with charisma, a quality I had wrongly believed I understood until Bradlee reached the desk where I was sitting and the bow wave pushed me back in my chair. It is pointless for me to try to describe this essence, because in that moment I realized that it cannot be observed or critiqued. Charisma can only be felt. It is a palpable something-more-ness — magical, magnetic — as rare as the South China tiger. I’ve met famous writers, directors, actors, athletes, billionaires, five Presidents of the United States, and none of them had it like Bradlee.

Which made him an odd fit, in a way, for the newspaper business. Set aside, for the moment, the improbable heroics of Watergate and the Pentagon Papers, which would never have happened as they did without the peculiar protagonist Richard M. Nixon. The overwhelming bulk of the newspaper life is forgettable stories cranked out in mediocre fashion, the latest snowstorm, ballgame, traffic accident, charity dinner, Senate election, drought, chicken recipe. Having Bradlee sit down at your table in the Post’s lunchroom, where he often dined with the troops amid the plastic trays and sad salads, was like having Sinatra plop down beside you at a Trailways bus station. Great stuff, but you couldn’t help thinking that something was being squandered, that he really ought to be elsewhere, bedding Grace Kelly at the Hotel Hermitage in Monaco, or stealing the Mona Lisa, or outwitting Dr. No.

Ordinary news hacks — even the best of them — do not pal around, as Bradlee did, with John F. Kennedy and Lauren Bacall. They do not, as Bradlee did, arrange the sale of Newsweek by the Astors to the Grahams. They do not, as Bradlee did, have a sister-in-law whose mysterious death prompts a clandestine visit from the CIA’s top spymaster, desperate to retrieve her diary. They do not, as Bradlee did, live in a mansion that once belonged to Abraham Lincoln’s son.

Yet Ben wore all this with impossible ease, just as he wore his handmade shirts from London’s Jermyn Street as casually as a mortal wears Land’s End. God, those shirts — as beautiful and numerous as Gatsby’s, but minus the stain of anxiety. Only three types of men wore shirts like that: toffs, posers and Ben.

Anyway: impossible ease. He sized people up in an instant (of one failed job applicant he growled simply, “nothing clanks when he walks”) and met them as they were. He was the same fellow chatting with a movie star as he was with my father-in-law, a retired electrician with whom he swapped stories of card games in the Navy. When I introduced him to my nephew, another Benjamin, he bent to look the boy in the eye and said in a brotherly tone, “They can call you Ben, and they can call you Benjamin — but don’t ever let ’em call you Benjie!”

What made Bradlee a great newspaperman was that he had exactly the right blend of intelligence and impatience, plus an infectious hunger to be in the know. Feeding Ben a good bit of gossip was like turning over the last card of an ace-high straight, with his wide-eyed smile as the payout. He also had a restless attention span, so his reporters vied relentlessly to find stories sexy and important enough to catch and hold his interest. Whole sections of the Post went almost entirely unnoticed by him — his response to news that the paper’s dance critic had won the Pulitzer Prize was “Who the hell nominated him?” But the parts of the paper that Bradlee cared about were bright, bewitching and boffo.

(Ben had a thing about ballet coverage. He once summed up his animus toward the New York Times by noting, “it’s a paper with four f-cking dance critics!”)

As Shakespeare would appreciate, these gifts had a downside, and when it was revealed Bradlee experienced the low point of his career. A reporter named Janet Cooke decided to dazzle the editor with an invented story, because she couldn’t find a real one hot enough to do the trick. Plenty of people, inside and outside the newsroom, were skeptical of Cooke’s tall tale of an 8-year-old heroin addict with no last name and rather stilted diction. They noticed that the story was untethered by geography, dates and on-the-record sources. But Bradlee believed in it, and he was all that mattered, bigger than all the skeptics, bigger than the fail-safes, bigger even than the Pulitzer committee that awarded Cooke a prize for feature writing. The prize had to be returned when the lies unraveled.

It was around that time, 1981, that young Don Graham, successor-in-waiting to his remarkable mother, Post publisher Katharine Graham, clearly realized that there would never be — could never be — another Bradlee. Plenty of wannabes stalked the newsroom, wearing bespoke shirts and trying to copy Ben’s way of snarling out cuss words while grinning incandescently. When it came time to anoint Bradlee’s successor, however, Graham passed over all of them in favor of an unglamorous Midwesterner. Len Downie did not push out a bow wave. He was, in some ways, the anti-Ben. But if there was a better all-around newspaper editor, I don’t know who it was.

Ben sailed on as the one and only. In his later years, he groused amiably that he was just a museum piece, his office merely another “stop on the tour” of the Post. As newspaper circulation and profits sank year after year, Bradlee never indulged in second-guessing or armchair quarterbacking — petty pastimes that would have been beneath him. Though he was the most celebrated newspaper editor of his lifetime, perhaps the most celebrated of all time, he pronounced himself baffled by the competitive pressures of the digital age, and thankful that his era was the era of expansion and wealth.

I’m thankful too. For only the adrenaline charge of those go-go years, the generation after World War II, could have drawn such a man to the newspaper game. And the fact that Ben Bradlee was a part of it, never mind the prizes and the books and the movies — just the fact of Bradlee, the force, the charisma, threw an electric glow over the whole business and made it a joy to go to work. Though his ship passed over the horizon, he left a luminous trail dancing in his wake.

Correction: The original version of this story misstated the location of the London shirtmaker where Bradlee ordered his dress shirts. It was Turnbull & Asser on Jermyn Street.

Read next: Jill Abramson: Ben Bradlee Was Luminescent

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