A Letter From The Publisher: Sep. 25, 1964

HIS colleagues used to speak jokingly of a “C. D. Jackson Hello-and-Goodbye Society,” for he seemed always to be leaving on outside assignments. His last position with Time Inc. was that of senior vice president, and in three decades he served in a dozen major functions, including publisher of LIFE and FORTUNE and managing director of TIME-LIFE International. But his interests were broad and tireless, and his death from cancer last week, at 62, brought sorrow not only to his journalistic colleagues but also to his friends in the worlds of government and culture. Condolences included those from a former President of the United States, the former chief of the CIA, the conductor of the Boston Symphony, and the manager of the Metropolitan Opera.

During World War II, C. D. Jackson was Deputy Chief of Psychological Warfare at SHAEF, later helped to launch Radio Free Europe, and served as special assistant to President Eisenhower. In public life, as in private, he was prized for his humor, and he liked to tell a story on himself and General Walter Bedell Smith, who derided the anti-Nazi propaganda that was being dropped from planes on Germany. One day Smith called in Jackson and said, “I take it all back. One of those planes dropped a bale of printed matter over the Rhine and sank an enemy ship. I now recognize the effectiveness of your propaganda.” During the cold war, when Jackson was active in a project to launch propaganda balloons over Czechoslovakia, he reported dreaming that he himself was floating over Czech territory with “svoboda” (freedom) lettered on his trousers.

He maintained a sweeping interest in world politics and a conviction that freedom would win out—but that its victory required idealism aided by salesmanship. Whatever his activities, Jackson’s strongest loyalty remained to journalism, and from the travels that brought him close to the world’s leaders he sent back confidential reports which delighted his editorial colleagues with their vividness and clarity. His most frequent function at Time Inc. was to shoulder the most difficult publishing problems and to soothe outside critics as a matchless corporate ambassador.

If in our day anyone can still be described as courtly, “C.D.” could. A smiling charm seemed to descend from his tall figure in any setting. He had a reputation of being able to get into a white tie faster than anyone, and he was as relaxed at a reception as he was at the controls of a plane—he took up flying in his middle years. One of his great loves was music, and for close friends C. D. and his wife Gracie would play piano duos in their New York apartment. The Boston Symphony, on whose board he served, sent its string quartet to his memorial service this week to play the slow movement from Beethoven’s Opus 135.

C.D. was boundlessly enthusiastic, ever optimistic. He was a rousing speaker, on and off the platform, and always willing to lend his talents to the causes that engaged him, culturally, politically, journalistically. He once described Time Inc. as “fascinated by the world around us, dedicated to getting that world down in print and sharing it with as many people as possible.” In those words he also described himself.