The news arrived on a warm September evening from a friend via text message.
“Larry died this evening.”
The Larry in question was Larry Rea. Charles Larry Rea, officially, although in the 36 years I knew him, I never heard anyone refer to him as Charles and doubt more than a handful knew Larry wasn’t his first name.
Larry enjoyed a long and successful career as journalist, editor and broadcaster. He was a stalwart in the outdoor media landscape, loved and respected by everyone and a friend to all, including me.
The news of his death was not unexpected. Larry had suffered from an aggressive cancer that had not responded to treatment. But he had been active and hosting his long-running and award-winning radio program, Outdoors with Larry Rea, only weeks before he fell ill. He was 82.
Social media soon began to fill with praise, compliments, condolences and fond remembrances of Larry, each one heartfelt and warranted. I scanned a few of the comments, then sat the phone down and took a seat beside my wife.
“What is it?” Katy asked.
“Larry died.”
The room fell silent. Katy squeezed my hand then said, softly, as though almost speaking to herself: “Larry helped us more than anyone.”
I was a back-to-schooler, and—after a spotty academic career—had finally, in my 30s, secured a bachelor’s degree from what was then called Memphis State University. I was married, the father of twin toddlers, and looking for work. I’d sent dozens of letters and made numerous calls. I had found work with a local business magazine, but the job didn’t last. The editorial business can be rewarding. It also can be strangling.
One afternoon during a low point, the phone rang. My wife was at work. I was at home with the twins trying to finish a story for a regional fishing magazine. The caller asked for Gary Garth.
“This is he,” I said.
“This is Larry Rea at The Commercial Appeal.”
My heart nearly stopped. Outdoors Editor Larry Rea. From The Commercial Appeal. Calling me?!
A few years earlier, while trying to break into the outdoor writing business, I had written to Henry Reynolds, who was then the nationally renowned outdoors editor for The Commercial Appeal. I heard nothing from Mr. Reynolds, and he subsequently retired after holding the job for 32 years. Larry, who had been the newspaper’s prep editor for nearly 20 years, moved into the coveted role as outdoors editor. I knew Larry’s work and byline, of course. But we had never met.
Mr. Reynolds, I later learned, had kept my letter and clips (he apparently kept everything). Larry found the materials, and something caught his attention. I don’t remember the details of our conversation except that I addressed him as Mr. Rea, and he told me to call him Larry. He asked me to stop by his office.
The big Commercial Appeal building on Union Avenue nearly overpowered me. I wasn’t used to newsrooms in multi-story buildings with security checkpoints at the double-door entrance. The polite but all-business security officer said he would have to buzz upstairs and check with Mr. Rea. I waited patiently but also was more than a little anxious.
It was early afternoon. The newsroom was nearly empty. Larry’s desk was in the back, on the right next to a wall, cluttered with the chaos of paperwork that once littered every newsroom. He stood, and we shook hands. He was trim and fit, a small-statured man, neatly dressed. We chatted, businesslike but friendly. Larry put you at ease, one of the many traits that helped make him a fine reporter. I left with an assignment. A regular assignment. Not full time. Not really part time. It was more than that. I left with the chance I had been waiting for, hoping for, praying for. Larry became a mentor and teacher. He expected the best and accepted no less from himself. And I soon learned that when Larry Rea is listed as an editorial reference, your calls are returned.
We became friends and stayed in touch, occasionally fishing or hunting together. At Larry’s invitation, we hunted doves in Mexico and fished for trout in Arkansas and caught bluegills in Tennessee. In 2001, he retired from The Commercial Appeal (although his work still appeared in the CA occasionally) and soon launched a two-decades-long radio career. For several years, he hosted a media event out of Gaston’s White River Resort (gastons.com). Invitations were coveted. At one of the last Gaston gatherings, we were in neighboring cabins. Larry’s wife, Miriam, a wonderful lady and a fine angler, frequently traveled with Larry, and they were together on this trip. Our last evening together, he told me something I will not share here but remains a rich, valued memory. We fished together the next day. Miriam, to no one’s surprise, out-fished us both.
Larry Rea was a man of rock-solid Christian faith. I share the faith but not like Larry. He was unshakeable. I do believe that God’s Hand sometimes puts certain people in your path. I’m glad He put Larry in mine.
• • •
A few years ago, a writer friend in Shepherdsville called me. He was thinking about launching an outdoors radio program and asked if I thought Larry Rea might have some advice, maybe some ideas on how best to get started. My friend knew Larry by reputation and from his work, but they had not met. I could hear intimidation in his voice.
“I think Larry would be happy to talk to you,” I said. “I’m sure he would.”
“Thanks,” he said. There was a moment of hesitancy. “You … uh, you know Larry pretty well, don’t you.” It was a statement. Not a question. “What’s he like?”
The question irritated me, although I don’t know why. What’s he like? I thought. He’s like this:
“You know how everyone always says, ‘Call me if I can help?’ ” I said.
“Yeah.”
“Well, Larry means it.”
Readers may contact Gary Garth at editor@kentuckymonthly.com