I’ll never forget meeting Sid. It was the early
1990s and I was a young(ish) book editor at Beacon Press, hoping to develop our
anthropology list. Why not start at the top? Sid invited me to lunch at the
Baltimore Museum of Art. I was nervous, but as we walked from his office at
Johns Hopkins, he took a detour off the main path on the museum grounds so he
could skip over the stepping stones in the reflection pool. I followed him and
we continued on our way, but not before he had put me completely at ease. He
ordered a hamburger, sans bun, and ate it with a knife and fork, dipping
each piece in ketchup. (I now do this myself.) Then he schooled me on what was
worth publishing and why.
As always, Sid was a delight: his huge heart,
devilish wit, and sparkling and critical eye were on display. We would end up
working together on three different book projects. He surely did not need a
book contract from me or advice on how to write a good book, but he indulged my
ideas and supported my work nonetheless. Indeed to be on the receiving end of
Sid’s attentiveness and generosity was an unexpected and wonderful gift for me,
as I know it was for scores of other people. I often think about Sid's
extraordinary commitment to the idea that most people—not everyone! let’s not
kid ourselves!—deserve to be taken seriously. This was Sid’s loving way of
being in the world, and, I think, at the heart of all his work. For that, we
love him back.
Sid Mintz, you are always
with us.
