A life well lived

Sally Toms celebrates the life of Michael Jackson, the Beer Hunter

In this issue I was going to talk a bit about this year’s Great British Beer Festival and my sad attempts at home-brew.... But this has paled into insignificance next to an extremely sad event.

The news of Michael Jackson’s death spread around the world like fire in dry grass. He died of a heart attack on the morning of 30th August, and within hours we were receiving calls from colleagues around the United Kingdom, America and beyond – a testament to this man’s global reach.

I spoke to him on the telephone the day before he died. His column for this issue was as late as it ever was, and a week after deadline he did his usual trick of ringing to say: “I was going to talk about such and such, what do you think?” As if I’d ever say anything other than: “Of course Michael, sounds great.” He was Michael Jackson: there was no one who knew more about beer, and he had been a proper, dyed-in-the-wool journalist since before I was born.

Someone once suggested that Michael had forgotten more about beer than the rest of us would ever learn, he peered out from behind his huge eyebrows and replied in his soft voice: “That’s entirely possible. I have a very bad memory.” There were lots of stories like that. His columns were like great rambling stories themselves, complete with wisdom, humour and poignancy. This time he was going to pick up on his Italian odyssey he described in issue 13. It makes me so sad that he will never finish it. He was always late, for a deadline, a plane or an event, but he’d never let you down.

Anyone who has seen Michael in the last five years could see how ill he was.

He was only 65 years old, but had suffered from Parkinson’s disease for 20 years. He had a heart attack last year coming back from Denver. He was always so busy – flying around the world, satisfying publishers and editors, fans and events. Everyone wanted a piece of him and he gave it willingly.

I can’t help wondering if we pushed him too hard. But would he have wanted it any other way? He was a writer and a bloody good one. Even at retirement age his career was still in full swing. Beer and whisky were his passion and his life’s work (along with rugby league, of course). He crammed more into his 65 years on this earth than most of us will ever do.

I have only known Michael for three years. Many people in the industry have known him for three decades and my heart goes out to his friends and family.

Time passes. By the time this issue is published Michael will be buried. Our tributes will sit on these pages and on the internet, our grief frozen in time, while life moves on.

His contribution to the world of beer cannot be overstated and will never be forgotten. We can also be grateful that he has left us a great many books, most of them signed in characteristic style (I’ve seen the man write ‘cheers’ in the inside cover of his books for fans in almost every single language). And for those who knew him we have our memories of the man: gentle, humble, tenacious, funny and an outrageous flirt. I will miss him.

So remember Michael next time you raise a glass and say cheers (or slainte, prost, salute, skål) for a life well lived... n Sally Toms

By Sally Toms

Section : From the Editor

Page number : 5