Mr. Speaker, I first met George Condon when I was a copyboy at the Plain Dealer. It was the mid-sixties and the newsroom was a combination of Ben Hecht and Salvadore Dali, where nervous news jockies whipped the keys of their typewriters,…
Mr. Speaker, I first met George Condon when I was a copyboy at the Plain Dealer. It was the mid-sixties and the newsroom was a combination of Ben Hecht and Salvadore Dali, where nervous news jockies whipped the keys of their typewriters, men against white space, racing against a looming deadline, frenzied calls of ``boy, boy'' echoing summoning the serfs to duty. Unpretentious and approachable, columnist George Condon would occasionally appear in the midst of the tumult gazing upon the chaos with an amused wisdom about the city room and the city, befriending even a lowly copyboy who confided in him his own dreams of one day being Mayor of Cleveland.
While the strong, quick pulse of the city could be felt in the news room, George Condon knew there was a deeper story upon which all news was built.
``There is no satisfactory way to describe a city or to convey its spirit in words,'' he wrote in Cleveland, the Best Kept Secret, ``Facts and statistics, names and dates, prose and poesy all are well- intentioned bids to give flesh and breath to a chunk of real estate, but they hang lifelessly on the skeleton. If there is a way to give life to a city with words, those words must try to renew some of the lives that created the city.
In Shakespeare's Henry IV, Glendower proclaimed: I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hotspur replied: Why, so can I, or so can any man. But will they come when you do call for them?''
Read Cleveland, the Best Kept Secret and George Condon's account of the clash over a hundred years ago between Mark Hanna and Tom Johnson and you will see that when George Condon called the spirits forth, they leaped onto his pages, their lives renewed vividly, dissolving the barriers between past, present . . . and future. For it was in November, 1976, after reading George Condon's account of the struggle between privileged interest and public interest that I made a decision to launch a full-scale campaign to save Johnson's Muny Light from a takeover by the then Cleveland Electric Illuminating Company.
A year later, because of the primary impact of his writings on my own life, I asked George Condon to be the master of ceremonies at my inauguration as Mayor of Cleveland.
Anyone who read his works could not help but be moved by his ability to bring to life his beloved city and all the characters who populated it. What made George Condon's writings so unique was his power of observation, fused with love and tempered with a non-judgmental humor.
He was our Boswell. One of the debates that George Condon played out in his work was the efficacy of the promotional campaign which declared Cleveland to be the ``Best Location in the Nation.'' He thought such a declaration could be off-putting to the visitor. After all, each city has its celebratory aspects. But upon further reflection, we can claim that title, not because we have the biggest buildings, or the grandest stadiums, or the most powerful
corporations, or the best freeway system, but because a humble wordsmith named George Condon picked words from heavens and brought a shower of stars upon this community year after year, ennobling us, making us lighter, making us wiser.