July 16, 1949
April 15, 1952
March 2, 1958
Charles Hillinger and photographer Bruce Cox try to raft the Los Angeles River.
May 2, 1960
Feb. 25, 1970
Redmond, Ore.
Feb. 4, 1985
Omaha, Neb.
By Charles Hillinger
Times Staff Writer
Although the city stockyards are merely a shadow of what they
used to be, Omaha remains the capital of America's meat industry.
Sales are made in the alleyways and in the 2,000 pens at the
Omaha stockyards, or in auction arenas where auctioneers with
rapid-fire, sing-song chants cry out the bids received for
livestock.
As sales take place, eight U.S. Department of Agriculture market
reporters jot down prices paid for cattle, hogs and sheep. Average
daily prices are computed and sent over the wires to newspapers and
radio and television stations throughout the nation as a daily
barometer of the U.S. livestock market.
Even though the stockyards are a hectic place, the activity is
substantially less than it used to be. During the 1940s and 1950s,
it wasn't unusual for the Omaha stockyards to have as many as
45,000 head of cattle, hogs and sheep in its pens on any given day.
Today, 10,000 head is considered a peak day.
Despite massive changes in U.S. meatpacking, however, the
industry still looks to Omaha to set the pattern for meat prices
from Los Angeles to Bangor, Me.
"The Omaha livestock market has the dominant position in the
whole scheme of things," explained Virgil Mulligan, 50, a USDA
market reporter here.
Until the mid-1950s, 95% of all livestock in the country was
shipped to central stockyards, such as those in Omaha, for sale to
packing houses. But then, many packing plants moved out of urban
areas, and the meatpackers began buying directly from farmers and
ranchers and from feedlots, which proliferated in the Midwest and
Southwest. Only about 16% of U.S. livestock is sold at stockyards
today.
"During the past 30 years the whole industry has gone through a
dramatic change," said James L. Smith, 55, president of the Omaha
Livestock Market.
But despite all the changes, the stockyards that have survived
continue to serve a vital function in the industry.
"Farmers still need a central market where they can sell all
kinds of livestock," said By Phillips, 56, spokesman for the Omaha
stockyards. "A stockyard provides a great service to surrounding
livestock producers because it offers buying power for a wide
variety of livestock, not always easily sold in other places."
And because Omaha is by far the biggest livestock market, it
influences the industry from coast to coast. Cattle, hogs and sheep
are shipped to the Omaha stockyards by truck from as far away as
Montana, Utah, Arizona and Colorado. And the value of livestock
sold at the Omaha market last year totaled $550 million-making the
stockyards No. 1 in the nation in gross value paid to livestock
producers.
In addition, Omaha is the country's largest beef slaughtering
center. Eight meatpacking plants located within two miles of the
stockyards accounted for more than $1 billion in sales last year.
Omaha meatpackers slaughter an average of 7,500 head of cattle a
day, livestock bought at the Omaha stockyards and directly from
farmers, ranchers and feedlot operators throughout the country.
(Omaha is strictly a beef packers' town, however. Hogs and sheep
sold at the Omaha stockyards are slaughtered at packing plants
elsewhere.)
New York-based United Stockyards Corp. owns and operates the
stockyards in Omaha and 10 other cities, thus handling 30% of all
livestock marketed through central public stockyards in the United
States. Its other major stockyards include Sioux City,
Indianapolis, Stockton, Calif., and Portland, Ore.
Raymond French, president and chairman of United Stockyards,
said the value of livestock sales through the company's 11
stockyards during 1984 was about $2.1 billion.
"A stockyard company is like the New York Stock Exchange. It
merely represents the place where the buyer meets the seller,"
Phillips explained. "The company owns the real estate and
facilities-pens, alleys, scales, loading and unloading docks, feed,
water. In essence, it operates a livestock hotel. The employees
move livestock in and out of the yards, move animals to and from
pens and scales, operate auction arenas."
At the Omaha stockyards, 24 independent firms handle the sale of
livestock for farmers and ranchers, selling the livestock for a
commission to buyers who represent packing companies, individuals,
traders or farmers purchasing feeder livestock to sell later.
Towering over the 124-acre Omaha stockyards is the 11-story
Livestock Exchange building, considered the nerve center of
America's livestock industry.
Within the huge H-shaped structure are offices for commission
firms, commodity futures trading companies, livestock trucking
firms, livestock transit insurance companies, feedlot firms,
livestock traders and the Department of Agriculture.
The building also contains attorney offices, farm supply company
headquarters, two banks, a printing company, a post office, the
Nebraska Department of Veterinary Inspection Service, meeting rooms
and a large dance hall.
And nearby are some of the finest steak houses in America.
March 15, 1985
Heimdal, N.D.
By Charles Hillinger
Times Staff Writer
Remember when coffee was a nickel a cup?
That was a long time ago-when candy bars, cigars and five-stick
packs of chewing gum also cost 5 cents.
Coffee is still a nickel a cup at Josie's Cafe in Heimdal, a
tiny town on the North Dakota prairie at the end of a
seldom-traveled narrow country road, with a population of 40
people, two dogs and 25 cats.
Josie Georgeson, 75, a loquacious widow, has owned and operated
Josie's Cafe on her front porch since 1954.
Never Raised Price
She has never upped the price of coffee. It was a nickel a cup
the day she opened her cafe 31 years ago and it is still a nickel a
cup today.
"I'm not goin' broke. As long as I come out even on it I'll
never raise the price," she said.
Breakfast at Josie's Cafe is a cup of coffee and a homemade
carmel roll or coffee cake. She charges 15 cents for the roll and
15 cents for a piece of her coffee cake.
"Josie ought to go to work for Reagan and get the deficit
straightened out," mused Norman Heintz, 55, while munching on a
carmel roll.
"Something's wrong when she can sell coffee for a nickel and he
pays $500 for a hammer."
Lunch at the cafe is 95 cents-homemade soup, sandwich and coffee.
"At night I just cook for myself. Everybody in town eats supper
at home," she explained.
Her customers are local farmers who come from miles around and
section crews from the Burlington-Northern Railroad.
"This is a gathering place. Everybody can find out what
everybody else is doing," said Georgeson between pours of hot java.
The people of Heimdal don't have a newspaper. They don't need
one with Josie's Cafe.
There is one child in Heimdal, Kristy Duffey, 10, a
fourth-grader who goes to Fessenden School, 10 miles down the road.
The rest of the townspeople average 70 in age.
Georgeson is mayor, police chief, fire chief, the whole works in
the tiny town. Except postmaster.
The post office is next door. "Is the postmaster in here all the
time for coffee?" the friendly front-porch cafe owner is asked.
"He has never been in the cafe," Georgeson replied.
Art Lindgren, 75, has been Heimdal's postmaster for 36 years.
"Do you ever go over to Josie's place?" he is asked.
"Never. I'm too busy. I don't get around much," Lindgren said as
he excused himself to return to his work in the post office in the
living room of his house.
Sept. 2, 1991
Riverside
By Charles Hillinger
Times Staff Writer
There have been several famous walls in history: the Great Wall
of China, the Berlin Wall, the Wailing Wall.
Now comes the $360,000 K-Rat Wall in Riverside. It gets its name
from the Stephens' kangaroo rat-a nocturnal, burrow-dwelling,
chipmunk-like rodent that propels itself kangaroo-style on powerful
hind legs.
Those powerful legs have gotten the species into powerful
trouble. The rats have been wandering onto land belonging to the
Metropolitan Water District's Mills filtration plant-much to the
dismay of MWD officials. Because the rat is endangered, the
district could face heavy fines if it even inadvertently harms any.
"That's the problem," said George Buchanan, 44, area
superintendent for MWD at the plant near Lake Skinner. "We're in
the throes of a $140-million expansion project here, new pipelines,
large landfills, treatment plants. We have a lot of heavy equipment
working on the site.
"If one of our employees kills an endangered Stephens' kangaroo
rat it could mean as much as a year in jail and a $50,000 fine.
That's a lot of money, and no one wants to go to jail."
Hence, the MWD is building the wall to keep the rats out.
Nearing completion, it is 4,500 feet long, 10 inches wide and about
two feet high.
The water district plans to build another rat wall, 1.2 miles
long, before the end of the year at its Lake Skinner water
treatment facility 35 miles south of Riverside.
That 2-foot-high, 2 1/2-foot-deep wall was to cost $450,000, but
MWD is redesigning it, hoping to reduce the price to $200,000.
After the walls are completed, the rats will be trapped and
moved over the walls and off the MWD properties.
About 25 different species of kangaroo rats live in the deserts
of the southwest.
The Stephens' kangaroo rat is found in western Riverside County
and in a few small pockets of southern San Bernardino County and
northern San Diego County. But urban development is bringing about
its rapid decline.
Michael O'Farrell, 47, a wildlife biologist and one of the few
experts on the rodent, estimates that there may be 20,000 to 30,000
of the rats left. They were declared an endangered species in
October, 1988.
O'Farrell's biological consulting firm, based in Las Vegas, has
been working under a $500,000 contract to determine whether the
rats can be safely trapped and moved to new locations. Since
November he has captured about 150 Stephens' kangaroo rats. All the
animals, the scientist reports, appear to be have survived in good
health. They are scheduled to be released soon.
Dec. 2, 1991
Baker, Calif.
By Charles Hillinger
Times Staff Writer
"Thank God no one was hurt," said Willis Herron when he saw the
jumbled mess of metal and shattered glass, the remains of his
13-story, $750,000 thermometer that crashed to the ground in a
windstorm here.
When the giant thermometer swayed back and forth in gusts of 70
m.p.h. and suddenly snapped 20 feet above its base Wednesday, the
hopes of this Mojave Desert town-a rest stop on the busy Los
Angeles-to-Las Vegas interstate-were dashed as well.
"It was to be a memorial to Gabriel Daniel Fahrenheit, the
inventor of the thermometer, since (the) measuring of temperatures
has reached some of the greatest heights here in Baker," Herron
said.
More than that, residents had expected Baker to become
internationally known as "Thermometer City" with the completion of
the colossal temperature gauge. It was to have been dedicated this
Friday.
The 134-foot-high, three-sided, needle-like column crashed
through the midsection of a gift shop under construction next to it
and onto a park and an unoccupied Southern California Edison Co.
maintenance truck.
"Our insurance company will cover the damage," said Dave Mead,
vice president of Young Electric Sign Co. of Las Vegas, the firm
erecting the structure.
Mead said his company is baffled by the collapse of the gigantic
thermometer. "Our engineers are analyzing the metallurgy of the
severed steel pipe to determine what caused it to fracture and
fall. All calculations had been checked and double-checked. It was
designed to withstand winds of much greater force.
"Our company's specialty is erecting the large spectacular signs
Las Vegas is famous for-many much more complicated than this one,"
Mead said. "In the 70-year history of Young Electric we have never
experienced a major failure like this."
Mead said all is not lost for Baker. He said his company will
pick up the pieces and install a replacement thermometer in the
town in the near future.
Herron, 66, and his partner, J. O. Failing, 70, were having the
finishing touches put on the gigantic temperature gauge next to
their Bun Boy Restaurant just off Interstate 15. The two men own
the majority of the businesses in Baker, 90 miles southwest of Las
Vegas.
"For 25 years I've had this dream of putting up the world's
tallest thermometer," said Herron, "because people pulling off the
freeway in the heat of summer are always making remarks like:
`Whew! It's hotter 'n hell. How hot is it anyway?' "
Baker, population 400, is in the heart of the Southern
California desert. It sizzles in summer with temperatures from 110
to 120 and higher on most days.
The town exists to serve the needs of passing motorists.
Caltrans estimates that 9 million vehicles will go through Baker on
Interstate 15 this year. The state agency reports that an average
of 11,600 vehicles a day take the off-ramp into the town.
"People stop here to buy gas, to get a bite to eat," Failing
said. "We had hoped many more would pull off the freeway to see the
thermometer."
When Failing and Herron's restaurant burned down two years ago,
the two men decided to build the huge thermometer next to their new
$2-million eatery.
They were hoping the thermometer would be to Baker what the
Eiffel Tower is to Paris, the Golden Gate Bridge is to San
Francisco and the Gateway Arch is to St. Louis.
Before it slammed to the ground, the black temperature gauge had
been covered with 4,943 red light bulbs, which were to represent
mercury and show the temperature.
The height of the column, 134 feet, was symbolic of the highest
temperature ever recorded in North America-134 degrees in 1913 in
Death Valley, a few miles north of Baker.
I received word this morning that Charles E. "Chuck" Hillinger, veteran
Times reporter, passed away Monday evening after a battle with cancer.
I'll be
posting more of his stories later today, as well as tributes to him.
His daughter Tori writes:
I have so many wonderful things to say about my father, but everyone
already knows how wonderful a man he was.
My dad touched so many lives, in so many places around the world! He had
the biggest heart of anyone I have ever known. Heck, he would take a spider
outside, before he would think of killing it. You could call him up from any
place in the world, and he would be able to tell you of a great restaurant in
the area or an interesting sight!
I am honored to have Charles Hillinger as my father. I am also touched
deeply by everyone's kind words, and funny stories about life with my dad.
Hillinger on covering the Watts riots in 1965, referring to the frequent assertion that The Times needed an African American to go into the riot area and sent Bob Richardson from the advertising department.
I tried to send along additional info about the Bob Baker (former Times editor) Watts riots reference
that L.A. Times white staffers were too scared to go into riot zone and Bob
Richardson came to the rescue, etc. But my stupid internet and Email hasn't been
working for several days. I must get a new computer.
Anyway the morning after the riot erupted I was sent to where it all
started. Accompanying my story was a photo showing me interviewing a group of
Black residents who were witness to the start of the riot.
Like [Eric] Malnic I worked
the riot from then until it finally ended. The Times didn't seek out Richardson
to have a Black go into the area. Richardson, a messenger for the ad dept. came
into the city room late on the second night right from the scene where all hell
had broken out to tell us he was caught in the middle of the riot.
The desk had
Richardson talk to me and I wrote a story based on his eyewitness account. It
was decided to make my story a first person piece with Richardson's byline. That
was the first time anything from him appeared in the paper. It had nothing to do
with white reporters not covering the story.
I worked with different photogs
throughout the riot, Ray Graham, Dick Oliver and Bruce Cox. As Eric noted, angry
mobs gave us a bad time verbally. But no one threw anything at us or our car.
One wild-eyed woman with disheveled hair ran up to us as we approached a huge
fire just set--Graham and I were the only whites in the area--and grandstanding
before the assembled crowd shouted, "What are you white MFs doing here?"
I told
her we were from the L.A. Times, there to cover the story.
She said "You better
get your MF facts right or we'll burn down the L.A. Times."
March 1, 2006, Hillinger on the death of Otis Chandler:
Otis was a year younger than I am. The foreword Otis did for my book
California Characters, An Array of Amazing People, published in 2000
began: "Chuck Hillinger and I are the same age. We worked together during the
last half of the 20th Century at the Los Angeles Times. I was publisher.
He was the paper's roving reporter. His bylines came from all over California,
from every state, from exotic places all over the world during his 46 years at
the Times. And I paid all his expenses, but it was worth every penny."
That was typical Otis. He was most generous in his remarks in the foreword,
writing such things as "I told Chuck next to being publisher of the Los
Angeles Times he had the best job in journalism." Otis was the best thing
that ever happened to The Times. He knew us all on a first name basis. He made The Times one of the leading newspapers in the
country.
Every now and then I would get a call from Otis or a note suggesting a
feature I should do. If you did a story that he particularly liked, he would
drop you a note and let you know. If you won a writing prize, there would always
be a congratulatory note from Otis. You could not ask for a better publisher, a
better friend. I was involved with Otis on several big horn sheep stories.
One
time I suggested a Mexicali story to Bill Thomas. "While you're in Mexicali look
up this Mexican attorney and see what it will take to get the sheep horns Otis
is trying to get across the border," said Thomas.
Otis had shot a trophy big
horn sheep on a hunting trip in Baja, but the horns got caught up in red tape.
Johnny Malmin and I drove to Calexico and stopped in a Mexican auto insurance
place this side of the border to buy insurance for our Mexican visit. When we
walked into the place, I blurted "We're from the Los AngelesTimes and
before I could get the words out of my mouth that we needed insurance, the guy
behind the counter said "Just a minute I've got what you want in the back room."
He ducked in the back and came out with Otis' horns. It was pure fluke. We
hadn't the slightest idea the horns were there.
Malmin and I drove to Bill
Duflock's house in El Centro --Duflock was Mr. Imperial County to all news
people. We left the horns with Bill for a few hours while we drove to Mexicali
to do our story. Then I called Otis and told him what happened. He couldn't
believe it. He thought it was the funniest thing he could imagine. We didn't
have to bribe the Mexican attorney.
Arliene, my wife of 58 years -- still as gorgeous as ever -- was
Arliene Otis before we were married. She was a distant, distant relative of
Oats. She would call Otis, cousin. He would call Arliene, cousin.
Arliene always insisted to Otis that the two of them looked alike. There is
a resemblance.
When Otis was just starting out at The Times and worked in
all the different departments, I went out with him several times on stories.
That's when I first got to know him. I was at that dinner when he became
publisher, and at his house when Bob Donovan was introduced to the editorial
staff.
His father, Norman, too became a special friend, after I did a 7-part
series on the Tejon Ranch when I was in my 20s -- at Norman Chandler's bidding.
I never did learn why he selected me to do the series.
Taylor Trumbo called me
to the city desk one day and said Norman Chandler wants to see you in his
office. "How would he even know who I am," I said in disbelief. Trumbo had to
tell me where his office was. Anyway I went to Norman's office and he said he
wanted me to do a story about the ranch. I asked him what kind of a story and he
said you will know how to handle it. I returned to the City Room and Trumbo said
"What was that all about?" When I told him, Trumbo sighed: "Jesus Christ."
The
series started out with a picture page on Sunday and a picture page on Monday.
Malmin was the photographer. Ollie French ran the art department. Young Otis was
in the city room and Ollie called him over to see the layout for the story that
was to begin the coming Sunday. Otis was stunned and came over to my desk and
asked how I happened to be doing a series on Tejon Ranch. I told him it was his
father's idea. He walked away from my desk shaking his head in disbelief.
From then on until he died, every time I happened to run into Norman
Chandler he would always stop and ask how I was doing and mention a story or two
I did that he liked. When Norman died I wrote Otis a long letter about my
relationship with his father and Otis wrote me a long letter in reply.
I have
several letters Otis wrote me over the years. He was just such a special person
in my life. Those luncheons the OFSs had with him in Oxnard after visiting his
museum and special events over the years when he was honored were terrific. As
news people we were lucky, indeed, to have Otis Chandler as our
publisher.
Cliff Dektar, former Mirror reporter, says:I recall first meeting Chuck when I was working the night radio car
for The Mirror. He was a young reporter who was covering the city as I
was.
He became national features correspondent and, this is true, did not
apply for a Police Press credential, because he was not covering local stories .
Some years ago there was a major ship explosion in San
Pedro. Chuck, who lived nearby in the Palos Verdes area, heard the blast,
and raced down to the nearby docks.
He was there before the police had
set up a perimeter and then the police started to clear the area and he was
stopped and told to leave. He showed his Times ID, but police said he had to
go...no credential
He admitted that he was "upset." And he got into a
verbal boxing match. Finally, the police turned him over to their captain who
asked him to sit--not cuffed--in back of his car until the press officer the
venerable Lt. Dan Cooke arrived.
Dan tried to calm Chuck down, offered
him a temporary credential and told him he was free to go. Chuck, a good
reporter always, was not happy with the results. I had great respect for
him as a person and a reporter.
Bart Everett writes: The ship was the Sansinena, the date Dec. 17, 1976. Liberian flag,
Italian crew, Union Oil Terminal. The photo I shot--which ran on Page 1
in the early edition--still hangs in my study. While one cop was
capturing Hillinger west of the harbor, an LAPD lieutenant let me in on
the strength of my Times plant pass on the other side. Hillinger's
wallet full of press IDs apparently lacked one from the LAPD.
Freddie Miller writes:My favorite remembrance of Chuck Hillinger is that he came to see Otis
[Chandler] after Ed Ainsworth left the scene to see if he could, in effect, have
that job. Otis told him no, The Times was going in a different
direction and would not have that sort of column. Chuck, in his usual
affable manner, said fine and then, in my opinion, took that job and
improved on it 100%
Deke Houlgate writes:The most famous Chuck Hillinger story I can recall was the time he and
[photographer] Ben Olender went out to the high desert on a story, and near the end
of the day Olender reminded Hillinger that it was time for dinner.
Hillinger acknowledged this and said they had to drive 75 miles to the
nearest restaurant. They did, and when they got there Olender told the
waitress that he was really thirsty, not hungry. So she took his drink
order. Ben said he really was thirsting for a very dry martini, and she
told him the bad news. The restaurant served no alcoholic beverages.
Crestfallen, Ben accepted his fate and had dinner with Hillinger. And
never forgave him.
Bob Rawitch, former editor of The Times Valley Edition, says:My first recollection of Chuck was in June 1967 when I started as an intern and
worked the 7 a.m. shift. He sat across the aisle from me (when we actually had
aisles in the newsroom). He'd beat me in by at least 30 minutes each morning.
Every morning he made a round of probably 50 calls to outlying police and
sheriff's stations around Southern California and the conversation always
started the same: "Hi (fill in the name) this is Chuck at the Times. Anything
funny or weird going on in your town?" Most of the time he was of course told
"no." But like a miner panning for gold, he'd often find a nugget and turn it
into a story. And when that didn't happen, he never failed to make a friend (and
contact) on the phone. The network of people he developed over the years turned
into hundreds of stories when "something funny or weird" actually did happen in
that town.
Over the years, because of the highly entertaining and offbeat
stories he wrote, he was probably the most identifiable byline in the paper
besides Jack Smith. Photographers used to love and hate going on assignments
with him. Love it because the stories were almost always about interesting
people or places that made for great stories. "Hate" it because they worked such
long hours. It wasn't unusual for Chuck to leave with a photographer for a week
and come back with more than 10 stories and a string of 15-hour days. He
routinely would go to a small town for one story and come back with two more
unexpected stories after talking to people.
He never wanted to be an
editor. Never got involved in newsroom politics. He had an unforgettable laugh
you could hear across the newsroom. He had more than 50 years with Arlene who he
always said had to be a saint to put up with him. She'd just smile. When he
reached the point of operating out of his home instead of the office, we still
saw his stories but missed his physical presence. In his passing, we will miss
him all the more, but never forget the people and places about which he wrote.
Tom Paegel, former Times night city editor, writes: "City Desk," I would answer as usual.
"This is one of the reporters," came the booming voice, always with a hint of child-like, the wonder of it all, enthusiasm on the other end.
It was Hillinger calling from some hole in the wall like "Fork in the Road, North Dakota."
"Paege!. I knew your father [Examiner photographer Felix Paegel]. You're just a kid. What the heck are you doing there?"
"I'm one of the editors."
It was a late-night ritual whenever Chuck was out and about. He always let me know where he was, usually with Steve Fontanini, or Johnny Malmin, who both also knew my father. This was before cellphones.
"Listen, in case you hear of anything breaking around here, you can reach me at Clete's Motor Court. There's no direct line, but call this number and Tillie will patch you through." He would be out looking for someone who hunted snapping turtles along the Turtle River around Mekinock, N.D. (Sioux word of Turtle).
Those of us who worked nights would often sit around and talk about the pros who had survived the war and gone on to do great things for our readers.
About this time, someone, or something, was going around the west mutilating cows' posterior regions. I remember they sent Bella Stumbo out to do a piece on it. [Eric] Malnic and I, and the others like Dick "Freight Train" Main, Ted "Craze" Thackrey, and Dick "The Pugilist" West (whatever happened to him?) would muse about the possibility of getting a late night phone call from Hillinger ensconced in a hole in the wall motel somewhere near a remote canyon in New Mexico, saying, of course with great glee and boundless enthusiasm: "I just found this guy who has the world's largest collection of cows' ---holes! Got a rewrite man?"
Too many of us are leaving, like [Times photographer Jack] Gaunt who used to bring Chuck's stories into the paper back when there were "copy books." The memories are great.
Those days, and those great ones, are gone and, sadly, our beloved way of life is also withering away. Chuck Hillinger definitely was a reporter, damn proud of it, and he was one heck of a friend and mentor.
Karen Parker, former Times copy editor, says:I
owe my Times employment to Chuck Hillinger.
I first met him in 1975
when I was free-lancing and happened to sit next to him on a flight to Yuma (he got off in El Centro).
We chatted about my copy-editor background, and he gave me his card.
Two years later, I sent him
my resume and asked if he would please steer it to the right people. I
really didn't expect him to remember me, but it was worth a shot.
The Times called me in in
mid-1978. Chuck had given the resume to Metro copy desk, who gave it
to National, and I was hired by the National copy desk.
When I asked if I could take
him and his wife to dinner as an expression of gratitude, he declined
and said: "I've always wanted to do something like that for somebody. I'm glad it worked."
Barry Zwick, former Times makeup editor, says:I was lucky enough to know Chuck quite well and got a movie tip from him
just six months ago, at an Old Farts Society lunch, for "The Darjeeling
Express."
He was always positive and cheerful and never took himself too
seriously. "Feel free to rearrange this stuff," he said once when handing me a
long, rambling account of the life of an old prospector to edit when I ran the
Los Angeles Times/Washington Post News Service during the early 1970s. Chuck
loved to roam the West even toward the end. He always looked great. He had a
ramrod-upright, military bearing.
I sat next to him at Ted Weegar's funeral in 1986. Chuck was full of jokes
and sly, irreverent asides. At Weegar's funeral at the First Presbyterian Church
of Hollywood, Ted's own minister, Don Moomaw of the Bel-Air Presbyterian Church,
officiated. Moomaw announced early in the service that the organ music we were
hearing, "That Old Rugged Cross," was Ted's favorite hymn.
"Ted had a favorite hymn?" Chuck asked. "Newspapermen have favorite hymns?
This is not the kind of announcement they're going to make at MY funeral."
Bob Gibson writes:Without exception, my
memories of him, in the newsroom, on the tennis court, at countless social
gatherings, evoke indelible moments of mirth and warm fellowship. For friends
and the newspaper, he was a treasure.
Whatever weird overseas place I, as the
foreign editor, might ask Chuck to go on assignment, not only was he willing, he
would be on the next plane. He would hit the ground running and never stop. He
elevated inquisitiveness to a fine art.
On a round of Pacific islands, he
discovered and wrote about peoples and places no one had even heard of!
Expecting five or six articles, it was amazing to see the results of a Hillinger
trip--an inundation of dozens of articles.
As one whose personal cheer and
bright articles brought smiles to the multitudes, and whose compassion and
decency set new standards, Chuck was universally loved. He was a perfect colleague and a wonderful, family-loving gentleman.
Bennett J. Mintz writes:I had been on a winery tour/steelhead fishing trek about 30 years ago when I chanced upon a little town named Booneville in Mendocino County. What distinguished it was that on long winter nights they had developed their own “language” called Boont. It was essentially based on residents’ names and their hobbies or proclivities, so that if a guy named Clark loved golf, the sport became known in Boont as playing clark or going clarking.
I bought a booklet explaining Boont in a local coffee shop – zeese is coffee, but don’t ask me why – and after reading my fill, thought that Hillinger might like it and passed it on to him. Sure enough, about two weeks later he did one of his most memorable stories about Booneville, Boont, zeese and all the rest. It was hilarious. Somebody from the Johnny Carson Show obviously saw it, and damn if a month or so later the mayor of Booneville didn’t turn up on the Tonight Show to explain Boont to Carson. Funnier than funny!
For the next 25 or 30 years – literally to his death – whenever I ran into Hillinger at the old Press Club, OFS meetings, retirements, funerals or other functions, he never failed to thank me for tipping him to the Boonville story. He was a class act to the very end of his days.
Carole Hill writes:In 1992 my husband, Gladwin Hill, woke from a long,
cancer-induced coma and came home for his last few days. He seemed
not aware of much, except that he was comfortable and happy -- a condition
morphine manages very handily.
Among his first visitors were Chuck
Hillinger and Jack Taylor. I don't know how he did it, but Glad recognized
them and greeted them with, "Hey, fellas -- help me get to the can!" That
visit progressed the way that all meetings of theirs and their many news cohorts
always did.....it swerved without a pause between gossipy insight, laser
wit and outright buffoonery. Though they left in tears, for that short
visit illness was irrelevant.
With the passing of Chuck, the three of them (and
so many others) are no longer with us. But I know that somewhere the First
Amendment is being defended, a piece of dubious reporting is being
skewered, and a pratfall is being recorded for all time.
I'll miss my golfing partner of the past five years
more than I can tell you. Chuck was a wonderful man and just full of life all
the time.
I worked at the L.A. Times from 1966 until
1981 and would only see Chuck from time to time because I worked the sports desk
at night and he worked during the day. We always were friendly, but Chuck was
friendly with everybody.
From the 1980s until 2000, I worked at the NFL
and lost track of almost everybody at The Times. I started going to the OFS
luncheon at Chuck's behest and would see him regularly. Then came golf each week
and he and I would share the same cart in a group of old guys that Chuck had
played with for years. I was the youngest at 74 when we started playing
together. So, Chuck started calling me "the kid."
The last time we talked, he
was planning a golf outing. I don't care how old he was, life is too
short
He was fun to be around always and I will
miss him.
Jerry Clark, chairman of the Old Farts (Times retirees) says:
I had dinner a few weeks ago with Chuck, Stan Chambers and a few
other L.A. journalism old-timers. Although he had lost a few pounds, we had no
inkling that his condition would go downhill so fast. He was the same Hillinger
that night, interviewing the rest of us about how we met our spouses, etc. A
reporter to the end.
When I was beginning my newspaper career at the old Los Angeles
Mirror, I would often run into Chuck Hillinger covering the same story
(often L.A. Police Chief Bill Parker) for The Times. Chuck was all shoulders and
elbows as he pressed forward to make sure he got his questions heard and he got
the quotes correct (Parker was quick to call your editor if you misquoted him).
He was a formidable colleague from whom I learned a lot about covering stories
under the pressure of deadlines.
Al Martinez, Times columnist, writes:
I'll always remember his laugh, his electric blue blazer...and the inherent sweetness of the man.
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