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A newspaper publisher like no other

The thing about Arthur Ochs Sulzberger was that he always wanted to be called Punch. Gay Talese, in his memorable book about the New York Times, “The Kingdom and the Power,” said that as a boy Mr Sulzberger and his sister Judith would stage skits of “Punch and Judy” for the entertainment of the family. And so “Punch” the actor became Punch the life-long character.

And what a formidable character he was. He took a powerful but financially languishing family newspaper and brought strength and stability to its books. He was not daunted by threats, such as when the Nixon Administration ordered The Times to cease publishing the Pentagon Papers — a secret history of the Vietnam War that had been commissioned by the Pentagon — and Punch refused. President Nixon took The Times to court, where The Times won.

There were many examples of such courage and risk-taking during his long tenure as The Times’s publisher, and as chairman of the Times company. He expanded the company’s reach to include regional newspapers and television stations; he dedicated more resources to the Paris-based International Herald Tribune. Clyde Haberman’s wonderful obituary in The Times tells all about such accomplishments, and also about calls that did not pan out.

Obituaries about great men (and women), however well written, don’t necessarily capture the flavour of the deceased’s personality and character. I have always felt that you need to have known a person before undertaking an appreciation of his life. That’s not always possible, of course, but Clyde — who has been with The Times for much longer than I was — knew Punch well.

The Punch I knew was the unguarded man, the man of humour with a broad repertoire of jokes — some salty — and a man who showed great kindness and generosity to me, especially after I’d left The Times to freelance. When I started a fortnightly newspaper on sustainable economic development, Punch was the first donor to contribute to the not-for-profit enterprise.

The man whom he made executive editor, A. M. Rosenthal, worked with Punch in saving The Times in the 1970s in the face of growing suburban papers and widening TV coverage.

Abe Rosenthal’s eventual dismissal by Punch son and successor Arthur Sulzberger Jr. from the paper that he loved so deeply did not, however, sour Abe’s relations with Punch. They remained friends. At one point, Abe — who could be quite emotional — told me, “I adore Punch. I cannot imagine a more supportive publisher. I always told Punch that, as far as The Times’s news columns were concerned, I wanted to keep the paper straight.” It was a creed that resonated with Punch. He was by no means a leftist, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he had a liberal persuasion. He never wore his power on his sleeve, however, and he was never quite enamoured of the privileges that came with his job as publisher, such as invitations to the White House.

That is not to say he didn’t monitor the paper’s coverage thoroughly. He would sometimes alert news editors of incidents he’d witnessed that could make for stories. But you’d be hard pressed to find an editor who could say truthfully that Punch forced him to get a story done.

In the autumn of his life, Punch’s health declined visibly. That did not stop him from inviting the publisher of The New York Sun, Seth Lipsky, and myself, for a quiet lunch in the publisher’s dining room in the old Times building just off Broadway. He was, as always, a gracious and attentive host.

He was also a gracious guest. When Abe Rosenthal began his 80th year, I organised a lunch at The Four Seasons restaurant for some of Abe’s best friends and admirers. Bernard Kalb flew up from Washington, as did Tom Friedman; Howell Raines — then slated to be the next executive editor — came, as did three other mentors of mine, Seymour Topping, Arthur Gelb, and Louis Silverstein. Elie Wiesel came, too, and so did Mort Zuckerman and Gay Talese. Abe’s son, Andrew — now The Times’s editorial page editor — was present. Punch had initially declined, citing poor health. But on the morning of that lunch, he called me to say that he would, after all, come.

“How often does a man enter his 80th year?” I recall Punch as saying on 
the phone.

While others said some nice things about Abe during that lunch, Punch remained silent. But I like to think that he felt he was among kindred spirits. And there was no mistaking that fond look on his face whenever he turned toward Abe.

I know that when Abe Rosenthal died of a stroke some years later, Punch took it very badly. He turned up at the memorial service in a wheelchair. He did not speak. After the service, I found him waiting in his wheelchair at a nearby street corner for a car to collect him. He was all by himself. I kissed his forehead out of respect, and there was trace of a smile on his still youthful face. Some distance away, there was a clutch of people around Arthur Jr. Power and in fleeting, I said to myself, adulation comes to he who wields the scepter.

Perhaps Arthur Jr. has a more difficult task cut out for him in the face of the changing newspaper industry and the growth of digital media. It has become fashionable to take pot shots at him. My view is somewhat different. He is his father’s son, and in my heart I know that he will not compromise the standards Punch set for his beloved Times: honesty, fairness, and integrity.

I wish Arthur Jr. well. Punch is surely keeping watch from somewhere up there — and while he may not be entirely pleased with the editorial directions that the paper is taking under his son, and while he may be still worried about The Times’s financial future, he surely believes that The Times will always be a Sulzberger newspaper. That would be a great legacy.

Pranay Gupte was a longtime staff reporter and foreign correspondent for The New York Times. He has written 14 books, and now lives in Dubai