Clancy DuBos: Farewell to New Orleans columnist James Gill — a friend, mentor and legend

If Damon Runyon had wanted to create Louisiana’s unlikeliest political columnist, he couldn’t have done better than James Gill. An Englishman by birth, James’ wry wit redefined political commentary in a state renowned for its colorful characters, intoxicating culture and quirky customs.

In this age of social media clickbait and “influencers,” James was a Runyonesque throwback to an earlier era in journalism. His rumpled, curmudgeonly persona belied his meticulously artful — and mercilessly accurate — takedowns of Louisiana’s high and mighty.

He loved speaking truth to power almost as much as he loved gin, jazz and poring over a “Daily Racing Form.” He excelled at those and many other pursuits, which made his passing on Feb. 20, at the age of 81, such a loss to local journalism — and to all who knew and loved him.

James’ career in Louisiana spanned more than four decades, during which he wrote more than 4,000 columns in The Times-Picayune and The Advocate. I had the honor of calling him a friend, colleague and mentor.

We met shortly after he landed a job as an editorial writer for the TP in 1978. We shared some of the same vices, which gave rise to a lifetime of crazy ideas, loud laughs and fond memories.

From left journalists Bruce Nolan, Paul Bartels, and James Gill in a 1980 photo.

Times-Picayune Staff Photo

Without doubt, our zaniest adventure was James’ idea of starting a thoroughbred horseracing syndicate in late 1999.

James made it sound so simple: Get friends to put up $5,000 each, claim a cheap but promising nag, hire Tom Amoss as our trainer, win a few purses, and plow our winnings into ever-more-lucrative equine investments.

What could go wrong?

In a move that seems prescient in retrospect, we named our group Razoo Stables — a nod to fellow columnist Ronnie Virgets, one of our initial investors. Back then, Ronnie wrote a popular column in Gambit called “Razoo.” And, like James, he was an inveterate railbird.

The rest of us didn’t know one end of a horse from the other, but, as proof of Amoss’ chops as a trainer and the old adage that God takes care of fools and drunks, our filly won two out of three races in our first season — then was mercifully claimed.

The following year, our claimer won both of her starts. Flush with early success — first place in four of five starts over two seasons — we became regulars at the Crescent City Steakhouse, where we conducted official business over beef, Bombay gin and bombastic buffoonery.

Convinced that we had found thoroughbred racing’s Rosetta Stone, we added investors, bought a more expensive horse … and went bust over the next two seasons.

But we had a lot of laughs along the way.

My favorite was a comment James made as we discussed adding new members. I said something about the most important qualification being “no assholes,” to which James dryly replied, “Of course, Clancy and I are grandfathered in.”

James and I also dined regularly with other political wags, typically on the evening before a major election. We shared red meat, red wine and juicy gossip — along with a friendly wager on the election’s outcome.

This group’s ante was a mere $5, but the winner’s bragging rights were priceless. As with Razoo Stables, we strictly enforced a “no assholes” rule — subject to the same grandfather clause for James and me.

Early on in our friendship, James asked me to be his daughter Jacqueline’s godfather — not that he adhered to the teachings of the Church of Rome. It did, however, cement our friendship and give me another lifetime of happy memories as her parrain.

And at least one good laugh.

On the day of Jacqueline’s christening, when I arrived at his house and asked how preparations were going, he groused, “It’s a papist conspiracy.”

So many great memories, along with so many great columns. When it came to lampooning crooks and swells, he had no equal.

“I marveled at his ability to capture so much, so well, in the short space of an op-ed,” recalled Jason Berry, another longtime friend and fellow journalist/author. “He was never driven by the desire or dream to move onto the national stage. He enjoyed where he ended up and had no desire to leave.”

James grew up in England’s parliamentary monarchy, which no doubt inspired his love of America’s democratic republic, our Constitution and the Bill of Rights. On the day he became an American citizen, Berry and I — along with cherished others — were proud to watch him take his oath.

“If James had a creed, it was the liberties invested in the democratic rule of law,” Berry said. “Louisiana amused him as a place where the law was perpetually broken but the human comedy furnished people who enjoyed life to the fullest. As things get darker because of climate change and the power of the big lie, I think of James as a source of light and wonder.”

If it’s true that there’s an exception to every rule, James Gill was the exception to the maxim that no one is irreplaceable. His passing leaves a void that cannot be filled, but those of us who worked with him, loved him and strived to emulate him will remain forever grateful for his friendship, his mentorship and too many laughs to count.

So long, old friend.

Newspaper columnist James Gill is seen in 2017.

Photo from the Louisiana Political Hall of Fame