Farewell, kind spirit of the inky way

With the death of Manny (E. C. T.) Candappa, last week in Melbourne the media mourned one of its most eminent and proficient personages who wielded a pen as newspaperman, author, poet, playwright and broadcaster for more than six and a half decades. Manny, full moniker, Emmanuel Christopher Thomas Candappa survived three transitional technological generations in the changing newspaper era, with admirable aplomb and equanimity.

Following a nearly half century stretch at Lake House where he cut his teeth and rose to be one of its most prolific and popular scribes in what is considered by many as the Homeric ages of local journalism, he migrated to Australia in 1987 with his wife Yvonne and four children. He became a household name as a writer and editor in some of the prestigious newspapers in Melbourne. His was an exceptional saga of a committed newsman who succeeded in his craft both in the land of his birth as well as the country of his adoption.

Manny was a veteran when I joined Lake House as a greenhorn and was always supportive with a kind word to young scribblers. In truth, he was a journalist extraordinaire, who became a comrade who stood head and shoulders above us all.

We his colleagues considered Manny a magnificent human being, a great family man, a consummate professional and a journalist par excellence. You couldn’t meet a more warm-hearted, unassuming man in a fraternity that was peopled by a bunch of unruly, inquisitive, rebellious and strong-willed professionals imbued with their notorious craftsmen’s testiness and egotism. Amid these wild and rambunctious elements Manny’s charisma shone out in a packed newsroom long before you were introduced.

He had a beaming, expansive personality as well as a sharp mind and a facility for expression. And Manny did so with grace and charm, combined with a quick wit and unfailing humour. Yet with all his inherent benevolence Manny was often at the centre of office pranks during lulls in deadlines. His impish streak with fellow conspirators included bogus phone calls to colleagues in heavily accented watchmen’s voices, summoning them to the reception. The victims returned to the editorial with flushed faces while Manny and the perpetrators pretended to be innocently bashing away at the much-abused typewriters.

Manny enjoyed his tipple moderately and was a splendid companion to enjoy a chat with while raising a friendly glass or three. These are the sessions I will miss most – his stories, his incisive wit that could reduce me to tears of mirth, great tales, brilliant company and his kindness. Manny’s advice and wise counsel have served me well on countless occasions and I will miss him hugely. He was always interested in work and family and was quick to offer big-brotherly advice when warranted most.

For instance he took time despite his debilitating illness to commiserate with me following the recent death of my wife, Thelma, who was also a former colleague. Here is an excerpt of a condolence message he mailed to me:

“My very dear friend and confrere. The news which reached me a few days ago saddened me greatly. It was the sud- deness of her passing that shocked me. My heartfelt condolences to you all and the rest of the family on both sides. I shall miss Thelma. Every time I phoned you it was she who answered and was always in a hurry to pass the phone to you. And I always assured her I wished to speak to her as well. I can never forget what a generous and gracious hostess she was, what a devout Catholic she was, how delighted she was when Dishan became a priest.

“We have already remembered her at a Mass. Now for a very brief bit of elderly brotherly advice. You know how dearly your welfare and particularly your health mattered to Thelma. Do please honour her memory- and for the sake of us your beloved friends - look after yourself and take recourse in your Faith, and not in the weed and bottle. Please keep in touch. Yours as ever, Manitou.”

Missives such as this were typical Manny, signing off as Manitou with the nickname I had conferred on him ages ago. For the record Manitou is the great spirit of the North American Indians. Manny was also the master of pun and in another instance signed off his letter with the name of his wife. Love from Yvonne and Manny-too.

All who really knew Manny loved him just for being himself. In an industry of larger than life characters, Manny stood out as one of the giants, a true legend who was an inspiration to generations of journalists. Ink ran through his veins, he was passionate about writing, the welfare of his family, his friends, his fellow man and his God. In all he was a generous spirit, a kind and compassionate man.

So here’s to you Manny, cherished friend, comrade and colleague. You left a legacy and reputation as an exceptional professional and human being which has been a hard act to follow.

His funeral was preceded by a Mass at St John Vianney’s Church on July 15 in Melbourne. Manny’s wife Yvonne preceded him in death. We offer our heartfelt condolences to his children Orion, Chrismarie, Fr. Dishan and Nirmalene (Nimmi) and to his only sister, Prudence. Gaston de Rosayro