John Homan Wiki – John Homan Biography
John Homans died at the age of 62 this evening. He worked as editor for 20 years in New York between 1994 and 2014, and since he was not a famous editor, he was not well known outside the publishing universe. But let us assure you, because we saw this first hand: There was no one like him. The best things you read in New York came disproportionately. The shape, sound, world view and talent pool of this place would be immeasurably reduced without it.
John Homan Background life & Career
In the first encounter, Wasp may emerge as a caricature of indifference: the long, lean, Bostonian, big strong jawline, khakis and the wrinkled shirt he caught that morning, perhaps after basketball – the game shower. (The standard explanation was, especially when he was younger, “It looked like Harrison Ford.” But Han Solo had no sleepy, perhaps stony eyes: John was more dart and questioning.) John, the rumors we heard were third or third to graduate from Harvard. fifth or perhaps hundredth generation Homanses member. He lived with his wife Angela in an old loft in the city center and raised their sons there, a Soho family in the 80’s style that was still available in 2020. The word “laconic” could be produced for him. He wrote a book about having a big dog. He played in a band with David Remnick from The New Yorker, other boomer magazine editors, and this was called Sequoias. It is the guardian of extremely long, protected, prehistoric, less and less living creatures.
One of his distant ancients was a doctor named John Homans, and there is a special surgical procedure called the “operation of Homans”. It is used in cases of lymphedema and requires a large number of swollen tissue excision from the limbs. Comparison is suitable. As an editor, John was intense, determined and fast. He was a very good-talking editor: You could come up with a half-shaped idea and find the story in it and guide how to write it before anyone writes a word. After he started typing, he could take a dangling manuscript, clap it from his computer the day he’d print it, and take the other end out with a cracked piece. And you have never seen anyone work like him: he leaned deeply behind the computer screen, muttered himself as he rearranged and rewrited and repeated. We all knew that John started focusing on something: You pass his office and hear guttural voices and partial sentences: Mmmhuhhh, okay, now what am I doing now, okay, hmmnk, uhhh, yes, okay, now what hmmm yes. (The murmur intensified after quitting smoking.) The key phrase is what we jumped from the stream of sound like a regular whale coming out of the noise, What happened? Which one, okay, what do I do next?
Journalists – at least those who are good – tend to be good at avoiding self-deception, and John is unique in this. Clarity, serving as an editor, perhaps prevented him from doing anything more profitable: Some of us always suspected that it might have come down to the media startup area if only a little more fake snap. optimism. Instead, he perceived the finesse, the subtlety of the gas bag, and the subtlety of its promotion. He also knew that some of the things we did were foam and some were real. Another Homans aphorism is faced with a project that nobody thinks is not going particularly well: “This is a shit sandwich and everyone has to take a bite.” After selling in New York in 2004, after moving to a great one from a lousy owner, we must do a much better job than we can imagine, and John has evolved. He can be enthusiastic even when he is succinct: a story that really makes people talk, a book out, movie rights sale, the expression of your pet, “You rated it!”
He left New York in 2014, not because nobody wanted him, but because he believed he had become a “damn dinosaur,” as the office said. So it was a pleasant surprise when he later found a post-mortem life at Bloomberg and then at the Vanity Fair. In the past few years, he has blown the Vanity Fair’s “The Hive”, making a great injection of dino flavor and dino skills. It was very exciting to watch if it was jealous. We miss him.