Flamboyant.
controversial,
unorthodox.
I WAS greatly distressed to learn last week of the death of my old pal and colleague Farook Khan, a legend among we hacks and scribblers.
The burly patriarchal figure with the flowing white beard had a career in journalism that absolutely corruscated with colour, controversy, flamboyance, unorthodoxy and achievement. His vocabulary was like a reprising of American writer Damon Runyan.
Farook knew everyone who counted and was not shy to call on them when the occasion arose. He was the only journalist I knew who could phone the private secretary of Prime Minister John Vorster (this during the depths of apartheid) and demand to be put through to "El Supremo". (A term like "prime minister" was much too pedestrian for Farook).
Next, Vorster's gravelly voice would be on the line: "Is dit jy, vet Khan?" (Is that you, fat Khan?)
Yes, Vorster knew Farook of old. It went back to his days on the Golden City Post, in Johannesburg, a racy weekly (produced also in the idiom of Damon Runyan where men were "guys" and women "dolls") that combined salaciousness with some hard-hitting exposure of the iniquities of apartheid.
Robben Island has on it a Muslim shrine, to which members of the community made occasional pilgrimages, with permits from the authorities. Farook was part of one of those pilgrimages.
But he took with him a camera and he came back with pictures of Nelson Mandela and the other political prisoners at work in the quarry. These were splashed in Golden City Post.
The security police were spitting mad. They wanted to throw the key away. But at a meeting with Vorster (who was then Minister of Justice), Vorster asked: "Did he have a permit?"
"Yes".
"Did this permit specify that he could not take a camera?"
"No."
"Gentlemen, I think this makes it 1-0 to Mr Khan."
Yes, Farook knew everyone who counted. He was best man at the wedding in America of heavyweight boxing great Muhammad Ali.
How this happened I really don't know, but this was Farook Khan living in his own special world. He had a prized memento, a pair or boxing gloves worn by Muhammad Ali in one of his epic bouts.
Farook was a booming, burly presence in the newsroom, where he virtually held court in the quiet moments – but was quick to scramble to any task at hand. He was an enriching presence. His sudden passing is a shock and he is sadly missed.
Pass rate
INVESTMENT analyst Dr James Greener expresses alarm in his latest grumpy newsletter at the poor showing of five local universities in the College of Surgeons exams.
"It seems that all the candidates from five local universities failed to achieve the 45% required to pass the exit exam written for Fellowship of the College of Surgeons.
"That the candidates from three schools did pass is hardly reassuring. Is that 45% level a consequence of schools deciding that 30% is good enough?
"Those of us about to undergo an operation rather hope that the person with the mask and the scalpel leaning over us obtained a pass mark closer to say 100%."
Tailpiece
"WOULD you like to dance?"
"I don't like this music and even if I did, I wouldn't dance with you."
"Sorry, you seem to have misheard. I said you look fat in that dress."
Last word
It is only an auctioneer who can equally and impartially admire all schools of art. - Oscar Wilde
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