Peter Kaplan died of cancer Friday. He was 59. A couple months ago, I called him on his cell since he never answered his office phone. He answered with a curious, "Hello?" I'm guessing because of the mysterious area code.
"Mr. Kaplan, this is John Tinseth and I don't mean to sand bag you on your cell, but I just wanted to let you know what was going on with the M book, and we're gonna make it an E book 'cause it was impossible to get in everything we wanted hard copy, and the proofs from the printer in China sucked, and we'd like to insert filmed interviews in the E book with folks who knew and worked on M, and since you wrote the last cover story, would you be interested in doing an interview?"
This was said at roughly the same speed and pentameter as Ralphie asking Santa for a Red Ryder BB gun. "Sure," Kaplan said, "I'd be happy to help in any way that I can. Just let me know when you wanna do it." Getting the firm order, I thanked him and said goodbye before he could change his mind and kick me down the slide. The second I hung up, that monumental exuberance, like a parachute opening, would change to paranoid dread as I wondered how I'd ever get Kaplan on the phone again, or, if he even meant it. This was New York City after all and people like Peter Kaplan had bigger fish to fry -- Little did I know what was going on...
From the NY Times obit, he had been diagnosed last Summer. When I found out this morning, all I could think of, being the selfish asshole that I am, was what a gyp. My first meeting with Kaplan was for a 3PM lunch in an Irish pub in April of 2012.
Peter Kaplan Mar 28, 2012
Dear John Tinseth,
Hi. We haven’t met—but I am a great fan of The Trad.
I would very much like to speak to you about M magazine and your new book—a topic of plenty of importance around here. Do you have time for a drink in the next couple of weeks?
Fairchild Fashion Media
We were meeting in his building lobby and at the last minute I grabbed an Observer from a news stand and spread it out in front me while crossing my legs on a Barcelona ottoman while trying to look relaxed.
"John?" he said. I lowered the paper and saw him smiling. I stood up and offered my hand -- Just to shake, but from what I knew about Kaplan, it was a proposal as well. He wanted to talk about M Magazine and the book. I wanted to work for the mother fucker. I folded the Observer and tossed it on the ottoman. Kaplan frowned and pointed at the pink paper, "You're leaving the paper?" "That's not a paper anymore…" I whined, "it's classified ads for real estate." Kaplan didn't laugh but I saw a small grin.
On May 23, 2012, at 3:50 PM, "Kaplan, Peter"
It's the only card I have.
On Nov 13, 2012, at 8:43 AM, "Kaplan, Peter" wrote:Dear John I am so sorry. I have been out of the office a lot lately. Let us schedule a phone call. Peter
We talked a handful of times afterwards but I never saw Kaplan again. I wanted to. Anytime I found myself close by his office and Starbucks, I'd hope to bump into him on the street. It never happened but I could feel his presence walking that avenue ever alert for his tortoise shell glasses, khakis, blue oxford button-down and dusty foulard tie.
The Trad, never a financial success, has given me rich access to some of the most interesting people. It's funny, but I think of the Army the same way. I didn't make any money but I met men I will never forget. I don't think it's too far off the mark for Peter Kaplan to be my favorite general. Like the generals I worked for, our relationship was not intimate, but it was about love and that's why some people can lead and most of us can't.