A sturdy operator

Obituary
(1942-2001)
A sturdy operator
was a loner. He was shy, soft-spoken and reticent -- almost an introvert. He did not have many friends, not because of a hostile nature but because he enjoyed his solitude.
Kirolos, Al-Ahram Weekly's assistant editor-in-chief and Home page editor, died on Monday. My first contact with him was in 1964, when he was introduced to me by a mutual acquaintance at the Lappas coffee shop on Kasr El-Nil street, one of our favourite haunts at the time. I noticed that his contribution to the conversation was minimal. Kirolos had just graduated from Cairo University's English Department, my own alma mater. After that chance encounter we came together two years later when he joined United Press International, where I had been working for more than 15 years. He was a sharp reporter, with a quick eye for a good news angle, and a smooth writer. He was also a fast worker -- a must in the wire service business.
He was transferred to the UPI Beirut office in the late sixties. During a vacation in Cairo in 1973, he "got stuck," to use his own words. He was about to return to his base in Beirut when the war with Israel began. Airports were closed, the work-load was heavy and his help was needed in Cairo. So he stayed on with cheerful resignation. I had been appointed bureau chief the year before and Kirolos became my top assistant and news editor until I resigned in 1982 to join the Associated Press. We parted ways then, changing the workplace but remaining in the same profession, this time as friendly competitors.
Little did I know that we would come together again more than a decade later at Al- Ahram Weekly. He brought to the Weekly the same efficiency and dedication that I knew very well in our UPI days. He would sulk occasionally, but when it came to work he was energetic and totally committed.
I shall always remember as a sturdy and dependable operator who would put in long hours without complaining. This was evident in his performance during the successive big stories that we covered together over a decade: the 1973 war, the 1974 Egyptian-Israeli military disengagement in Sinai, the 1975 reopening of the Suez Canal and the entire Egyptian-Israeli peace process, which began in 1977 and culminated in the 1979 peace treaty and the completion of Israel's troop withdrawal from Sinai in April 1982.
I shall always remember his measured walk and the way he stepped gingerly into the Central Desk to deliver a story that he had polished.
He will be sorely missed at the Weekly.
Maurice Guindi
Edited by
Ustaz Wadie: walking encyclopedia, chain smoker, instant translator, avid reader, a loner. It will be very strange from now on to walk into the office of our Home page and not find Ustaz Wadie sitting behind his computer, or a smoking cigarette in his ashtray nestled next to his small glass of tea accompanied by that inevitable glass of water with the spoon balanced on the top.
Another day at Al-Ahram Weekly would have begun; the stories would start coming in and begin to stack up under his tissue box -- his in-box would start piling high.
Yet he would always worry: "we are going to be short of stories this week." It was never true; there was invariably too many articles. But that was Ustaz Wadie: always worried about work. It was his life.
As he processed the work, his fingers would fly across the keyboard and reporters would wait in anticipation. There would be something to learn at the end of this process as Ustaz Wadie brought literary flair to our copy. Ninety percent of the time anxious reporters would receive his rubber stamp verdict. It was merely a "fine" given with a shrug of the shoulders. A "very good" would literally make our day.
And mistakes were something you could not live down. For one reporter it was the use of the too literal translation from Arabic: "firewater" instead of "acid"; for another it was her habit of confusing the numbers of defendants in the trials she was covering. We all had our bloopers remembered. Because this was the man who said: "from some people I expect perfection."
He was predictable. Once in his office, Ustaz Wadie was rarely seen anywhere else in the newspaper -- but his shuffling walk could be spotted a mile away. Every day lunch would be ordered from the same restaurant, a venue that would be changed only every couple of years.
We watched him struggle for years with modern technology. First it was the switch from typewriters to computers. The Internet and mobile phone were beyond him. The slightest malfunction of anything technological -- even the mouse -- was enough to send him into a panic. We had to be on hand.
Because of the nature of our work we all spent many long hours together over the past 11 years. There was time for him to tell us of his passion for poetry, the two books he had written and his ability to perfectly translate Umm Kulthoum's Al-Atlal -- nuances and all.
We will never forget his favourite line from Shakespeare; his mantra, his philosophy in life: "Out, out brief candle/life is but a walking shadow/it is a fool who threats and frets his role upon the stage and then is heard no more."
But Ustaz Wadie will be remembered by us forever.
Soha Abdelaty, Omayma Abdel-Latif, Khaled Dawoud, Gamal Essam El-Din, Fatemah Farag, Jailan Halawi, Amira Howeidy, Nevine Khalil Mona El-Nahhas, Shaden Shehab and Mariz Tadros
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