November/December 1999
By Si Wakesberg
Si Wakesberg is New York Bureau Chief for Scrap.
I met Jim Fowler many years ago when he was director of public relations for the Institute of Scrap Iron and Steel (ISIS) and I was with the National Association of Recycling Industries (NARI). Over the years, our paths crossed occasionally.
It was only after ISIS and NARI merged to form ReMA that I truly got to know him. When I became associated with Scrap, which Jim led as publisher and editorial director, our work relations led to friendship. I discovered a first-rate gentleman, a man of rich humor and understanding—in short, a wonderful chap. Our times together with Bob Garino,
ISRI’s director of commodities, and later with Kent Kiser, Scrap’s editor, at meetings, conferences, roundtables, and conventions became enjoyable and memorable occasions.
And now Jim is planning to retire from Scrap at year’s end, wrapping up his 30-plus-year career with ISIS and ISRI. His exit deserves nothing less than a poem.
When I think who’s leaving and it’s Jim
My voice chokes and my eyes get dim;
Believe me when I say that I
Will really, really miss that guy!
He’s traveled here, he’s traveled there
In U.S. cities everywhere
From little towns with obscure names
Jim Fowler’s cheery postcards came;
By bus, by car, on a plane’s motion
To the South, Midwest, the Pacific Ocean,
Recently he flew to Rome
But soon, we know, he’ll stay at home.
He’s traveled far and in between
Managed to publish a magazine.
In these days of gimmicks and fads
He brought in pages and pages of ads!
How will we be able to order a drink
In some Pittsburgh pub without having to think
“If Jim were here—” yes, these are real sobs
As we down our drinks, mine and Bob’s.
How will we order a steak and fries
Sitting at a table with other guys
But wishing that it was our friend Jim
And we were kidding around with him!
He wanted mostly to retire
And by George! I must admire
That he did what he said, in principle
Our friend Jim is invincible.
No more canceled ads or an editor’s query
A tankful of complaints to make him weary,
Just to stay at home, if you want, all day
Or maybe just with grandchildren play.
You’ve earned it, Jim, it’s more than a hunch
When I say to you: “You’re the best of the bunch!”
The ReMA halls will be empty and bare
(At least to those of us who care)
When we realize that you’re not there.
On my table a photo taken of us three:
Of Bob and you and the middle one me
Will remind me of good times spent together
In many a city, in all kinds of weather;
With Kent and others, after a meeting—
How fast it went by—time is so fleeting
But now you can relax, take of your shoes
Putter around, or if you want, snooze
You’ve made your mark, you’ve paid your dues.
This poem should actually be an ode
Written in the heroic mode,
Saluting grandly as it were
A prince, a duke, a publisher!
Well, here you are in language terse
Forever immortalized in verse.
I raise my glass of vodka or scotch
To one who meant so very much
To all who worked with him for years:
Prosit! Skoal! L’Chaim! Cheers! •
I met Jim Fowler many years ago when he was director of public relations for the Institute of Scrap Iron and Steel (ISIS) and I was with the National Association of Recycling Industries (NARI). Over the years, our paths crossed occasionally.