Michael Littlejohns

As a guide at United Nations Headquarters back in the 60s, I was terribly impressed by Michael Littlejohns. Partly it was his demeanor. Charming, intelligent and gallant, he always seemed to be smiling at some private joke. I was impressed by his position as well. The bureau chief of Reuters seemed high and mighty to a young American girl longing to break into journalism, even though I knew my chances of finding a job in those days were slim indeed. But Michael was so kind to me, I thought he might give me a break. So we developed a little routine. Every month or so, I’d drop by the Reuters office and enumerate all the reasons I thought he should give me a job. He in turn would smile ruefully and patiently explain that the company frowned on hiring females. I never held it against him - I can’t imagine anyone ever being cross with Michael. So I was delighted when Rita and Roland Dallas - he a protégé of Michael’s - asked the two of us to share godparent duties for their infant daughter Sarah. We had a small reception at my old apartment on West End Avenue after the church ceremony, and the way Michael strutted around, so obviously pleased with his newly-assigned role, you’d have thought he was the baby’s father. Over the years, he and Sarah became devoted pen pals, their relationship stretching over decades. I like to think that she became the daughter he never had, and I can only imagine how much happiness it gave him to have her at his bedside in the hospital during his last days, listening to Mozart and holding her hand. Loved by many, Michael Littlejohns will be missed by all who knew him. ■