A tribute to Stephen Johnson

The late Stephen Johnson contributed immensely to the book industry and we honour him with this tribute by Frederik de Jager, the former publisher at Umuzi and publishing director at Penguin Books

I have had many bosses in the course of my career. Most of them average, some awful, and two who rose to such height above the others that I count them both among the great experiences of my life.

The one is Hettie Scholtz who in 1996 took me into her small but exciting publishing house, Queillerie. The other was Stephen Johnson. Stephen was my boss at Random House, later Random House Struik, where I was the publisher at Umuzi, and again, through a quirky twist of fortune, at Penguin before it became Penguin Random House.

Addressing the audience at his previous farewell when he retired from Random House Struik, Antjie Krog said, “Never trust the very thin publisher.” She must have had more than circumference in mind. It was about generosity of spirit, dimensions of worldview, the effect one person could have on the mind of a national readers’ public over decades. In all of these respects Stephen Johnson was three times life size.

I have heard this being said about others, but truly, Stephen was the very last of the gentleman publishers. They are not being made anymore. Abacus gnomes and technocrats rule the world. Spreadsheets but no spreading wings. And what more than anything else makes Stephen the dream boss has to do with wings. He could make you spread yours and soar, blowing wind all the way. He took a chance on me 8 years ago and how I have grown professionally in that time is beyond any measure at my disposal.

With Stephen around, there was no such thing as a boring day at the office. If he wasn’t making the most scandalous remarks during a meeting he’d be doing hilarious imitations of pompous egomaniacs. As he would make his way to his corner office in the morning a wave of exuberance washed through the building. Everyone was greeted with that high-pitched cry of his and a witticism. He makes everyone feel important and valued.

A difficult devil, however, badly miscalculated in reading Stephen’s friendly demeanour as approval. He would remain ever the gentleman but you wouldn’t get away with stridency or idiocy or badly executed business. And yet error wouldn’t mean the end of the world. Stephen was one of those bosses who trust you to get on with the job and gave you the space to do so. And when something would go wrong, he would have your back. This is how we would learn, to our own benefit as well as that of the company in the long run.

Profound respect for other people is what inspired this style of management. In the way he liked to deflate all pomposity Stephen often referred to the United Kingdom as “Mud Island” and to London (where his reporting line went) as “that little village on the Thames”. Yet he himself epitomized English politeness when, in his melodic and resonant English, he would reproach somebody in such a way that their dignity is never offended. And, likewise the expression “punctuality is the courtesy of kings” applied to him. Over the years I had never arrived for an appointment without Stephen already waiting.

But “gentleman publisher” means more than mere good manners. It was that stream of civilized values that coursed through his veins and lodged in his cells. Values ingested by paying attention to words. Words expressed by the great minds of our world. That is: by reading. And from reading to passing on books to others.

This is what Stephen did throughout his matchless career in the book trade, as both seller and publisher of books. No one else has been at the helm of the largest bookseller and two of the largest book publishers. Stephen was driven by an urge to bring books and readers together. Using the cliché this is called passion. I prefer to think of it as desire.

Fundamental to such a career is a knowledge and appreciation of civilization in all its expressions. It means a view of the world shaped and framed by knowledge of history, music, wine, food, language and literature. And Stephen, the bon vivant, was as adept at detecting and collecting kindred spirits as he was at identifying world-class star quality in authors such as David Goldblatt, George Bizos, Antjie Krog, Ivan Vladislavić and many more.

When he retired from Random House I was present at a table in London where a number of his oldest friends in the publishing world gathered to say their farewells. Among them fabled editors, publishers, illustrators and salespeople from several countries and publishing houses. It was an evening for the raconteurs, for people bursting with stories and love of live.

Such was the weaving of the world around Stephen Johnson. He was one of those people who can change the texture of reality where you encounter him. He had the imagination for it. He had the words. When he was at full tilt in his winged English the lamps would rattle. Stephen on a podium before a packed audience was like a concert of melodious and contrapuntal language carried on a deep, resonant voice.

This is my mind’s picture of him in our small universe of books. One person whose fervour pushed a wave of enchantment through a sea of other people.

Dat ek iewers aan die rand van daardie prentjie kon inpas, was my eenmalige voorreg en vreugde.

Stephen Johnson died on 31 December 2018, may his soul rest in peace.