Don Forst was the wiliest newspaper editor I’ve ever known. The New York Times called him, “feisty” in its obit. Don wasn’t feisty — he was cunning, he was clever, he was imaginative, tough, outrageous and he was competitive as hell. But not “feisty.” That sounds like a yappy terrier snapping at your ankles, which is a particularly off-putting image because Don, in fact, was petite and still looked like a choirboy in his 50’s.
Not only was Don not feisty, he was calm and centered. He was funny. He was warm and bolstering and he instinctively knew all of our buttons. He didn’t push the fear ones — and we had lots of them — Don pushed the buttons that made us as wily and daring and competitive as he was. All of us. Our shock troop of maybe 30 news reporters competed against the mighty LA Times and its armies of journalists that must have outnumbered the Chinese forces. And we often won.