NOTE: My longtime friend and fabled sportswriter John Feinstein died suddenly on March 13 of an apparent heart attack.  I wrote this appreciation for the Washington Independent Review of Books. You can read the text below or on the website by clicking here. 

John Feinstein, described as a “legendary” sportswriter, who died yesterday of an apparent heart attack at 69, was a larger-than-life figure — and a brash young kid when he and I teamed up in the late 1970s at the Washington Post to investigate a police “death squad” in Prince George’s County, Maryland.

Starting as a Post summer intern fresh out of Duke University, John was sent to the bureau in the county seat of Upper Marlboro and assigned to cover courts and cops. I had recently emerged from there to take on a broader, statewide beat as Maryland rover, a job I’d long wanted.

Before leaving, I’d heard rumors of the rogue squad in the Hyattsville theft division that had operated in the late 1960s. It was a skeleton in the departmental closet that had been rattling around for a dozen years. To end a rash of convenience-store robberies, the squad’s leader had coerced an informant to recruit suspects to commit robberies. The cops would then stake out the locations and — in the course of stopping the thefts they themselves had facilitated — kill the perpetrators. The story had never been publicly told. I had a source near retirement not ready to talk. Following in my footsteps, John stumbled into the same story.

A few words here about the Post’s Prince George’s bureau. The county, then a largely white, blue-collar jurisdiction once dubbed the “ugly stepsister” within the affluent metropolitan area, was a great place to be a reporter. It had all the bad-news-is-good-news a reporter could want. Those who cycled in and out of the bureau included a galaxy of top talent on their way to becoming superstars. To name a few: Peter Osnos, Courtland Milloy, Elizabeth Becker, Ruth Marcus, Gwen Ifill, David Maraniss, Phil Pan, Mike Abramowitz, Jackie Spinner, Michel Martin, Michele Norris, Sara Goo, Michelle Singletary, Margaret (Pooh) Shapiro, Jackson Diehl, Karen DeYoung, and David Montgomery.

John eagerly earned his place in that distinguished group, but he was different. Temperamental, self-confident, sometimes arrogant, combative, blustery, loud, and funny. He was destined for greater fame as the prolific author of more than 40 books, most bestsellers; as a radio and cable sports commentator; and as a Post sports columnist, filing his last piece the day before he died.

But before all that, there was the death squad.

After John received what was interpreted as a death threat, he and I were paired to go after the story. We were an odd couple, not unlike Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. John was hot-tempered and young. I was 13 years older, seasoned, reasoned, calm. My nickname, for my reporting on the rural reaches of Maryland, was Sticks. As Bob and Carl were Woodstein, John and I became Feinsticks. During our reporting for the death-squad series, published in February 1979, Bob advised us, especially John, informally. He stressed over and over (and John would do his best Woodward impression in sharing this), “You must get the documents.”

That we did, from a former police chief who said he’d never thought he’d be turning over documents to the liberal Washington Post. On this occasion, the documents were the confirmation we needed. Before we left, the ex-chief gave each of us a bottle of the homemade wine he kept on racks in his cellar. Post reporters are instructed repeatedly to refuse gifts, but in this instance, it would’ve seemed downright rude to do so. John and I then went off to celebrate our documentary coup, charging an expense-account steak dinner to the Post.

A major figure in the “death squad” was Police Col. Joseph V. Vasco, who had commanded the squad in Hyattsville and was on track to become the county’s chief of police. I vividly recall when John and I conducted our final interview with Vasco and attorney Ben Wollman, who represented the Fraternal Order of Police, in Wollman’s small Upper Marlboro office. We did the good cop (me), bad cop (John) routine, and Wollman was apoplectic. Vasco did not get the top job.

The death-squad series began at the very bottom of the front page after John had an argument the day before with Managing Editor Howard Simons, who wanted to spike it. The first-day story was stripped across the front in as narrow a strip of copy as could be set in type. This came to be known in the newsroom as “Death Squad play.” Yet, as the story grew in impact, so did its front-page play, creeping up to and above the fold and eventually leading the newspaper after Maryland Attorney General Stephen Sachs validated our reporting.

From there, John went on to cover the Maryland legislature and then to Sports, his happy place — despite his love-hate relationship with George Solomon, the longtime assistant managing editor for the section, himself a legendary journalist but not as well known outside the newspaper.

Flash-forward a few decades and years, to 2015. I was recruiting panelists and speakers for the annual Washington Writers Conference (which happens on May 2-3 this year). I’d been calling on my Post pals to keynote: Woodward and Maraniss graciously agreed, and so did John. The keynoters are always the midday highlight, addressing the lunch crowd. John was scheduled to speak at 12:30 p.m., but by 12:15, there was still no John. Frantically, I tried to reach him. Sent urgent emails. No response. I called his cell phone and left a message. No response.

Then, I texted him. It seemed he’d forgotten or mixed up the dates or had some other lame excuse. So there he was, upstairs at home in his pajamas at his laptop, while his phone was downstairs. Fortunately, his wife, Christine, saw my text and shouted upstairs, “John, aren’t you supposed to be somewhere?”

Uncharacteristically for John, he sheepishly called me back, apologized, and said he was on his way. Inside the ballroom, we stalled as long as we could. John finally made his less-than-triumphal entrance. I introduced him, recounting some of what I’ve written here. I called him “a stylish wordsmith whose writing has been widely read, admired, and enjoyed.”

“John was — and is — incredibly prolific,” I continued. “In his first year at the paper, he racked up some 325 bylines, nearly a story a day. Then, after a few years, he stepped away from the daily newspaper grind to become a bestselling author of 34 books — 24 nonfiction, eight young-adult novels, and two adult mysteries — all set in the world of sports. Yet, his work transcends athletic events to focus, albeit through a sportswriter’s lens, on humanity — the good, the bad, and the ugly. His heroes are not only those who excel on the field — the course, or the court — but also those whose human qualities make them champions. John’s sports writing is not just inside baseball. His books are as accessible as they are entertaining for the general reader.”

(Note: In the following 10 years, he wrote several more books.)

Without notes, he gave a wonderfully entertaining talk — most of which I have forgotten, except for him chiding me for mispronouncing the name of Duke basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski. I forgave him for that. He was a great success. Life went on.

When I set up my website in 2018, I asked John for a testimonial. He did not hesitate. This is what he wrote in part: “I had the privilege of working with Gene Meyer during my early days at The Washington Post and it was like getting a Ph.D. in reporting and story telling…”

Well, John, all I have to say about that now is the privilege was all mine.

Eugene L. Meyer, a member of the board of the Independent, is a journalist and author of, among other books, Five for Freedom: The African American Soldiers in John Brown’s Army and Hidden Maryland: In Search of America in Miniature. Meyer has been featured in the Biographers International Organization’s podcast series.

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My recent interviews may be viewed on YouTube.

Chesapeake Today publisher Ken Rossignol interviewed me on Five for Freedom, slavery and my other books and stories about Maryland. I was interviewed at Sotterley, a former plantation in St. Mary’s County, where 100 persons were once enslaved. The setting is a partially restored slave cabin.  To watch, click here.